Chapter 19 — The Value of Nothing
Super Guardian
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The classroom was loud, but Zack's world was silent.
He sat near the back, the battered seat digging into his spine, flickers of sunlight cutting through cracked window blinds to stripe his desk. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes, but he pushed through, letting his mind sink inward… until the system interface blinked into existence behind his eyelids.
A welcome escape.
He focused.
The panel glimmered in his mind:
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[Status]
[Zack Tennyson]
Lifespan: 200 years
Bronze Spirit Points: 100 / 100
Silver Spirit Points: 68 / 100
Gold Spirit Points: 0 / 100
Platinum Spirit Points: 10 / 100
---
[Mod Stats]
Luck: 5
Charm: N/A
Intelligence: 10
Perception: 5
Bravery: 5
Stealth: 10
Extra Mod Points: 3
---
His gaze lingered on the line.
Charm: N/A
He blinked. Tried tapping it with his thoughts, like the way he navigated every other stat. The system didn't even budge.
A cold, silent [Error] message shimmered above the stat line before fading.
[Charm cannot be modified. Stat is not available.]
Zack swallowed, his jaw tightening.
It didn't say the stat was locked.
It said it didn't exist.
It was like the system itself had taken one look at him and decided—nah. Not this one.
He stared at the number three next to Extra Mod Points.
It wasn't like he had many chances to level up. Every point mattered. Every boost could mean the difference between being a punching bag... and staying alive.
Charm was off the table.
Fine.
He hovered over Bravery. His heart thumped a little harder just thinking about it.
Why bravery?
Because if he didn't start standing up — for himself, for others — the system's punishments might not be the thing that killed him. The world would. Moses. The alley punks. This broken city.
And something else, something deeper:
He was tired of fear.
He was sick of being small.
One by one, he let the three points sink into Bravery.
The system chimed:
[Bravery: 8]
[You feel a little less afraid of what comes next.]
Zack exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. The voices of his classmates slowly filtered back into his ears.
The world didn't change.
But maybe… he had. Just a little
---
Lunch came like a slow death.
Zack stood in line, ignoring the sharp glances from students behind him, the hushed words passed between them like knives. He reached the counter and accepted what had become his standard: a cracked cup of lukewarm water and two sad, stiff slices of bread. No butter. No spread. No warmth.
Just calories.
He sat alone. The farthest corner of the cafeteria, near the rusted emergency door. His tray didn't clatter because there was barely anything on it.
The moment he bit into the bread, he caught something—faint voices, loud enough to reach him only because silence was his companion.
"…the Holy Ten are insane. I still can't believe Eno broke that Spirit Beast in half with his bare hands last year."
"I heard Senna can fight with her eyes closed."
"No wonder they won the Bount."
Zack blinked, eyes trailing toward the source. A table of wealthier students. Their uniforms ironed, hair styled, shoes without holes.
They talked about the Holy Ten like they were legends. And maybe they were. Winners of last year's Holy Bount, a tournament held in the First Holy Domain. An arena where rising stars made their name. Where the strong didn't just survive — they soared.
Top two were practically celebrities now. Faces on billboards. Sponsored by major families. Probably had their own Spirit Gear forged from rare spirit beast bones.
Zack chewed slowly, swallowing the bread like it might turn to sand.
Two days from now, they were performing at a public showcase. A small exhibition, free for nobles — and expensive as hell for everyone else.
He already knew.
He couldn't go.
He had no money. No friends to sneak him in. No secret favor to call in.
Just silence. And hunger. And bruises.
Then came the shadow.
A foot kicked Zack's tray off the table.
Bread hit the floor. Water spilled across the concrete.
Laughter followed.
He didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
"Mmm, I see someone's dreaming big again," came a mockingly sweet voice. "You want to go watch the Holy Ten, Zack? That's adorable."
Moses Rad.
Behind him, Thoe Rolands and Jace Pollard smirked like they were paid to. Their eyes full of that familiar cruelty.
Zack said nothing.
He didn't flinch.
That, apparently, only annoyed them more.
Moses leaned down, his voice syrupy with menace.
"You know, Zack… there's a show you can be part of."
Zack finally looked up.
His eyes met Moses's — brown, bored, full of entitlement.
"My birthday party," Moses said, standing back with a dramatic sweep of his arms. "You're invited."
Jace chuckled. "He wants his toy there, of course."
"Wouldn't be a party without it," Thoe added, grinning.
Zack's lips stayed still. But inside, something shifted.
Not anger. Not fear. Not even the usual cold, aching dread.
Just… nothing.
Moses stepped forward again, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You show up… or I come get you."
Then they walked off — the three of them laughing, already forgetting him like he was a speck of dirt on their polished boots.
Zack didn't move. He just stared at the wet tray. The overturned bread, now soaked through.
You'll never get out of this, a voice in his head whispered. Never get seen. Never get chosen.
But even as that bitter thought coiled through his chest, another one surfaced.
[Daily Quest: 100 Push-ups, 100 Sit-ups, 3km Run — Incomplete.]
[Warning: Penalty for Failure — Unknown.]
And beneath it…
[Reward: +1 Mod Point.]
Zack clenched his fists.
He couldn't control who laughed at him. Who hated him. Who kicked him when he was already down.
But he could choose not to break.
He stood.
His stomach still empty. His future still uncertain.
But his resolve — just a little sharper.
The value of nothing… was that it left room for everything else.