Chapter 3: The Lowest Stat, the Worst Parents, and an Engagement From Hell
I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally owed me money.
"…Alright," I muttered. "Time to face reality."
Reality, unfortunately, was not kind.
I had transmigrated into a fantasy world where power was everything—magic, swordsmanship, bloodlines, talent.
And I?
I was sitting comfortably at the absolute bottom.
"Let's review the power system," I said aloud, raising an imaginary chalkboard in my mind.
This novel wasn't subtle about its mechanics. The author loved exposition dumps. Entire chapters dedicated to explaining rankings, affinities, talents, and why Kyle Garfield was blessed by the heavens while everyone else existed to clap.
Power in this world was divided into four main paths:
1. Magic
2. Sword Aura
3. Bloodline Traits
4. Special Talents / Blessings
And each of these had rankings.
Magic Affinity:
Low → Average → High → Genius → Monster
Sword Aura Sensitivity:
None → Basic → Adept → Master → Genius
Bloodline Awakening:
Dormant → Partial → Active → Complete
Special Talents:
Random bullshit lottery.
Now.
Where did Calix Emberheart stand?
I laughed.
A hollow, broken laugh.
"Magic affinity: Low."
So low that during the aptitude test, the crystal didn't even glow. It just… dimmed. Like it felt embarrassed to be touched by me.
"Sword aura sensitivity: None."
Not low.
Not weak.
None.
The instructor literally said, 'Are you even alive?'
"Bloodline awakening: Dormant."
Despite being from the prestigious Emberheart lineage—famous for fire-aspected mana and combat monsters—my bloodline might as well have been decorative.
"Special talents…"
I paused.
"…Author forgot to give me one."
I lay back dramatically.
"Congratulations, Calix. You are a walking tutorial NPC."
If Kyle Garfield was the chosen one, then I was the cautionary tale parents told their kids at night.
Study hard, or you'll end up like Duke Emberheart's son.
I rolled onto my side and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
"You know what the funniest part is?" I said to myself.
I pointed at my own chest.
"You don't even get a tragic backstory."
No curse.
No sealed power.
No late bloomer flag.
Just… bad.
The author didn't even try to justify it.
Calix Emberheart was bad because the plot needed him to be bad.
"…Wow. Peak writing."
I exhaled.
"Alright. Enough self-pity."
If I wanted to survive—no, rewrite this bullshit—I needed a loophole.
Every power system had one.
Even badly written ones.
Especially badly written ones.
I sat up, rubbing my chin.
"Think. Think like a min-maxing gamer."
If talent was fixed…
Then effort alone wouldn't cut it.
This world didn't reward hard work. It rewarded efficiency.
Kyle Garfield trained half as much as others and surpassed them because the system bent around him.
Which meant—
"There has to be something the system doesn't care about."
Something overlooked.
Something the author didn't consider important enough to optimize.
I snapped my fingers.
"Found it."
The novel treated power paths as separate.
Magic users trained magic.
Swordsmen trained swords.
Bloodline heirs waited for awakenings like idiots praying for RNG.
But there was one thing everyone used.
One thing the author never ranked.
Never measured.
Never quantified.
"…The body."
Physical conditioning.
Stamina.
Pain tolerance.
Reflexes.
Muscle memory.
The author treated physical training like garnish—important for sword users, irrelevant for mages.
Which was hilarious.
Because in real combat?
A weak body meant you died before you finished chanting.
I grinned.
"So if I can't be talented…"
I clenched my fist.
"I'll be unbreakable."
Mana capacity might be low.
Sword aura might be zero.
But there was no stat cap on how much pain a human could endure.
No restriction on endurance.
No limit on how hard I could push this body.
"Author," I whispered. "You forgot one thing."
"Humans adapt."
A knock interrupted my scheming.
This one was… formal.
Controlled.
The kind that screamed authority.
"Master Calix," a servant's voice called. "The Duke and Duchess request your presence."
I froze.
"…Oh."
Right.
Them.
Calix Emberheart's parents.
I stared at the door like it was a portal to hell.
"I don't want to go," I muttered.
And honestly?
Who would?
I wasn't the son they wanted.
I wasn't the heir they needed.
I was the mistake they tolerated.
In the novel, Calix's parents weren't abusive.
That would've required effort.
They were worse.
They were disappointed.
The kind that didn't yell.
Didn't hit.
Didn't care enough.
I stood up slowly.
"…But avoiding them won't change anything."
So I went.
---
The Duke's office was massive.
Stone walls etched with Emberheart crests. A large desk made of obsidian wood. Fire-aspected mana lamps flickered softly, giving the room an eternal sunset glow.
Behind the desk sat Duke Alaric Emberheart.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Red hair streaked with silver. Sharp amber eyes that looked like they could melt steel.
A man who embodied the Emberheart legacy.
Beside him sat Duchess Selene Emberheart.
Elegant. Cold. Beautiful in a distant,with pitch black hair .. unreachable in a way. Her blue eyes barely glanced at me before returning to her tea.
They didn't tell me to sit.
So I stood.
Awkwardly.
Duke Alaric spoke first.
"Calix."
His voice wasn't angry.
Just tired.
"We've discussed your future."
I nodded.
"…That's new."
Selene finally looked at me.
Her gaze was assessing. Detached.
"You are not good at anything," she said calmly.
No insult.
No malice.
Just a statement of fact.
I blinked.
"…Ah."
Duke Alaric continued.
"You have no talent in magic."
"Yes."
"No aptitude with the sword."
"Correct."
"No political acumen."
"Debatable, but fair."
"No discipline."
"That one hurts."
Neither of them reacted.
Alaric sighed.
"So we wondered… what use you could be."
I waited.
"Thankfully," Selene said, sipping her tea, "you are lazy."
I stared.
"…Excuse me?"
"You don't go out," she continued. "You don't attend social gatherings. You don't provoke scandals beyond minor embarrassments."
Duke Alaric nodded.
"That saved us."
My mouth opened.
Closed.
"…Saved you?"
"Yes," Alaric said. "I've maintained our family's reputation by lying."
I felt something crack inside me.
"I told the nobility that my son was focusing on private development. That he was gifted but reserved. That his potential was… immense."
Selene added, "People believe what they want to believe."
I laughed.
A small, broken sound.
"…Of course."
Alaric leaned forward.
"My dear friend, Marquis Roland Ashborne, wishes to strengthen our bond."
Uh-oh.
"He proposes an engagement."
There it was.
"His second daughter will arrive tomorrow."
Selene finally smiled.
A thin, sharp thing.
"Don't fuck it up."
The room went silent.
"Say as little as possible."
"Appear obedient."
"And when she agrees—"
"She won't," I said quietly.
They both paused.
I looked up.
"She won't agree," I repeated. "She's a secondary heroine."
Their brows furrowed.
"…What?"
"Nothing," I sighed. "Forget I said that."
Alaric waved his hand.
"You're dismissed."
I bowed.
Turned.
And left.
---
Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed.
"…Yep."
That was exactly how I remembered it.
The engagement.
The girl who would eventually fall for Kyle Garfield.
The girl who would reject me publicly.
The girl who would blame me.
And everyone would believe her.
Because I was Calix Emberheart.
Useless.
Stupid.
Disposable.
I stared at the ceiling again.
"…This is bad."
Very bad.
But then I smiled.
"Which means I don't have time to waste."
I sat up.
"Forget engagements."
"Forget reputation."
"Forget romance."
My eyes burned with determination.
"First priority: strength."
Before the academy.
Before Kyle.
Before Evelyn.
Because when I meet Evelyn—
I clenched my fist.
"I refuse to be the same idiot."
And somewhere deep inside…
Calix Emberheart's story finally began to change.