Did I Get Reincarnated as a Supporting Character?

The rhythm of Cresthaven settled into Sung-Min's bones over the next few days—a relentless cycle of classes, drills, and exhaustion that left little room for doubt. His body ached constantly, a dull reminder of its limits, but the spark of green mana in his hands grew steadier, a quiet pulse he could almost trust. Mornings blurred into lectures on mana theory and history, afternoons into sparring and magic practice, and nights into restless sleep where he dreamed of truck headlights and pages he couldn't quite read.

By the fifth day, the initial chaos of the academy had hardened into a pecking order. Darius strutted like a king, his fire magic a beacon that drew followers and fear in equal measure. Joren hulked at his side, a loyal hound nursing his grudge against Sung-Min. Liora remained untouchable, her water mana a silent storm that silenced challengers without effort. Sera stuck close to Sung-Min, her runes a subtle shield against the sharper edges of their peers. And Sung-Min himself? He was a question mark—an oddity who'd stumbled into relevance, watched with wary eyes and whispered bets.

That morning, the lecture hall buzzed with a different energy. Professor Elara stood at the podium, her scarred lip twitching as she surveyed the room. "Today," she announced, "we move beyond theory. You've shown affinity. Now you'll show application. Pair up—practical casting, controlled environment. No injuries, or you're out."

Sung-Min exchanged a glance with Sera, who grinned and slid her chair closer. "Guess we're a team again. Don't zap me with that wind of yours."

"No promises," he shot back, earning a laugh. Around them, students paired off—Joren with a stocky boy wielding ice, Darius with a girl whose shadow mana flickered like smoke. Liora chose Kael, the lightning mage from Sung-Min's last drill, their pairing drawing murmurs of anticipation.

Elara raised the orb from the affinity test, its light shifting as she spoke. "Your task: sustain a spell for five minutes. Shape it, hold it, no breaks. Begin."

Sera went first, her fingers dancing over her notebook as she sketched a rune. It flared gold, a shield of light snapping into place around her hand—small, precise, unwavering. "Your turn," she said, nodding at Sung-Min.

He took a breath, centering himself. The green spark flared, and he shaped it into a blade again, sharper now than before. Liora's advice echoed—focus it, push. He tightened his grip, the wind humming as it held its form, a faint vibration running up his arm. One minute passed, then two. Sweat beaded on his brow, but the blade stayed steady, its edge glinting in the dim light.

Elara paced the room, her eyes flicking over each pair. She paused by Sung-Min, nodding slightly. "Stable. Good. Keep it." She moved on, and he let out a shaky breath, his focus unwavering.

Across the room, Darius's flames roared, a swirling vortex that dwarfed his partner's shadows. Joren's earth mana formed a jagged spike, crude but solid. Liora's water coiled into a serpent, fluid and mesmerizing, while Kael's lightning crackled in a tight sphere. The air thrummed with power, a symphony of egos and skill.

At four minutes, Sung-Min's arm trembled, the blade flickering. Sera shot him a look. "Hold it, you're almost there." He gritted his teeth, pulling the mana tighter, and it steadied just as Elara called time.

"Enough," she barked. The spells dissolved—some with grace, others with sputters. "Passable. Next time, ten minutes. Dismissed."

Sung-Min slumped in his seat, flexing his cramped hand. "That was brutal."

Sera smirked, tucking her notebook away. "You did fine. Better than some—look at Joren, he's red as a beet."

Joren was indeed flushed, glaring at his partner as if the boy's ice had personally offended him. Sung-Min chuckled, but the sound died as Darius's voice cut through the room, loud and deliberate.

"Nice trick, runt," he called, striding over with his shadow-mage partner in tow. "But parlor games won't save you in a real fight. Stick to your little breeze."

Sung-Min straightened, meeting Darius's gaze. "Worked well enough against Joren. Maybe you're next."

The room hushed, eyes darting between them. Darius's grin faltered, then widened, all teeth and menace. "Big words for a twig. Watch your back, lowborn." He turned, his flames flaring briefly as he stalked out, leaving a scorch mark on the floor.

Sera whistled low. "You've got a death wish, huh?"

"More like a survival plan," Sung-Min muttered, though his pulse raced. Darius wasn't Joren—he was stronger, smarter, and born to crush anyone in his way. But backing down wasn't an option. Not here.

The afternoon brought a rare break, and Sung-Min found himself back under the oak, the same spot where Liora had challenged him. He sat cross-legged, coaxing his mana into shapes—a blade, a shield, a swirling gust. Each attempt lasted longer, the green light bending to his will with less effort. The life aspect eluded him still—no healing, no growth—but the wind was his, a tool he could sharpen.

Footsteps crunched behind him, and he turned, expecting Sera. Instead, Liora stood there, her staff resting lightly in her hand. "You're persistent," she said, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp. "That's something."

Sung-Min stood, brushing grass from his tunic. "Have to be. Can't coast on talent like some."

Her lips twitched—an almost-smile. "Fair. Your wind's getting cleaner. Still weak, but it's yours. Have you tried the life part yet?"

He shook his head. "Not sure how. Wind's easier—feels natural. Life… I don't know where to start."

She stepped closer, her water mana flaring briefly—a cool mist that brushed his skin. "Affinity's personal. Water's mine because I learned to flow, to adapt. Wind's motion, freedom. Life's… growth, maybe. Resilience. Find what it means to you."

Sung-Min frowned, flexing his hand. The green spark flickered, and he focused, picturing not a weapon but a root—something alive, pushing through. The light pulsed, then stretched, a thin tendril curling from his palm before snapping back. His eyes widened. "Did you see that?"

Liora nodded. "A start. Keep pushing. You're not hopeless, Min-Sung." She turned to go, then paused. "And about Darius—he's testing you. Don't give him an easy win."

"Wasn't planning to," Sung-Min said, a grin tugging at his lips. She walked off, leaving him with the faint scent of rain and a spark of possibility.

That night, the dorm was quiet, the usual chatter muted by exhaustion. Sung-Min sat at his desk, a mana-lamp casting soft light over his notes. Wind and life—motion and growth. He'd shaped the wind, but the life tendril was new, fragile. He tried again, the green light coiling into a thread that wavered but held for a moment longer this time. It felt… warm, like a heartbeat under his skin.

A knock startled him, and Sera poked her head in. "Still at it? You're obsessed."

"Just curious," he said, letting the mana fade. "What's up?"

She stepped inside, her expression unusually serious. "Heard something in the hall. Joren's talking about a 'lesson' for you—something off the books. Darius might be in on it. Watch yourself tomorrow."

Sung-Min's stomach tightened, but he nodded. "Thanks. I'll be ready."

Sera lingered, then smirked. "Don't die, weirdo. I'd miss your dumb grin." She slipped out, leaving him alone with the weight of her warning.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Joren and Darius—two threads of rivalry tightening around him. Liora's guidance, Sera's loyalty—threads pulling him up. And Kang-Jae, still a ghost in the wings, a shadow he couldn't predict. The novel's plot was unraveling, and Sung-Min was at the center, a weak body with a stubborn soul.

The green light flickered again, unbidden, a whisper of power he'd make his own. Let them come. He'd face them—not as Min-Sung the footnote, but as Sung-Min, the man rewriting his fate.