The morning sun barely pierced the smog-choked alleyways of Kaldor City, but Samagi was already awake. The smell of burning coal and rotting refuse filled the cramped room he called home—a single wooden shack, patched together with scraps. At sixteen, he was no stranger to hunger, bruises, or the cold bite of reality. Yet despite it all, he carried a spark of determination that no amount of poverty could extinguish.
His hands trembled slightly as he prepared a meager breakfast: stale bread soaked in water. Most teenagers his age were training in the streets or receiving basic magical instruction if they had the money—but he had neither. Samagi's magic was considered low-tier Beast Magic, mocked and dismissed by everyone who knew of it. It didn't shoot fire, lightning, or light; it didn't summon monsters. Instead, it lived inside his body, granting him strength, resilience, and instincts beyond what a normal human could endure.
He left the shack and entered the narrow streets, weaving past merchants shouting about potions, scrolls, and rare magical beasts for sale. The city itself was alive with magic—illuminated runes floated above shop signs, nobles flaunted spells as casually as breathing, and every street corner hummed with power. Samagi had always known he would never belong in this world—but he refused to be broken by it.
Stopping at the alley behind the bakery, he flexed his fingers and felt the familiar surge of his magic. His muscles tensed, his senses sharpened, and a faint aura seemed to ripple across his skin. Hunger and fatigue normally left him weak, but his Beast Magic always responded to desperation, enhancing his reflexes and endurance.
"Not today," he muttered to himself. "I won't fall behind."
A shout echoed from the nearby streets. A noble boy, no more than seventeen, stood blocking the path. Lightning danced faintly across his fingers, and his smirk carried the arrogance of someone who had never known real struggle.
"Move aside, commoner," the boy sneered. "This alley isn't for your kind."
Samagi's fists clenched. He could run. He could bow. He could vanish into the shadows, as he often did. But something inside him flared. His muscles rippled under his tattered clothes; his reflexes sharpened to the point where he could anticipate the boy's next move.
"I'm not afraid," Samagi said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
The noble boy laughed and lunged, sending a spark of lightning arcing toward Samagi. He rolled instinctively, his body twisting unnaturally fast, faster than a normal human could manage. When he landed, he barely breathed, but the boy's eyes widened—he had never expected such agility from a commoner.
Samagi didn't attack with magic. He relied on his body. His fists struck like hammers, his legs propelled him like coiled springs, and every instinct, honed by years of struggle and near-starvation, guided him. By the time the boy backed away, nursing a scraped arm, Samagi had already vanished into the alleys, unseen and untouchable.
The encounter left him drained. Sweat ran down his face, muscles trembling with effort. But as he leaned against the wall, catching his breath, he smiled faintly. Each trial, each near-death experience, made him stronger. He wasn't weak, and he wouldn't remain so forever.
Later that day, Samagi moved to the outskirts of the city, where crumbling ruins of an old training arena lay hidden. Here, he could push himself without fear of nobles mocking him. He sprinted across broken stone, vaulting over obstacles with unnatural agility. His Beast Magic responded instantly, enhancing his jumps, reflexes, and endurance. He ran faster than any other commoner could, dodged debris with ease, and swung his fists at imaginary enemies with perfect precision.
Hours passed, and his body ached. But with each punch, kick, and leap, his muscles grew denser, his reflexes sharper. He could feel the magic evolving inside him—not flashy, not showy, but terrifyingly efficient. One day, this power would set him apart from everyone else in the academy, from nobles to elite students.
A soft rustle in the ruins caught his attention. He froze, senses alert. A figure emerged—small, delicate, yet confident. She had long, silver-blue hair and eyes that reflected calm intelligence.
"Who… are you?" Samagi asked cautiously.
The girl smiled faintly. "You shouldn't be here, commoner. This place isn't for someone like you." Her tone wasn't cruel but commanding. Something about her presence made Samagi's heart race.
"I… I just train here," he stammered. "I'm not looking for trouble."
Her gaze lingered on him. "Your magic… it's unusual. Rare. You survived today when others would've fallen. That's impressive."
Samagi's chest tightened. Nobody had ever praised him. He nodded, unsure of what to say.
The girl's eyes softened. "I'll leave you to your training… for now." She turned, walking away gracefully, leaving a strange warmth behind. Samagi watched her go, curiosity and admiration stirring inside him.
By evening, Samagi returned to his shack, exhausted but alive. He reflected on the morning's events:
He had survived another encounter with a noble
His Beast Magic had evolved, responding to instinct, hunger, and adrenaline
He had met someone… who didn't see him as worthless
Lying on the wooden floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, he clenched his fists.
"One day… I'll be strong enough to protect everyone I care about. No matter what. No matter who stands in my way."
The city hummed with magic, ambition, and danger. Inside, a young commoner dreamed—not of escaping, not of fame or wealth—but of becoming someone capable of changing the world.
And somewhere in the shadows, fate had already begun to stir.