The Rejected

Two weeks since the funeral.

Or rather, since the collection.

There was no real funeral.

Just black bags.

Government-issued sanitization units.

Hazard pay for the cleanup crews.

No names were read. No eulogies spoken. No headlines written.

Thirty-seven dead.

Erwin counted.

But the world didn't.

He sat on the rusted bench near the Sector 7 train yard — an abandoned part of the city. No one came here anymore.

It was quiet. Peaceful. Empty.

Like him.

He hadn't spoken a word in days.

No messages. No calls.

No deliveries.

The company hadn't even contacted him.

He had vanished from the world so cleanly, it was like he'd never existed.

Jhon's death hadn't broken him.

It had burned away what was left.

Erwin didn't cry at night.

He didn't scream.

He didn't drink or self-destruct.

He just thought.

And that was worse.

"Why was I spared?"

"Why didn't they stop it?"

"Why did Jhon die saving someone who didn't matter?"

He remembered the monster's claws ripping through Jhon's back.

The eyes — glowing, mindless, hungry.

The way his best friend smiled at him even as he fell.

"Run."

One word.

A gift.

A curse.

Erwin's fingers curled around the bench edge until his knuckles went white.

"I didn't run. I froze."

The broadcast the next day said:

"System-Hero Astraeon arrived minutes after breach. Cleared the remaining horde. Casualties minimal."

Minimal.

Tell that to the blood on Erwin's clothes.

Tell that to the thirty-seven families who didn't get a call back.

But that wasn't what broke him.

It was the leak that surfaced three days later.

A hidden audio feed — recorded by a journalist who died before releasing it.

Erwin found it in a private forum while spiraling through conspiracy threads at 3 AM.

The voice was unmistakable.

One of the Upper Council's.

"Delay Astraeon's deployment. Let the minor zones feel the weight. We need to reinforce demand. Tragedy sells. Tragedy trains."

"Let them panic. Let them bleed. Then we arrive. Then we save. Then we're gods again."

Jhon died because they needed good PR.

Erwin vomited after hearing it.

Not because of shock.

Because it confirmed what he already suspected.

The world wasn't broken.

It was designed this way.

Later that week, a glowing email arrived in everyone's inbox:

 "Join the Next Wave of System Recruits! Compatibility testing resumes across all sectors. Become humanity's next hero!" 

He deleted it.

Then undeleted it.

Then stared at it for an hour.

He went.

Not because he expected to be chosen.

But because he needed to see it again.

To feel the rejection again.To understand if he truly had nothing left.

Sector 11 Testing Station.Glass domes. Robotic scanners. High-level agents watching behind mirrored walls.

The line moved slowly.

Kids as young as 13 stood in line. So did soldiers. Athletes. Influencers.

One by one, they stepped up, placed their palms on the glowing pedestal, and got their result.

"Compatibility: 83%" – applause"64%" – nods of approval"95%" – cheers"12%" – polite silence"0%" – next

Erwin stood still when it was his turn.

He walked up.

Placed his palm.

And watched.

Nothing.

Not even a flicker.

"Compatibility: 0%. Not recognized by the system.""Please step aside."

He turned.

Everyone looked past him.

Not with pity.

With indifference.

Like he'd never been there.

He walked outside.

Sat on the curb.

Looked up at the sky.

"I didn't expect a different answer," he said to no one."But I guess a part of me hoped the system would lie."

Then he laughed.Quiet.Shaky.Bitter.

"I got rejected by fate twice."

Hours passed.

People went home with glowing system contracts.

Smiling.

Dreaming of a future.

Erwin didn't go home.

He went back.

Back to the deserts.

Back to the uncharted zones.

Back to the place where rejection wasn't a punishment, but a badge of honor.

The Outcasts remembered him.

This time, they didn't point weapons.

They opened the gates.

And one of them asked:

"Did the world finally give you a reason to fight?"

Erwin didn't smile.

"It gave me a corpse."

"Now I'm ready."

The fort inside was rough — a jagged structure of steel and mana-infused rock.

It smelled like smoke and dried blood.

Dozens of people moved through shadowed corridors — training, crafting, meditating.

They weren't friendly.

They weren't human anymore.

They were survivors who had clawed their way out of the system's design.

The leader approached.

Tall. Scarred. Wearing a patchwork cloak of destroyed faction emblems.

"What's your name?"

"Erwin Wail."

"What do you want?"

"Revenge."

The leader nodded.

"Good. That's a start. But vengeance by itself is weak."

"Let's see if you can survive what comes next."

And just like that — no ceremony, no promises, no chosen prophecy — the training began.

Not to save the world.

But to burn the rot out of it.

[End of Chapter 2 – The Rejected]