Chapter 3: CHAPTER 2 - The Forsaken Heir (2)
As the class continued, the teacher's display of power served as a stark reminder of the hierarchy that existed within the academy. The students, each possessing unique abilities and skills, looked on with a mixture of awe and envy. Ichiro, however, sat in his seat, a quiet observer in a world where he was meant to shine.
The discrepancy between Ichiro's lack of power and his enrollment in the prestigious academy had long been a source of confusion and resentment. He was an anomaly, a puzzle that the students and faculty couldn't quite decipher. Why was he here? How had he managed to enter an institution reserved for those with extraordinary abilities?
The answer lay in his lineage, the connection to the late Lady Takahashi. Though Ichiro himself lacked any visible power, his family's reputation had earned him a place among the elite. The whispers that followed him, the annoyed glances, were a manifestation of the resentment that brewed among those who had fought tooth and nail to earn their positions.
The bullying he endured was an expression of that resentment. Students who had tirelessly honed their abilities felt that Ichiro's presence cheapened their achievements. To them, his enrollment without having to undergo rigorous exams was a mockery of their efforts.
The academy's hope that Ichiro's powers might eventually manifest was a small consolation to those who questioned his presence. They looked upon Ichiro with skepticism, unconvinced that he could ever reach the same heights as those around him. The tale of the powerful individual who had taken decades to manifest his abilities was viewed with both doubt and annoyance.
One of the most powerful individual circumstances was like that. It took at least 20 years for him to manifest his power and he is one of the strongest soldiers of the country.
And then, with a sweeping gesture, Ms. Aoki's arms became enveloped in a brilliant cascade of lightning. The intense, bluish-white energy flowed around her limbs, tracing intricate patterns that illuminated her figure like a living work of art. The bolts of electricity crackled and hummed, creating an otherworldly symphony that resonated through the room.
The students watched in wonder as Ms. Aoki's power seemed to defy the laws of nature. The way the lightning danced in harmony with her movements, responding to her every whim, was a testament to her mastery over the element. It was a display of power and finesse that left the audience in silent awe.
Ichiro, too, was captivated by the spectacle before him. He admired Ms. Aoki's ability to command such raw energy, to wield it with grace and control.
"My gosh, how is Ms. Aoki doing that?"
"Ms. Aoki was a former soldier. She was classed as Tier 7 when it comes to magic ability."
"Despite her lack in combat, she was one of the greatest support of main heroes."
As Ms. Aoki's demonstration came to an end, Ichiro's thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. Watching her command the raw power of lightning was a breathtaking sight, and he couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and envy. To think that such power resided within a person he saw every day as a teacher was both inspiring and humbling.
As the students began to disperse, Ichiro's attention was drawn to Ms. Aoki's words. Her voice carried a weight of authority as she addressed the class, her message a potent reminder of the dedication required to harness such incredible abilities.
"Listen, you lot," she began, her gaze sweeping over the assembled students. "Such power is only possible if you practice hard. Remember, you won't be able to possess such ability in just one night. It needs extreme training and concentration."
Her words struck a chord within Ichiro. He understood the truth of her statement – the path to mastery was paved with effort, dedication, and unwavering determination. Yet, as he looked around at the students who surrounded him, each with their own unique powers, he couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider.
Ms. Aoki continued, her voice firm and commanding. "Most of you should be able to cast Tier 3 to 4 magic. I expect half of you should be able to perform Tier 4 in the next mock exam. If not, don't expect to be in my class."
As Ichiro absorbed Ms. Aoki's words, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The weight of her ultimatum bore down on him, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was the moment he had been dreading – the end of his time at the academy.
His heart raced as he considered the implications. Could this truly be it, his final days within the walls of Arcanvale Academy? The thought was like a cold gust of wind, chilling him to his core. The journey he had embarked upon, the hope he had nurtured, it all seemed to hang in the balance.
He watched as his classmates exchanged determined glances, their faces etched with a resolve to meet Ms. Aoki's challenge head-on. He knew they would put in the effort, channeling their powers to rise to her expectations. But as he looked at his own hands, his heart weighed heavy with a sense of powerlessness.
In his heart, he recognized that Ms. Aoki's words were directed at him. It had been months since he had entered the academy, and still, his abilities remained dormant. His combat skills were lackluster at best, and he struggled to manifest even the simplest magical gestures. The disparity between his peers and himself seemed insurmountable.
"Ichiro Takahashi!" The teacher's voice cut through the training grounds, sharp and commanding. Ichiro's heart sank as he looked up, his breath catching in his throat. He knew what was coming – another failed attempt at something that seemed so simple for his classmates.
Around him, his peers effortlessly wielded various weapons, their movements fluid and confident. Each weapon seemed to dance in their hands, an extension of their powers and abilities. Yet, for Ichiro, it was a struggle just to lift the simplest of weapons.
He glanced at the dagger before him, its weight heavy both physically and metaphorically. The magical energy infused within these weapons meant that they were far heavier than their physical appearance suggested. Only those with superhuman abilities, individuals who could tap into their innate powers, could wield them effectively.
But for Ichiro, the dagger might as well have been an immovable mountain. He had tried countless times, pouring every ounce of his determination into lifting it, but it remained stubbornly anchored to the ground. Each failure felt like a reminder of his inadequacy, a confirmation of his perceived weakness.
As the teacher's gaze bore down on him, Ichiro felt the weight of expectations pressing upon him. He knew the teacher's frustration was justified – after all, he was the only one struggling in a class of skilled and empowered students.
"Again!" the teacher commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Ichiro took a deep breath, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger. He summoned every ounce of strength within him, channeling his focus into the task at hand.
With a grunt of effort, Ichiro tried to lift the dagger, his muscles straining against the weight. But once again, the weapon remained unmoved, a silent testament to his perceived lack of power. His heart raced, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment burning within him.
He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him, their gazes a combination of curiosity and pity. For all his determination, for all his efforts, he seemed to be trapped in a cycle of failure. The feeling of isolation, of being the odd one out, intensified within him.
The teacher's voice cut through the silence once more, this time tinged with impatience. "Ichiro, you need to focus your energy. Clear your mind and tap into your potential." The words were meant to be encouraging, but they only served to highlight Ichiro's struggle.
"I'm sorry, I just can't." Ichiro's voice was filled with a mixture of frustration and resignation as he finally let the dagger slip from his grasp. He looked down at the ground, his heart heavy with a sense of defeat that seemed to weigh him down.
The teacher's expression softened as he observed Ichiro's defeated stance. He sighed, his own disappointment mingling with empathy. He had seen this struggle unfold, had watched as Ichiro battled against the odds, and he knew that this moment was inevitable.
The teacher's sigh spoke volumes, and Ichiro sensed that there was more to his reaction than just sympathy. He had seen this scenario before – the struggle of a student who didn't quite fit the mold, who faced challenges beyond the scope of the academy's standards. The school director's insistence on keeping Ichiro, despite his lack of progress, was a point of tension that the teacher understood all too well.
As Ichiro became aware of the states of his fellow classmates. Their angry and frustrated glances were like arrows aimed at him, each one carrying the weight of their own struggles and sacrifices.
"What gives, he can't even lift a f*cking dagger and he gets to stay in school."
"If my father finds out about this he'll kill me, yet Ichiro gets to say sorry and everything is fine."
"What father? He's a bastard, so no one will care about him."
The unspoken resentment was palpable, a tangible barrier between Ichiro and his peers. He understood their anger – they had poured their blood, sweat, and tears into earning their place at the academy. For them, it was a symbol of pride, an affirmation of their hard work and dedication.
And then there was Ichiro, standing before them, seemingly allowed to give up and still be granted a spot within the prestigious institution. To them, it was an injustice, a slap in the face to their own efforts. The fact that he had apologized for not meeting expectations and still retained his place only fueled their frustration.
'As if I wish to be here.' Ichiro thought to himself as he continue to ignore everyone's gazed.
Their eyes bore into him, accusing and judgmental, their unspoken words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Ichiro felt the weight of their collective gaze, the sense of isolation deepening. He knew that he had become a target for their discontent, a living reminder of the uneven playing field they perceived.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone