Ray Arlon wanted one thing that morning: to understand matrices.
He sat near the window, third row from the back, pencil in hand, trying his best to follow Mr. Tenner's lesson on transforming matrix equations. The whiteboard was covered in numbers, arrows, and symbols that looked more like a lost alien language than anything useful.
"…so if A times X equals B, then X equals A inverse times B. Simple enough, right?" Mr. Tenner said, his voice flat like a radio stuck on low battery.
Ray squinted at his notes. It was anything but simple. He tapped the side of his head with his pencil, trying to make the numbers settle in properly.
Behind him, two boys snickered loudly.
"Bro, I swear if I stare too long at that bald spot, I will turn blind."
"His head reflects the board like a mirror, look!"
Ray sighed. Great. Them again.
He tried to block them out. He tilted his head slightly, leaning closer to the board, hoping to absorb just one more sentence before the noise swallowed the room again.
Another boy joined in. "If I shine a flashlight on his scalp, do you think we can summon aliens?"
Ray gritted his teeth. His pencil pressed deeper into his paper, the lead smudging against the lines. It was annoying. Not the jokes—they were dumb, sure—but the distraction. He needed to pass midterms. He wanted to pass midterms. Not for glory. Not for praise. Just so he could finally have a quiet life.
If I had powers, Ray thought, just a little bit, I'd make them shut up. I swear I would.
The thought surprised him. He wasn't usually angry like this. But there was something about trying to focus while being drowned out by laughter that made his chest tighten.
The classroom lights flickered suddenly. A few students looked up. The projector whirred louder than usual.
Then a girl shouted near the front of the class.
"LOOK—HEROES!"
That got everyone's attention. A murmur ran through the room.
"Where?"
"Where?!"
"Shut up, let me see!"
Chairs scraped. Students jumped from their seats and swarmed the classroom windows like bees to it hive.
Ray didn't budge. He tilted his head just a little, still seated, catching the edge of the scene through the bodies pressed against the glass.
Outside, across the street near the school's outer lane, a fight had broken out.
A team of caped figures—three, maybe four—were clashing with something huge. Something reptilian. A hydra, by the look of its writhing heads. Each one snapped and spit green fire, thrashing through parked cars and concrete walls. The heroes darted and weaved through the chaos like it was just another Tuesday.
The class buzzed with excitement. Phones were out. Voices were high.
Mr. Tenner barely raised an eyebrow. "Everyone, please return to your seats. The lesson isn't over."
One girl rolled her eyes and tossed her braid over her shoulder. "Who cares about your class anyway?"
She stood up, arms crossed. "I wish I had powers. I want to be like Astro Girl. She's strong. Inspirational. Unlike your bald ass."
The class exploded with laughter.
Mr. Tenner sighed. "Let's try to be respectful—"
"No offense," she cut in, "but if I could fly and punch monsters, I'd be anywhere but here."
Ray didn't laugh. Not because he liked the teacher. Not because he hated jokes. He just didn't find it funny. It was too loud. Too fake. Like everyone was trying too hard to prove they didn't care about anything.
I just want quiet. Just want to study. That's all.
Then someone kicked his chair.
It was Theodric—the self-declared leader of the class jorks. Tall, stocky, with a buzz cut and a smirk glued to his face like he'd been born to annoy people.
"Hey," Theodric said, "why aren't you laughing, Arlon?"
Ray looked up. "I usually don't fancy jokes."
The class quieted just a little.
"What?" Theodric tilted his head. "You think you're better than us or something?"
"No. I just… didn't laugh."
Wrong answer.
Theodric's smirk vanished. He kicked the leg of Ray's desk hard, sending a pencil case flying to the floor. "Try again."
Ray didn't say a word.
Theodric's foot snapped forward again, this time catching the leg of Ray's chair.
Ray fell sideways, hitting the floor with a hard thud.
The class roared. Laughter spilled like a waterfall. Phones recorded. No one stepped in. No one even looked guilty.
Ray stared at the ceiling, his back aching, his hands balled into fists.
In his head, something cracked.
I wish I could kill you, he thought. Youimprovished fool.
His vision blurred slightly—not from tears, but from something deeper. Heat. Rage. Something heavy and red pulsed behind his eyes.
Theodric noticed. "Yo, what's up with that face?"
Ray didn't reply.
"You looking at me like that?" Theodric stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "That look for me?"
Two more of his friends grabbed Ray's arms and yanked him to his feet.
"Come on, let's take Mr. Emo outside for a walk."
The teacher didn't stop them. He looked up briefly, then looked back down at his lesson plan. The windows were still crowded. The Hydra was still raging in the background. Everyone had already moved on.
****
Ray didn't remember how long the beating lasted.
It wasn't the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last.
They dragged him out behind the gym locker room. One of them said something about "teaching respect." Another one called him "dead weight." Then the fists came. And the feet. And a metal water bottle to the ribs. Theodric made sure to get the last kick in before they left.
By the time the final bell rang, Ray was unconscious.
No one noticed.
No one checked the locker room.
The school emptied out. The classrooms dimmed. The front gates closed for the night.
Ray woke up sometime later, curled on the cold tile floor, head pounding. His stomach growled like an angry beast.
Ugh...
His hands shook as he tried to sit up. He looked around. The room was dark except for the red blinking light of a motion sensor. The door was locked. The windows were sealed. His phone was in his locker. No clock. No sound. Just him, the cold air, and the smell of sweaty gym socks.
He groaned. "Great."
His body ached with every movement. His lips were dry. His stomach twisted again. He tried to stand but collapsed back down with a grunt.
"Haha… I'm dying," he said weakly to himself, his voice echoing in the locker room.
"I'm actually dying in here. No food. No water. Nothing but bruises and sadness."
He chuckled softly, delirious. "Guess this is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a locker room floor."
His eyes fluttered. He could barely keep them open. His body was shutting down. Slowly. Quietly. Like it was tired of trying.
"Hey, if anyone up there's listening," Ray muttered, "you could've at least given me powers before I kicked the bucket."
He smiled faintly. "Invisibility would've been nice. Just saying."
And then, just as his eyes were about to close for good, something happened.
A sound.
Not in the room.
In his head.
Like a mechanical chime. Sharp and clear.
Then:
[ SYSTEM INITIALIZATION ]
[ User Detected: Ray Arlon ]
[ Class Assigned: SWORDSMAN ]
[ Trait Unlocked: INSTANT KILL ]
[ Rarity: SSS-Rank ]
[ Note: Blade contact required. Power cannot be deactivated. Use with caution. ]
Ray blinked. The words hovered in front of him, bright blue against the dark.
He stared, silent.
"...huh?"
Another chime.
[ Would you like to open your Status Screen? ]
[ Yes / No ]
His hand trembled. He reached out and, without even thinking, whispered, "Yes."
A wall of glowing text replaced the darkness.
[ Name: Ray Arlon ]
[ Level: 1 ]
[ Class: SWORDSMAN ]
[ Trait: INSTANT KILL (SSS-Rank) ]
[ Status: Weak, Hungry, Injured ]
[ EXP: 0 / 100 ]
He let out a weak laugh. "Is this real? Am I… hallucinating?"
But no. The screen didn't vanish. His hunger was still there, but it felt smaller now. His pain was still real, but numbed. His breath slowed. His hands stopped shaking.
Power.
Real power.
His trait's description pulsed faintly at the bottom.
INSTANT KILL (SSS-RANK)
"Anything your blade touches… dies."
Ray's lips curled slowly into a thin, grim smile.
"…I can WHAT with a kitchen knife?"
He lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling, laughter echoing in the empty locker room. Not loud. Not cheerful. But full of something new.
Hope.
Rage.
And maybe, just maybe… a plan.