Vysis's words stung like venom: my E-Rank status was too low to grow, doomed to lag behind even an average person. "Hero?" I thought bitterly. Summoned without consent, labeled a hero, now discarded like trash—all at her whim. My protest died as Kirihara's sharp tongue cut in, "You're unsightly, Mimori. Stop wasting our time."
The chamber erupted with jeers. "Read the mood, air mob!" Oyamada sneered, while girls praised Kirihara's "kindness" for wanting to end my humiliation quickly. Their voices blended into a cruel chorus, dismissing me as pitiful, annoying, a nobody. The hierarchy of 2-C held firm, even here.
Yasu approached, his face soft with false sympathy. "You okay, Mimori?" he asked, hand on my shoulder. Hope flickered—until his expression twisted into smug superiority. "You, an E-Rank, dare speak to an A-Rank like me so casually?" His voice dripped with malice, a stark contrast to his usual timidity.
I remembered that day I tried to help him after Oyamada's bullying. Covered in dirt, he'd lashed out, raging that I, mere air, had no right to pity him. "You're nothing!" he'd screamed then, obsessed with rank, with being above someone. Now, his A-Rank status fueled that same venom.
Yasu leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "I always knew I'd rise above this class's idiots. Top university, top job—half of them will bow to me someday. Kirihara's too arrogant, Oyamada's a brute, but Sogou, Hijiri, Itsuki—they're worth keeping. The rest? Garbage, like you." His casual use of their first names shocked me; he'd never dared before.
He turned away, waving dismissively. "Live hard in your short time, Disposal Hero-kun." His laughter echoed, cruel and triumphant. To him, I was a safe target, an E-Rank about to vanish, a vessel for his pent-up resentment. Oyamada grinned, eating it up. "What'd you say, Yasu? Mimori's too dumb to save?"
Yasu lied smoothly, "I tried to hear his last words with sympathy, but he's hopeless." My fists clenched, rage and betrayal swirling. What had I done to deserve this? Nothing. It was all so absurd, so unjust. My voice, my pain, meant nothing, yet they'd laugh it off as a loser's howl.
Sogou's eyes flickered with unease, but she stayed silent, her S-Rank status tying her to Vysis's side. Kirihara looked bored, the Takao sisters observed impassively, and Zakurogi, a D-Rank shadow, offered no help. The soldiers' grips tightened, their swords a constant threat.
Vysis raised her arms, the magic circle glowing brighter. "Let's begin the ritual," she said, her smile serene but predatory. The chamber's air grew heavy, the lanterns casting long, ominous shadows. My E-Rank skills—status ailments—were my only weapons, dismissed as a "failure frame."
I stood alone in the circle, the weight of rejection crushing me. Classmates, Yasu, even the goddess saw me as disposable, but a spark of defiance burned. I'd survive the Disposal Ruins, prove my worth, make those skills count. They'd see that Mimori Touka wasn't just air.
The magic circle flared, its light swallowing me. My fate hung in the balance, a nobody cast into a deadly unknown.