Ash stumbled backward as the man swung.
The metal club slammed into his shoulder, and he hit the ground hard. His face scraped the dirt, and his vision blurred for a moment.
He coughed once, then pushed himself up with both arms. His body was smaller. His hands were thinner.
But his mind was still his.
I'm still Ash Valeender.
The larger kid stepped closer. He was at least twice Ash's new size and held the metal club like he'd done this before. The other one circled behind, kicking a broken basket aside.
"You deaf or something?" the one with the metal club said. "Give me your coins!"
Ash looked up, breathing hard. His left arm was already numb from the blow.
Then, once again, the blue system interface appeared in front of him.
[SUB-CLASS ASSIGNED: TRASH]
Due to environmental stress and class resonance, a subclass has been granted.
What the hell is happening?!
[Sub-Class: Trash]
The unwanted, the discarded, the overlooked. Trash does not rot—it adapts. The Trash subclass specializes in scavenging immediate solutions from surroundings and converting waste into temporary power.
New Passives Unlocked:
Trash Manipulation (Passive)
Gain the ability to control, move, and compact nearby garbage for use in defense, offense, or crafting. Efficiency increases in polluted environments.
Vacuum Ultimatum (Passive)
A unique support tool becomes available: [ITEM ACQUIRED – INDUSTRIAL VACUUM UNIT].
This vacuum can absorb non-living material, convert it into condensed matter, and release it in various forms.
Ash blinked at the glowing text hovering in front of his face. His mouth opened slightly.
The kid with the metal club raised it again.
"I said—!"
Ash didn't move. He looked past the bully's leg, at the pile of garbage bags near the corner of the wall.
Flies swarmed above it. There were broken plates, food scraps, a rusted wheel, and several plastic bottles in a scattered pile.
The interface was still open.
The text pulsed again.
[INDUSTRIAL VACUUM UNIT – EQUIP?]
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
THUMP!
A second later, something heavy landed in his hands. It looked like a bulky, grimy vacuum cleaner with steel wiring and a cracked power gauge, but it hummed with a strange weight.
The bully blinked. "What the hell is that—"
Ash pointed the nozzle without answering.
What can I do to beat this guy?
The vacuum pulled in with a roar. Trash and broken wood flew across the dirt and vanished into the barrel in seconds. The bullies stepped back.
"Hey! What are you—"
Ash pulled the trigger.
A blast of compressed junk, shattered plastic, and pressurized air exploded from the nozzle and struck the bully in the chest. He flew backward into the wall with a crash and dropped the metal club.
Ash stood, shoulder aching, eyes wide, chest heaving.
The vacuum clicked softly.
The two bullies scrambled to their feet, wide-eyed and stumbling as they backed away from the boy with the vacuum.
"What the hell are you!?" the one with the pipe shouted, his voice cracking as he turned to run.
The other followed, not even looking back.
Ash stood there, holding the vacuum unit like it made any kind of sense.
His shoulder still hurt from the hit, and dirt was caked on his face, but none of that mattered.
He looked down at the vacuum in his hands.
"What the hell just happened?"
He didn't get an answer.
The system interface had vanished, and the trash-blaster in his hands flickered once before it turned dull and non-responsive, like it had powered down on its own.
"…Is this thing even real?"
He shook it a few times. It made a rattling sound, like someone shoved screws inside an empty tin can.
He dropped it. It bounced twice and let out a sad phft.
He stared at it for another second, sighed loudly, then muttered, "Sure. Why not."
He brushed off his pants and started walking. The trash-covered alley slowly gave way to narrow dirt roads lined with stacked brick houses.
He knew the route. He'd taken it every day after school.
"Right," he muttered, "I was going home."
His shoulder still ached, and his legs felt sore, but he walked like he didn't care.
Those two idiots had been in his class. Now they were running like they saw a demon.
He stepped past a broken gate and up a short concrete stair. The door was half open.
Inside, the house was small, cramped, and half-lit. Their kitchen table was missing one leg and leaned against a bucket.
His mother stood near the corner shelf, scrubbing one of the church's borrowed altar cloths.
She looked over and gave a tired smile. "Ash, you're late."
"I walked home," he said.
"We have a deal," she said gently. "You go to school and I cover food. The church won't pay me more just because you feel like skipping class."
"I didn't skip," he said, kicking his shoes off. "I was behind a house."
"Doing what?"
"Getting robbed."
She frowned. "Again?"
"Don't worry. They won't try it next time."
She looked at him, hesitating. "You didn't do anything reckless, right?"
He shrugged. "I just didn't feel like losing today."
She sighed. "You can't just fight everyone."
"I didn't fight," he said. "I improvised."
Before she could ask what that meant, he walked past her and headed straight to his room.
"And wipe your shoes before entering next time," she called after him. "We just cleaned the floor."
"I noticed," he said flatly.
He pushed the door open and stopped.
Inside was his younger sister, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sweat on her brow.
She wore a training vest over her school uniform, and a short wooden blade rested on her lap. Her black hair was tied into a messy bun, and her hands were marked with fresh bruises.
She looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"You're late."
"I got jumped," Ash said.
"Again?"
"Everyone keeps saying that," he said, dropping onto the bed without asking for space. "Should I wear a sign or something?"
She rolled her eyes and grabbed the blade. "I'm going to be in the top ten this year. Don't expect me to defend you."
"I don't," he said. "I just expect you to stop hogging the room."
"This is my half."
"Then turn your half's lights off. I'm sleeping."
She scoffed, stood, and resumed her practice without saying anything.
Ash lay on his side, staring at the cracked ceiling.
He still didn't know what just happened.
Ash jerked upright in bed.
I'm in a new body!
"What the hell!?" he shouted, running his hands down his face, feeling the smaller features of his younger self.
His legs, his arms—he felt weaker, smaller, and everything from his last life, his old body, was gone.
He wasn't dead anymore. Not in the way he thought. But he was different. His mind was the same, but his body, his life—everything had changed.
Is this a second chance?
His head spun for a moment, then everything clicked. The clarity came in fast, like a gut punch.
I'm not gonna waste this life.
His goal? Simple. To get as rich as possible, as fast as possible. And then he would wipe out every rich person on this planet. The wealth, the power—he'd destroy them all. He'd take it all, and when he did, there would be no one left standing but him.
I'm gonna be the only rich person.
He grinned to himself, imagining it all. His name would be known everywhere, and no one would dare look down on him ever again. He chuckled darkly.
Muhahahaha!
He slapped the bed and stood up, a burst of energy flooding his limbs.
Without a second thought, he dropped down and started doing pushups. He didn't care how sore he was.
It didn't matter. In this new life, he wasn't going to be the lazy, weak Ash anymore. He would be strong.
His sister, still training with her wooden blade in the corner, froze and stared at him in complete confusion.
"What the...?" she muttered, pausing mid-swing.
Ash didn't answer. He just kept going, his arms straining. She stared at him for a moment longer before scoffing.
"You never cared about being strong. You always complained about how tired you were." She shook her head and went back to her training, mumbling something under her breath.
Ash didn't mind. He had a new purpose now, a new goal. He didn't care if anyone else understood. He wasn't going to be the same guy anymore.
The sound of the doorbell ringing broke through his focus.
"Who the hell is that?" he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
He walked toward the door, rubbing his arms. He looked through the small crack in the door's peephole. His eyes widened.
It was the two bullies from earlier. And standing with them were three more guys.
One of them, their leader, was standing in the front.
He had a cute face that was sharp in an almost too pretty way, but what stood out most was his mohawk—spiked up and colored a bright red.
He looked like he'd walked right out of a gang's recruitment poster.
Ash's breath caught in his throat.
This is just perfect.
"What the hell!?" Ash growled, his hand gripping the door handle tighter.
He didn't even know why they were here, but the anger from earlier flared back up.
I was just starting to enjoy my life, and now this?
He yanked the door open.
"Who the hell are you?"