Did I Get Reincarnated as a Supporting Character?

The dining hall was a cacophony of clattering trays and overlapping voices, its vaulted ceiling strung with banners of Cresthaven's founding houses. Sung-Min slid onto a bench across from Sera, a wooden plate of roasted meat and steamed greens in front of him. His stomach growled—he hadn't realized how famished he was until the scent hit him. The trials had drained him, and this body, still a fragile shell, demanded fuel he hadn't yet learned to provide.

Sera poked at her own meal, a sly grin tugging at her lips. "You eat like you've never seen food before. What, they starve you back home?"

Sung-Min swallowed a mouthful, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Something like that," he said, keeping it vague. In truth, his old life had been instant noodles and energy drinks—hardly a feast. This world's cuisine, simple as it was, felt like a luxury. "Just working up strength for whatever's next."

She snorted, spearing a chunk of potato. "Smart. You'll need it. Word's spreading about your little dance with Joren. People are watching you now."

He glanced around, suddenly aware of the eyes flickering his way. A group of noble-born students in crisp uniforms whispered at a nearby table, their gazes sharp with appraisal. Joren sat with them, his scowl cutting through the crowd like a blade. Across the hall, Darius Kane flexed his arms, showing off to a gaggle of admirers, while Liora sat alone near a window, her silver hair glowing in the midday light. She wasn't looking at him, but Sung-Min felt the weight of her presence all the same.

"Great," he muttered, pushing his plate aside. "Just what I needed—an audience."

Sera leaned forward, her hazel eyes glinting. "Better get used to it. Cresthaven's a stage, and you just tripped onto it. Joren's pissed, but he's not the only one curious. That wind-life trick? People don't know what to make of it—or you."

Sung-Min frowned, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. Wind and life. Professor Elara had called it unusual, adaptable. He hadn't had time to test it, but the possibilities churned in his mind—speed to dodge, vitality to endure. Maybe even something more, if he could figure out how to shape it. "Guess I'll have to give them something worth watching," he said, half to himself.

Sera smirked. "That's the spirit. Just don't trip over your own feet doing it."

Their banter was cut short by a shadow looming over the table. Sung-Min looked up to find Darius Kane, his red hair blazing like a torch, arms crossed over a chest that could've doubled as a battering ram. Up close, he was even bigger than Sung-Min had imagined—six feet of muscle and ego, straight out of the novel's early chapters. Darius had been Kang-Jae's first real rival, a fire mage with a temper to match.

"You're the runt who knocked Joren on his ass," Darius said, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't a question.

Sung-Min met his gaze, keeping his expression neutral. "Guess I am. Min-Sung. Nice to meet you."

Darius snorted, leaning down until his face was uncomfortably close. "Don't get cocky, lowborn. Joren's a clumsy oaf—I'd have crushed him too. But you? You're a twig waiting to snap." He straightened, cracking his knuckles. "Watch yourself. This place chews up weaklings."

Sera rolled her eyes as Darius sauntered off, his entourage trailing behind. "Charming guy," she said dryly. "He's all bluster, but he's not wrong about the chewing part. Keep your head down—or don't. Your call."

Sung-Min's jaw tightened. Darius was a threat, no question—stronger, louder, and born with every advantage Min-Sung lacked. In the book, he'd been a stepping stone for Kang-Jae, a bully who'd eventually bent the knee. But Sung-Min wasn't Kang-Jae. He didn't have the protagonist's plot armor or natural talent. What he did have was knowledge—and a stubborn refusal to be anyone's footnote.

"Thanks for the pep talk," he said, standing. "I'll catch you later. Need to clear my head."

Sera waved him off, already digging back into her meal. "Don't get lost."

The academy grounds stretched wide and wild beyond the main buildings, a patchwork of training fields, gardens, and wooded paths. Sung-Min wandered past a group of students sparring, their blades flashing in the afternoon sun, and found a quiet spot beneath a gnarled oak. He sank to the grass, leaning against the trunk, and closed his eyes. The air was crisp, tinged with the faint hum of mana that seemed to seep from Cresthaven itself.

He flexed his fingers, calling up that spark again. The green light flickered to life, weaker now from exhaustion, but still there. Wind and life. He focused, picturing a breeze—something small, controlled. The light twisted, and a faint gust stirred the leaves above him, rustling softly. It wasn't much, but it was his. He tried again, this time imagining vitality, a pulse of energy. The glow pulsed once, then faded, leaving his hand tingling.

"Not bad," a voice said, startling him.

Sung-Min's eyes snapped open. Liora stood a few paces away, her staff planted in the ground, her violet eyes locked on him. She'd approached silently, like a cat stalking prey, and he hadn't heard a thing. His pulse quickened—not from fear, but from the sudden realization of how striking she was up close. The novel had described her beauty in flowery prose, but it hadn't captured the quiet intensity she carried, the way her presence seemed to bend the air around her.

"Didn't mean to sneak up," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "You're practicing already. Most wait for the instructors."

Sung-Min scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his tunic. "Figured I'd get a head start. Can't afford to lag behind."

She nodded, stepping closer. "Wind and life. Rare mix. You don't look like you've trained it before."

He tensed, unsure how much to reveal. "I haven't. Just… feeling it out."

Her gaze lingered, sharp and assessing. "Instinct, then. That's something. But instinct won't save you in a real fight. You need control." She raised her staff, and a ripple of blue light danced along its length—water mana, precise and fluid. It coiled into a sphere, hovering above her palm, then dispersed with a flick of her wrist. "Show me what you've got."

Sung-Min blinked. "What, now?"

"Now," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "I saw you in the Crucible. You've got something, but it's messy. Prove it's not a fluke."

He swallowed, his pride prickling. This wasn't in the script—Liora challenging a nobody like Min-Sung? But he couldn't back down, not with those eyes boring into him. He raised his hand, summoning the green light again. It flared, brighter this time, and he shaped it into a thin blade of wind, like he had in the trial. He swung, aiming at the oak's trunk. The blade sliced through the air, nicking the bark with a faint crack before dissipating.

Liora's brow arched. "Sloppy, but it's a start. You're wasting half your mana letting it scatter. Focus it—here." She tapped her chest, then her staff. "Center it, then push."

Sung-Min nodded, trying again. He pictured the mana pooling in his core, then flowing out in a tight stream. The green light steadied, forming a sharper blade this time. He swung, and it carved a shallow groove in the bark—a clean cut, not a scratch. His arm trembled from the effort, but he grinned.

"Better," Liora said, a hint of approval in her voice. "Keep at it. You might survive here yet." She turned to leave, then paused. "And Min-Sung? Don't let Darius bait you. He's loud, but he's not your real problem."

"Who is, then?" he asked, catching his breath.

She didn't answer, just gave him that almost-smile and walked off, her staff tapping the ground. Sung-Min watched her go, his mind buzzing. Liora's interest was a puzzle—why him, why now? Was it his defiance, his odd magic, or something else? And what did she mean about his real problem?

He sank back against the tree, the green light flickering out. The weight of eyes—Joren's, Darius's, Liora's—pressed on him, but it wasn't just them. Cresthaven itself was watching, waiting to see if he'd rise or break. He clenched his fist, the faint warmth of mana still lingering.

"Bring it on," he whispered, a spark of defiance lighting his emerald eyes.