Have you ever wished for power?

  Every single day, I wished for it. Dreamed of it. Begged for it. Power, strength—anything to pull me out of this wretched existence. I prayed for a miracle, an intervention, a chance. But no matter how much I wanted it, the truth was painfully clear.

  The universe doesn’t care about people like me—ugly, overweight, pathetic. People who are invisible until they’re needed for a joke. I was nothing. Less than nothing. So why would the cosmos ever grant me something so grand as power?

  For four agonizing years, my life has been a purgatory of ridicule and abuse. Day after day, I’ve been the target of taunts, the butt of cruel jokes, and the object of others’ amusement. My so-called peers—no, my tormentors—had one purpose: to grind me into the dirt until there was nothing left of me but dust.

  And yet, despite it all, a flicker of hope survived inside me. A weak ember that refused to go out, whispering that one day things might change. That one day, I’d find the strength to rise above it all.

  But today wasn’t that day. Today was just another in the endless parade of misery.

  The sky outside was a stormy gray, thick clouds pregnant with rain. I sat at my desk, staring out the window, watching the first few drops splatter against the glass. The thought hit me suddenly. Did I bring my umbrella? A quick check of my bag confirmed the answer.

  No. Of course not.

  The realization barely had time to settle before a familiar voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.

  “Hey, Samuel!”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Jackson. His voice dripped with mockery, as it always did. “When we go outside, think you could use that big, fat body of yours to block the rain? You’d make a great human umbrella!”

  Laughter erupted behind me. My jaw clenched.

  “SHUT UP!” I snapped, the words escaping before I could stop them. My voice cracked, betraying my anger, my frustration.

  A new laugh joined the chorus, high-pitched and venomous. Marie. “Oh no, boys. Don’t make him mad. You know what they say about whales—if they belly-flop, it’s game over for us all!”

  Her words ignited another round of laughter, their cruelty so sharp it felt like it was carving pieces out of me.

  They were relentless, merciless. No matter how much I tried to fight back, my words only ever seemed to make things worse.

  By the time I left the office, their words still echoed in my mind, digging into me like nails. The rain had picked up, turning into a relentless downpour that soaked me the moment I stepped outside. Each icy droplet felt like a slap.

  I pulled my coat tighter around me, my shoulders hunched as I trudged forward. No umbrella. My life was a constant reminder that things could always get worse, even when I thought I’d hit rock bottom.

  The streets were eerily quiet, the rain drowning out most of the usual sounds of the city. The lights from passing cars reflected off the puddles, their glow distorted and fractured—just like me.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  When my house finally came into view, it stood as it always did: a crumbling monument to neglect. Weeds choked the small front yard, and the paint had long since peeled away from the walls. It wasn’t much of a home, but it was the only place I had.

  I reached the door, my hands trembling as I fumbled for the keys. That’s when I noticed it.

  The door was slightly ajar.

  My heart sank. Did I forget to lock it? I couldn’t remember. The day had been such a blur of misery that it was entirely possible. But as I stared at the small crack in the door, unease settled in the pit of my stomach.

  I pushed the door open cautiously and stepped inside. The familiar smell of damp air and old furniture greeted me, but tonight it felt different. The shadows seemed deeper, heavier, as if the house itself was holding its breath.

  I moved toward the fridge, my hunger an ever-present ache. The weak yellow light from inside the fridge spilled out as I opened it, bathing the kitchen in a pale glow. I reached for a chocolate bar, desperate for even the smallest comfort.

  “Hello, Samuel.”

  The voice froze me in place. Low, cold, and unyielding, it sliced through the silence like a blade.

  I turned slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. A figure emerged from the shadows, and dread pooled in my stomach. It was him.

  Clinton.

  Clinton was the worst of them. The leader of my tormentors. The man who had orchestrated most of the suffering I endured. His smirk was razor-sharp, his eyes alight with cruel delight.

  “What… what are you doing here?” I stammered, my voice trembling.

  He chuckled, stepping closer. “Oh, come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your friend.” The word dripped with mockery, twisted into something ugly.

  “How did you get in?” My hands clenched at my sides, my mind racing.

  “Let’s skip the boring questions,” he said, his tone almost bored. “I’ll get straight to the point. Your friends—you know, the ones you trust—hired me to kill you.”

  My blood turned to ice. “No… that’s… you’re lying.”

  “Oh, am I?” He pulled out his phone, tapping a button. A recording played.

  “Just get rid of him,” a familiar voice said. James. “He’s disgusting, useless, a waste of space. Honestly, the world would be better off without him.”

  Clinton smiled. “See? Even the people you trusted want you gone.”

  “No…” My voice cracked, my knees threatening to give out.

  “Enough talking,” Clinton said, pulling a gun from his coat. “Easy way or hard way, Sam. Your choice.”

  Panic seized me. My eyes darted to the counter. The knives. Without thinking, I lunged, grabbing one and hurling it.

  The blade sliced across Clinton’s shoulder, drawing blood.

  “You’ve got guts,” he said, laughing darkly. “But guts won’t save you.”

  Bang.

  The first shot tore through my stomach. Pain exploded, stealing my breath.

  Bang.

  The second hit my chest, blood filling my lungs.

  Bang.

  The third sent me to the floor. My body crumpled, blood pooling around me.

  Clinton stood over me, sneering. “How does it feel, Sam? To know your miserable life is finally over?”

  I couldn’t respond. The darkness swallowed me whole.

  And yet… it wasn’t the end.

  In the void, I felt something. A presence. A voice, soft and powerful.

  “Samuel…”

  A woman appeared before me, her silver hair shining like moonlight, her stormy eyes glowing with an ancient power.

  “You’ve suffered greatly,” she said. “But your story is not over.”

  The void twisted and warped, pulling me into the unknown.

  Quest Completed: Determination of the Weak!

  You have met all targets to become the Player. Do you accept?

  Y/N

  Yes

  Starting reincarnation process…

  Process complete!

  New Name: Samuel Raveish

  Age: 0

  Race: Human

  Error! Fatal Error!

  Analyzing data…

  Error fixed.

  Race: 90% Human / 10% Unknown Origin

  Attributes: None

  You have learned the skill: Language Comprehension.

  Accept Skill? Y/N

  Congratulations! You have learned your first skill: Language Comprehension!

  Good luck, Player!