Sorata walked through the streets of Lucincia Kingdom, where mornings were bleak, afternoons were breathtakingly beautiful, and evenings hid dangers around every corner. It was exactly 7 a.m., and the air was still cold, as if competing with the city that had yet to fully wake up. He wore his school uniform, which hugged his frame, with white as its base color, accentuated by sharp red and black patterns. The uniform belonged to his team, "Wings in the Clouds," the lowest-ranking group in the school, and rather than marking him as part of something greater, it only served to remind him of his position. It was a symbol of weakness, a daily reminder of how far behind he was in a world where power reigned supreme. According to the school's rules, each team was required to have its own distinct uniform. However, in a world where power was the foundation, no one would bat an eye at such distinctions. Power transcended justice and equality here.
As Sorata walked, the cold wind bit at his skin, a stark reminder that the world had no care for his struggles. His footsteps echoed down the empty street, each one heavy with the weight of his thoughts. The uniform, with its bold red and black patterns, felt like a prison more than a symbol. It didn't matter that the rules demanded every group wear their own colors. The others in their pristine outfits, their eyes full of purpose and pride, made him feel even smaller. To them, "Wings in the Clouds" was nothing more than a joke — a team of misfits and failures.
He often wondered: what was the true meaning of power? Was it the ability to bend the world to your will, to stand at the top while others crawled at your feet? Or was power something more subtle, something found in the small moments, in the persistence of one's spirit? Sorata had come to realize that the world had a narrow view of power — it was always loud, always visible, always dominant. But what if true strength was hidden in the quiet moments, in the acceptance of one's own weakness, in the courage to continue despite being overlooked?
But for Sorata, the humiliation was something he had to carry every day. The whispers, the stares — they were all part of the same reality. It wasn't about the magic. It wasn't about the power. It was about knowing that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he longed for change, he would always be seen as weaker, lesser.
He often asked himself: Is this what it means to live in a world where power is the measure of worth? To be reduced to nothing more than a symbol of weakness, a thing to be discarded when no longer useful? Yet, in the deepest corners of his mind, there was a question he couldn't shake: What if power wasn't the goal at all? What if, in the end, survival — or perhaps understanding — was the true purpose?
As he reached the school gates, the usual sight greeted him: the top-tier students gathering in their exclusive areas, laughing, talking, their powers evident even in their casual mannerisms. Sorata glanced over at the elite group, his eyes narrowing in frustration. They had everything — the fame, the skill, the power. He had nothing.
But was it right to want what they had? Was it right to define himself by what others thought of him, by the standards they set? In his heart, Sorata knew the answer was no. He had to find his own path, even if it was harder, even if it was filled with failure and disappointment. Perhaps the greatest strength wasn't in the power to stand above others, but in the strength to rise after each fall.
"Another day of proving that I don't belong here," Sorata muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around the straps of his bag.
When Sorata stepped into school early in the morning, gray clouds hung over the city, much like his hopeless state of mind. Mornings in the Lucincia Kingdom were always dreary, much like everything else. The city had begun to wake up, but slowly. The streets were still engulfed in a cold whiteness, and with every step, the moss between the gray stones seemed to tremble. The 7-hour class marathon was about to begin, after all, the school's schedule was demanding and exhausting. As a member of the most well-known and simultaneously most degrading group, "Wings in the Clouds," Sorata felt a heavy, sinking sensation as he moved from class to class. In a world where everything was measured by power and status, every group had its own special uniform. But for Sorata, this uniform only dragged him further down. That day, with his uniform adorned with red and black patterns on white fabric, he didn't feel stylish at all. Instead, he was overwhelmed by a constant sense of shame.
After the obligatory 3-hour group work session, Sorata's only task was to fade even further into the background. On one side, there was a young man questioning his potential, and on the other, a young man struggling to fight with nothing but dark magic. The more effort he put into life, the less it seemed to give back. There were times when he had to serve even his own sister. "Am I really forced to do this?" he often wondered. Unfortunately, the school paid them for every task they performed. While the amounts were small, they were enough to cover student expenses. Still… that money wasn't enough to escape his despair.
After finishing his tasks, it was time for the extra hour he spent training. The hard part, however, was that he had no talent for magic. With zero mana capacity, he was only able to use dark magic, which only made things more difficult.
At one point, while he was training, Hina approached him. As always, she scanned him with her sharp eyes, and as usual, she spoke with a tone that was both stern and slightly teasing.
Hina (placing her hands on her hips, smiling faintly): "You've worked hard again today. Have you made any progress with your mana?"
Sorata (lost in thought, forcing a smile): "Ah... well... not really. But I'll keep going. This world doesn't seem very fair to me in that regard, hahaha." (He forced a smile, trying to hide his frustration.)
But Hina could sense the forced smile. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she focused entirely on him. Without warning, she took a few steps toward him and gave his cheek a sharp slap.
Hina: "Where do you get these ridiculous ideas? You can't escape the truth by blaming the world. There's always a way, as long as you keep working."
Sorata (his cheek reddened but filled with a sense of pride): "Unfortunately, I can't escape the existence of potential either."
Hina, with a look that held a deep meaning, continued firmly: "You must keep going. If you ever need help, just call for me. For now, head home, you've worked hard today."
As Sorata tried to absorb his sister's words, he couldn't help but reflect on her stern yet caring attitude. A part of him longed to be alone, but her usual guiding approach and those stern yet kind words still gave him just enough strength to continue.