Did I Get Reincarnated as a Supporting Character?

The forest gave way to rolling hills as Sung-Min trailed behind Liora, his legs burning with every step. His new body was a disaster—lungs wheezing, muscles trembling, a frame so frail he half-expected it to snap under the weight of his determination. The academy's silhouette grew sharper against the horizon: towering spires of gray stone, stained glass glinting like jewels, and a massive arched gate that screamed prestige. Cresthaven wasn't just a school; it was a crucible, a place where legends were forged and the weak were discarded like ash.

Liora hadn't spoken since her curt introduction, her silver hair swaying as she marched ahead with the grace of someone born to rule. Sung-Min studied her from behind, piecing together what he knew from the novel. Liora Veyne, third daughter of House Veyne, a lineage famed for its mastery of elemental magic. In Eternal Bonds, she'd been cold, aloof, and fiercely loyal to Kang-Jae after he saved her from a scheming noble in volume two. She wasn't supposed to meet Min-Sung this early—or at all, really. His presence here, now, was already a ripple in the story's fabric.

"Keep up," she called over her shoulder, not bothering to turn. "I won't drag you there."

Sung-Min gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to move faster. "Wouldn't expect you to," he shot back, voice strained but steady. He wasn't about to let her—or anyone—see him as the weakling Min-Sung had been. If he was stuck in this body, he'd make it work. Step one: survive the entrance exam. Step two: figure out why the plot was already veering off course.

The path widened into a cobblestone road bustling with activity. Carriages rolled by, their wheels clattering, while students in crisp blue uniforms darted between them—some laughing, others hunched over books or glowing mana crystals. The air buzzed with energy, a mix of excitement and tension that made Sung-Min's skin prickle. He'd read about this day: Cresthaven's annual entrance exam, a grueling test of skill, wit, and raw power. Min-Sung had never made it this far in the original story—he'd been a late enrollee, slipping in through a loophole, only to flounder and fail. But here Sung-Min was, about to face it head-on.

The gate loomed ahead, flanked by two stone statues of winged serpents, their eyes glinting with embedded rubies. A crowd of applicants gathered beneath it, their voices a chaotic hum. Sung-Min spotted a few familiar faces from the novel: a broad-shouldered boy with fiery red hair—probably Darius Kane, a future rival of Kang-Jae's—and a petite girl with twin braids, clutching a staff twice her size. No sign of Kang-Jae yet, though. The protagonist was likely fashionably late, swooping in to steal the show.

Liora stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "This is where we part," she said, her violet eyes scanning him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. "If you pass, maybe you'll be worth remembering."

Sung-Min smirked, leaning on bravado he didn't fully feel. "Oh, I'll pass. You'll see my name at the top of the list."

Her lips twitched—almost a smile—before she walked off, disappearing into the crowd. Sung-Min exhaled, running a hand through his messy brown hair. He had no idea what the exam entailed beyond vague descriptions in the book: a mix of combat, magic, and strategy, designed to weed out the unworthy. With his current body, combat was a long shot, and magic? He flexed his fingers, searching for the spark he'd felt earlier. A faint tingle coursed through them, weak but present. He'd have to bluff his way through the rest.

A horn blared, silencing the chatter. An older man in a flowing black robe stepped onto a raised platform, his silver beard catching the sunlight. Dean Valtor, head of Cresthaven, according to the novel—a stern but fair figure who'd later mentor Kang-Jae. His voice boomed, amplified by magic: "Welcome, aspirants. Today, you prove your worth. The exam begins now. Follow the proctors to your assigned trials."

The crowd surged, splitting into groups as uniformed proctors barked orders. Sung-Min was herded toward a smaller gate with a dozen others, his heart pounding. The proctor, a wiry woman with a scar across her cheek, eyed them like a hawk sizing up prey. "Trial One: The Gauntlet," she announced. "Reach the end alive. Begin."

Before Sung-Min could process her words, the ground rumbled, and a stone wall rose behind them, sealing the exit. Ahead, a narrow path stretched into a maze of shifting platforms, swinging blades, and glowing runes that pulsed with menace. His group—five boys and six girls—gasped or cursed, but Sung-Min's mind raced. He'd seen this in games, read it in books. Brute strength wouldn't cut it here. He needed to think.

The first blade swung down, and a boy with spiky black hair yelped, diving out of the way. The others scattered, some charging ahead, others freezing in panic. Sung-Min stayed put, watching. The platforms moved in a pattern—up, down, left, right—while the blades followed a rhythm. He counted the beats, mapping it in his head. Three seconds between swings. Five seconds for the platforms to reset.

"Go!" he muttered to himself, darting forward as a blade whizzed past. He ducked under the next, rolling onto a platform just as it rose. A girl screamed behind him, her arm grazed by a rune that flared red, knocking her back. Sung-Min didn't look. Focus. Step. Dodge. He moved like he was playing a rhythm game, timing each leap to the chaos around him.

Halfway through, a boy—blond, muscular, and cocky—shoved past, nearly knocking Sung-Min into a blade. "Out of my way, runt!" he snarled, charging ahead. Sung-Min steadied himself, glaring. That had to be Joren, another minor antagonist from the book. Fine. Let him play the hero—for now.

The end loomed: a glowing portal atop a final platform. Joren reached it first, smirking as he vanished through. Sung-Min gritted his teeth, dodging a last flurry of blades before leaping. The portal swallowed him, and he landed hard on a stone floor, panting. Joren stood nearby, arms crossed, while three others from their group stumbled in behind. The proctor nodded. "Five of twelve. Not bad."

Sung-Min straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. His emerald-green eyes glinted with a mix of relief and resolve. One trial down. He'd survived—not with strength, but with wits. His body was still weak, his magic a flicker, but he'd made it. A grin tugged at his lips. Maybe Min-Sung wasn't such a lost cause after all.

The proctor's voice cut through his thoughts. "Trial Two: The Duel. Pair up." She pointed to a rack of wooden swords and staves. Sung-Min's stomach sank. The Gauntlet had been luck and timing—this was raw skill, something his scrawny arms weren't built for. Joren cracked his knuckles, eyeing him with a predatory grin.

"Guess I'll break you in, runt," Joren said, grabbing a sword.

Sung-Min swallowed, picking a staff. He knew Joren's type—brash, overconfident, all power and no finesse. In the novel, Min-Sung had lost a duel like this, humiliated in front of a crowd. Not this time. Sung-Min tightened his grip, his mind whirring. He'd read the script. Now he'd rewrite it.

The proctor raised her hand. "Begin."

Joren charged, sword swinging in a wild arc. Sung-Min sidestepped, barely, the blade grazing his tunic. He thrust the staff forward, aiming for Joren's knee—not to hit, but to throw him off. Joren stumbled, cursing, and Sung-Min danced back, keeping distance. Strength wasn't his weapon. Speed was.

"Stand still, coward!" Joren roared, lunging again. Sung-Min ducked, sweeping the staff low. It caught Joren's ankle, and the bigger boy crashed down, face-first. The crowd—other applicants watching from the sidelines—gasped, then murmured. Sung-Min didn't hesitate. He pressed the staff to Joren's neck, pinning him.

"Yield," he said, voice steady despite his racing pulse.

Joren snarled but tapped the ground. The proctor called it. "Winner: Min-Sung."

Sung-Min stepped back, breathing hard. His arms shook, his body screamed, but he'd done it. Joren glared, scrambling up, but the damage was done. Sung-Min caught a glimpse of silver hair in the crowd—Liora, watching with those unreadable violet eyes. Had she seen?

The proctor waved them off. "Rest. Trial Three tomorrow." Sung-Min nodded, leaning on his staff as the adrenaline ebbed. Day one, and he'd already turned heads. Weak body or not, he was here to stay—and Cresthaven would never forget his name.