[ Name: Kaizen Renji Asahina ]
Student #4 stared at the blue holographic window floating in his peripheral vision.
'Th-that's me… that's my name…'
He stared at the letters until they blurred.
A lump formed in his throat, thick and painful. He wasn't an extra anymore. He wasn't just a background asset created to make the scene look busy.
He wasn't "Student #4," the designated cannon fodder whose only purpose was to get thrown through a window to prove the villain was serious.
He was a person.
A myriad of emotions shook his core—relief, terror, joy. But mostly, a desperate clarity.
'I have a name. I have a life. And I am going to keep it.'
He was no longer student #4, he now was Kaizen. Kaizen Renji Asahina.
His plan formed instantly: Live quietly. Graduate with a C-average. Get a boring job in logistics. Never, ever make eye contact with a Main Character. He would become the master of mediocrity. He wouldn't even touch the plot with a ten-foot pole.
Somewhere deep in the abyss of the game's source code, a dark entity shifted.
[The Demon King Malakar has stirred in his sleep… ]
Kaizen blinked. 'What was tha—'
BOOM!
A massive shockwave shook the ground, cutting off his thought. Dust billowed out from the courtyard he had just escaped, rattling the loose bricks of the alleyway.
"YOUTH!!"
A voice boomed like a cannon firing inside a cathedral. It was loud enough to rattle Kaizen's teeth in his skull.
He peeked around the corner, careful to keep his head low.
Standing in the center of the carnage was a man who was 90% muscle and 10% mustache. He struck a pose, biceps bulging through his suit, sparkles literally manifesting in the air around him.
Professor Ironwood. The Head of Martial Arts.
"FIGHTING IS A WASTE OF PRECIOUS CALORIES!" Ironwood roared, tears of manly passion streaming down his face. "BUT YOUR PASSION… IT REMINDS ME OF THE SPRINGTIME OF MY OWN YOUTH!"
He inhaled. The air pressure in the courtyard dropped visibly.
'Here it comes,' Kaizen thought, shrinking back into the shadows. 'The Crowd Control skill.'
"IRONWOOD STYLE HIDDEN TECHNIQUE: GALE FORCE OF DISCIPLINE!"
The Professor clapped his hands.
WHOOSH.
A hurricane erupted. Not a breeze. A literal localized tornado.
Bodies flew.
Kaizen watched as Student #5, Student #12, and the Goon Squad were lifted off their feet and ragdolled into the stone walls.
Thud. Smack. Crunch.
[ Critical Hit! ]
[ Critical Hit! ]
Kaizen winced. That was definitely more than 10 damage. That was a mass concussion event.
If he had stayed there… if he hadn't broken character… he would be one of those twitching bodies groaning on the pavement right now.
'I survived,' Kaizen realized, gripping his chest. 'I actually changed my fate.'
The dust settled.
Professor Ironwood struck another pose, his teeth flashing with a blinding ting sound effect.
From the shadows of the main building, another figure emerged. The clicking of high heels on stone cut through the groans of the injured students.
It was a woman with sharp glasses, a tight bun, and a clipboard. She looked at the devastation with the warmth of an iceberg.
Professor Lane. The Theory Instructor.
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. The lenses flashed white, obscuring her eyes. Anime Logic dictated she was currently calculating everyone's failure rate.
"Disappointing," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it silenced the courtyard. "This year's batch is softer than usual. Knocked out by a mere Rank-C wind pressure spell?"
She shook her head, scribbling something on her clipboard. Probably writing 'Expel everyone' in red ink.
"Wait," Ironwood said, pointing a finger thick as a sausage. "LOOK! THE FLAME OF YOUTH STILL BURNS!"
Professor Lane paused. She looked to the center of the crater.
Two figures were still standing.
Leo Crimson. Lance Wind.
They hadn't moved an inch. Their clothes whipped in the wind, but their feet were planted like roots. They were locked in a death stare, ignoring the teachers, ignoring the unconscious bodies, ignoring common sense.
The Protagonist and the Villain.
The air between them crackled.
Lance sneered, brushing a speck of dust off his expensive blazer.
"You have done something you shouldn't have done, peasant."
Leo didn't blink. He gripped the hilt of his rusty sword. "And you don't have any right to bully the weak."
"My lineage is my right," Lance spat, flipping his blonde hair. "You would know that pretty soon, peasant boy. Hmph."
Lance turned on his heel and walked away, stepping over the body of one of his own minions without looking down.
Leo watched him go, then sheathed his sword with a dramatic click. He turned and walked the opposite direction.
'So cool,' Kaizen thought, rolling his eyes. 'The dialogue is so cheesy I'm getting secondhand embarrassment. But... they really are monsters.'
Everyone else was unconscious. Those two took a direct hit from a boss-level NPC and didn't even flinch. That was the power gap.
Professor Lane adjusted her glasses again. A rare flicker of interest crossed her face.
"Interesting," she muttered. Then she clapped her hands sharply. "You lot! The ones who are conscious! Carry the dead weight to the infirmary. The rest of you, get to the Auditorium. The Opening Ceremony begins in five minutes. If you are late, you are expelled."
Kaizen stiffened.
'Five minutes?'
The Auditorium was on the other side of the campus. It was a twenty-minute walk.
He was going to be late.
If he was late, he would stand out. If he stood out, he might get expelled. If he got expelled, he'd be a homeless, penniless NPC in a world full of monsters.
'I need to run!'
Kaizen pushed off the wall, his new name burning in his mind.
'I need to blend in. I need to be part of the mob.'
He sprinted out of the alleyway, merging into a stream of other terrified students—the faceless "Extras" fleeing the scene. They were his people. The background textures.
"Run! Don't look back!" someone screamed.
"I don't want to be expelled!" another wailed.
Kaizen matched their pace perfectly. Just another student in the crowd. Just another polygon in the render queue.
'Perfect,' he thought, his chest heaving. 'Safety in numbers. If I stay in the middle of the pack, the plot can't find me.'