Raphaël walks through the high school courtyard, alone as usual, watching the other students chatting and leaving together.
Today was supposed to be the last day of high school. He saw the other students sharing their memories of the past year, but he had none worth remembering.
People like Raphaël are considered useless to society because of their Magic Utilization Percentage (MUP). With a meager 4%, he holds the lowest rate in the entire school a figure deemed pathetically low.
Since the major event that occurred around 200 years ago, the world has undergone a radical transformation, marked by the emergence of magic.
Due to the Convergence and the war that followed, humanity was divided into seven distinct nations. Raphaël resides in the Arcadian Federation, a nation known for its thirst for conquest.
From birth, children inherit a Magic Utilization Percentage (MUP), a number that often determines their place in society.
The MUP measures how much magic a person can harness. In Raphaël's case, he knows all too well that with such a low MUP, his chances of entering the Academy are nearly nonexistent. To be admitted, an individual must have an MUP of at least 5%.
"And so, Raphaël? No one came to say goodbye to you?"
A brown-haired boy stood before him, accompanied by four others. Together, they had surrounded him. The other students watched the scene unfold, but none seemed surprised. They all knew what was about to happen… yet no one intended to step in.
The brown-haired boy stepped closer to Raphaël, a smug smile on his lips.
"Answer when I talk to you, you pathetic loser! Your ugly face pisses me off."
Raphaël locked eyes with him.
Then, without warning, he struck with all his might. His fist crashed violently into his aggressor's face, sending him to the ground. The impact was so brutal that blood trickled from the corner of his lips.
"You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for that!" he roared in fury.
Three of them lunged at Raphaël, hitting him without restraint. He took the blows, his breath knocked out of him, as pain spread through his body.
The other students merely watched, motionless. No one intervened, as if this scene was completely normal, as if Raphaël was nothing more than trash to be crushed without consequence.
"What the hell was I thinking, hitting him? I shouldn't have… Damn it…" Raphaël thought as he endured the blows from his attackers.
Kevin cast a basic wind spell, Celestial Gust, aiming straight at Raphaël.
A violent blast struck him head-on, hurling him brutally against the wall. A dull thud echoed at the moment of impact.
"AAAHHH!" Raphaël screamed in pain.
Kevin rushed at him and resumed his beating. "You little bastard! Since when do weaklings with 4% get to fight back?" he spat with contempt, hitting even harder.
A voice suddenly rang out.
"Hey, stop that! Aren't you ashamed, ganging up five against one?!"
The trembling voice belonged to Larry. Frail, leaning on his crutches, he wore round glasses that slipped slightly down his nose. His fragile body didn't stop him from having a heart too big to ignore injustice.
Kevin and his gang burst into laughter.
"Look at this… A four-eyed cripple playing the hero!" Kevin sneered, a cruel smile on his lips.
Three of them moved toward Larry. One of them snatched a crutch from him before violently shoving him to the ground.
"You wanted to act tough? Then take this!" he laughed.
Larry didn't have time to react. The blows rained down on him mercilessly. He curled up into a ball, trying to protect himself, just like Raphaël had moments earlier.
The scene seemed to last an eternity. Yet no one intervened. Fear was palpable. Kevin had the highest PDM in the school at 21%. Who would dare stand against him?
Finally, growing bored, Kevin and his friends abandoned their victims, leaving them sprawled on the ground before walking away laughing.
A heavy silence settled in.
Raphaël turned his head toward Larry, who was still on the ground. "Why did you do that for me?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
Larry gave a tired smile. "Sorry… but when someone needs help, it's only natural to help them."
Raphaël slowly straightened up, dusting off his uniform with a grimace. "You're going to make a lot of enemies if you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
He took a few steps before casually adding, "Well, see you, four-eyes."
Larry blinked in surprise. "Huh? Wait! At least tell me your name!"
Without turning around, Raphaël answered in a calm voice, "My name is Raphaël Walter."
Raphaël walked home slowly, each step reigniting the pain from the blows he had taken. His body was bruised, his mind empty, numbed by exhaustion.
Standing in front of his apartment door, he took a deep breath before stepping inside.
A sharp stench of alcohol immediately hit his face.
His father was there.
Slumped on the couch, a glass in hand, he was snoring loudly. Empty bottles littered the floor around him. Raphaël knew this scene all too well. He didn't need to look to know what would come next.
Doing his best to stay silent, he slowly made his way toward his room. He was almost there…
But a deep voice shattered the silence.
"Hey… where do you think you're going?"
Raphaël froze.
His father had sat up on the couch. His tired eyes scanned his son before stopping on his bruised face.
"Got yourself into trouble again, huh?"
Raphaël remained silent. He knew there was no point in answering.
His father grunted before suddenly standing up, swaying slightly from the alcohol.
"You're really good for nothing… Always getting beaten up like a damn rat! You can't even defend yourself!"
His heavy footsteps echoed through the room as he approached.
Raphaël felt his heart race. He knew that look. That rage-filled stare the look of a man searching for an outlet for his frustration.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you little brat!"
His father's hand rose.
Instinct took over. Raphaël jerked back, narrowly dodging the slap. His heart pounded violently.
His father stared at him, surprised. He hadn't expected his son to evade. Shock quickly gave way to anger.
"Oh… so now you dare to defy me?"
Raphaël remained silent. He knew that speaking would only make things worse. Yet, a deep, burning anger simmered inside him.
Why did he always have to endure? Why did he have to take hit after hit without ever fighting back?
His father stepped closer, ready to teach him a lesson.
But this time, Raphaël did something he had never dared to do before.
He turned on his heels and ran.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE !"
His father's enraged voice echoed behind him, but he didn't stop.
He flung the apartment door open and bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest with every step.
He thought of nothing but escape. Away from here. Away from everything.
The wind whipped against his face, mixing with the tears he refused to acknowledge. Pain radiated through his battered body, but he ignored it. He ignored the stares of passersby, their indistinct murmurs.
He ran until his legs could carry him no further.
When he finally stopped, he realized where he was.
A bridge.
Below him, a black, silent river.
The cold wind brushed against his face.
Raphaël stepped closer to the edge, his eyes fixed on the dark water stretching beneath him unfathomable, silent.
"I have nothing left to lose."
Slowly, he placed one hand on the railing, then the other. His body trembled, but not from the cold.
The city lights glowed behind him, blurred, unreal. It all felt so distant already, as if this world no longer belonged to him.
He closed his eyes.
And then
"Stop, Raphaël!"
His eyes snapped open.
That voice…
He turned his head.
Larry.
Standing there, out of breath, leaning on his crutches as if they were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His gaze was filled with pure distress, with genuine fear.
"Get down from there! Please, believe me… this isn't the answer! This won't solve any of your problems!" he shouted.
A shiver ran down Raphaël's spine.
He wanted to stop. A part of him wanted to listen to Larry.
But then
His feet slipped on the damp railing.
His body tilted forward.
The air whistled past his ears as he fell.
A sudden vertigo. The world blurred around him, rushing by at an impossible speed.
"So… this is how my life ends…?"
He closed his eyes one last time, letting memories of his mother flood his mind.
"I'm sorry, Mom… I guess I'll be joining you sooner than expected."
The impact never came.
When he opened his eyes, it was no longer the river he saw.
It was a world in flames.
He collapsed to his knees on cracked, smoldering ground. The air was so hot he struggled to breathe. Every inhale burned his lungs as if he were sucking in embers.
He lifted his head… and his heart froze.
The sky, an abyssal black, was streaked with crimson fissures, oozing with a blood-red glow. A deep, guttural rumble echoed through the atmosphere, like a whisper from beyond the grave.
Around him, twisted figures writhing in agony screamed in torment. Some crawled, their bodies consumed by eternal flames. Others were bound in chains, dragged into the darkness by enormous creatures with razor-sharp claws.
Monsters with glowing eyes lurked in the shadows, watching their prey with cruel patience.
A shiver of terror ran down Raphaël's spine.
Hell.
A chilling, deep laughter echoed behind him.
"Hahaha… So, little mouse, are you enjoying your new surroundings?"
Raphaël spun around.
Before him stood a titanic creature, draped in a cloak of living flames. Two massive horns, like those of a bull, jutted from its skull. Its crimson eyes gleamed with amusement as they bore into him.
"Who… who are you?!" Raphaël stammered, his breath shallow.
The demonic being laughed again.
"Come now… a little respect."
It took a step forward, and the ground beneath it cracked from the searing heat it emitted.
"My name is Astaroth. One of the Grand Dukes of Hell."
He snapped his fingers.
A searing, unbearable pain shot through Raphaël blinding, inhuman.
Scarlet flames erupted from the ground, engulfing him completely.
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
Astaroth watched the scene impassively before murmuring:
"You will understand, boy… This is only the beginning."
The flames twisted, slithering beneath his skin, crawling through his veins like thousands of molten needles.
His throat burned. Every breath brought only ash and agony.
Screams.
Distant, inhuman cries of the damned echoed inside his skull. Broken voices, weeping, begging, sinking into eternal torment.
"Please… Stop…" he sobbed.
But the flames did not stop.
They grew stronger. They consumed him, crushed him.
His vision blurred. Tears streamed down his face, evaporating instantly under the hellish heat. His body convulsed, breaking under the sheer horror of this endless torment.
And then, that voice.
Deep. Demonic. Absolute.
"You are only beginning to taste the torments of Hell, little human."
Raphaël felt his mind slipping. Was this the end? Would he be reduced to ashes, swallowed by these infernal flames?
Then, suddenly, everything stopped.
The flames vanished as if they had never existed.
His body collapsed heavily onto the scorching ground. His skin was unharmed, but the pain—it was etched deep into his very soul.
Astaroth crouched down slowly, a cruel smile stretching across his lips.
"Welcome to Hell, young man. Here, suffering is eternal, pain is infinite."
He paused, savoring the despair in Raphaël's eyes.
"But… perhaps there is another path for you."
Raphaël lifted his head, his breath ragged, his eyes wavering between fear and confusion.
"W-what… do you mean?"
"I can bring you back to life… and grant you power beyond anything you have ever dared to dream."
Astaroth leaned in closer, his burning breath brushing against Raphaël's skin.
"In exchange… you must swear loyalty to me."
Raphaël's heart pounded.
The offer was tempting. Far too tempting.
But what price would he have to pay?