The Weak Have No Place in This World

The academy halls were filled with the usual noise—students chatting, laughter bouncing off the walls, and the occasional crackle of mana-infused abilities being tested.

Zayne kept his head down, his grip tightening around the straps of his worn-out bag.

They always stared.

Some in curiosity, others in amusement. He wasn't like them. He had no Mana Ability, no connections, and no future.

In this world, power was everything. Those who lacked it were nothing more than insects to be crushed underfoot.

Tomorrow, his fate would be sealed.

All students were required to attend the compulsory military training academy upon finishing high school. The gifted ones—the rich, the noble, the talented—would rise in rank, earning positions of power. The weak?

They were sent to the front lines as fodder for the endless war against the Abyssal Beasts.

Zayne had spent his entire life knowing he was one of the weak.

And now, he was about to be thrown away like trash.

He walked toward the academy exit, trying to disappear into the crowd. If he could just make it home without—

A foot shot out, catching his ankle.

Zayne barely had time to react before he stumbled forward, crashing onto the cold marble floor, his books and supplies scattering everywhere.

Laughter erupted.

"Oops," a familiar voice sneered. "Didn't see you there, Zayne."

His stomach twisted. Darren Vale.

Zayne clenched his teeth, slowly pushing himself up. He already knew what was coming.

Darren was the son of a high-ranking military officer, one of the academy's strongest students. His Stormblood ability gave him terrifying control over lightning, and his arrogance was as powerful as his fists.

Zayne reached for his books, but Darren's boot came down, pinning his hand to the ground.

"Where do you think you're going, loser?" Darren grinned. "Big day tomorrow. Ready to die yet?"

The students around them chuckled, eager to see how far this would go.

"Maybe you should beg," Darren continued, leaning in closer. "If you get on your knees and say you're nothing, I might convince my father to give you a desk job instead of throwing you to the beasts."

Zayne stayed silent, forcing himself not to react.

Darren sighed, acting disappointed. "Man, you really don't learn."

He crouched down and picked up one of Zayne's books—a history textbook, one of the few things he actually cared about.

"The hell is this?" Darren flipped through the pages lazily. "You think reading about dead people is gonna help you? You should start taking notes—you'll be joining them soon."

He ripped a page out.

Zayne's vision blurred with rage.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Darren's wrist. "Give it back."

Silence.

Then—

CRACK.

A fist slammed into Zayne's jaw, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Pain exploded through his skull.

Before he could react, a boot crashed into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs.

The laughter grew louder.

"Did he really just touch you, Darren?" one of the onlookers mocked.

Darren crouched beside Zayne, gripping his hair, forcing him to look up.

"You're not even worth hitting," he whispered. "You're just a waste of space."

Then he let go, dropping Zayne back onto the ground.

"See you at the academy, dead man."

The group walked away, still laughing.

Zayne lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, he would be sent to his death.

---

The Stranger in His Home

The walk home was silent.

His ribs ached with every step, his vision still swimming from the blow to his jaw. But none of that mattered.

By this time tomorrow, he would either be dead or on his way to the battlefield.

He reached his small apartment, unlocking the door and stepping inside. The same emptiness greeted him. No family. No friends. Just a barely furnished space and a hollow silence.

His parents had vanished when he was young, leaving no explanation. Yet, no matter how desperate things got, money always appeared in his account at just the right time—never enough to thrive, just enough to survive.

It didn't matter anymore.

Zayne sighed, stepping into his room, reaching for the light switch—

"How are you, young master?"

Zayne froze.

A man sat in the darkness.

Wrapped in tattered bandages, his entire body covered except for two burning amber eyes.

Zayne barely had time to react before the man moved.

A fist slammed into his chin.

His world spun as he crashed against the wall, pain flooding through his skull. Before he could react, the man grabbed his wrist—

A device was pressed against his skin.

A tattoo gun-like machine, with an Overwritten Beast Crystal fused to the end.

Raw energy tore through Zayne's body.

He screamed as his veins burned, his cells twisting and mutating, his muscles breaking and reforging.

His DNA was being rewritten.

A symbol burned onto his forearm, glowing golden before darkening into black runes.

The stranger staggered back, breathing heavily.

Then—the sound of hundreds of locks clicking open echoed from the man's body.

Zayne's blurred vision focused just in time to see dozens of mana-seals breaking apart, glowing chains unraveling from the stranger's limbs.

The bandaged man let out a sigh of relief, stretching his arms.

"My work here is done," he murmured. His amber eyes flickered toward Zayne, unreadable. "Now it's up to you."

Then—he was gone.

Zayne collapsed, gasping, his body trembling violently.

Then—

[Overwritten Beast Crystal Successfully Integrated.]

[Skill Ability: Genetic Absorbtion.]

The pain was imcomprehendalble it felt like every cell of his was being injected with hundreds of needle at that time

Gradually the pain decreased his body felt new like he was reborn not stronger but more new.

Why did the man call him young master? What type of Overwritten crystal was that? Thousands of questions echoes in his.

[Welcome new host]

What are you?

[ I am the chimera system designed to help you]

Why?

Not enough authourity

Just as he was talking with the system a knock

Zayne Grium-Reqium open your door