Did I Get Reincarnated as a Supporting Character?

The morning air hung thick with mist, curling around Cresthaven's spires like a shroud. Sung-Min stepped onto the training fields, his staff gripped tight, his emerald-green eyes scanning the haze. Sera's warning echoed in his skull—Joren's "lesson," Darius's shadow looming behind it. He'd slept fitfully, his dreams a tangle of green tendrils and sneering faces, but he'd woken with a resolve as sharp as his wind blade. If they wanted a fight, he'd give them one worth remembering.

Classes wouldn't start for another hour, and the fields were quiet, save for the distant clack of early risers sparring. Sung-Min had come early on purpose—better to catch them off guard than be caught himself. He moved toward the oak grove, its gnarled branches a familiar haven, and crouched behind a trunk, listening. The mist muffled sound, but he caught it—a low murmur, footsteps crunching leaves.

"...runt thinks he's hot shit," Joren's voice growled, cutting through the fog. "We'll fix that."

"Keep it quick," another voice replied—Darius, colder, sharper. "I've got better things to do than play with trash."

Sung-Min's pulse quickened. Two of them, maybe more. He peeked around the tree, spotting Joren's bulk and Darius's fiery hair through the mist, flanked by two others—stocky boys from their clique, one with ice glinting at his fingertips, the other hefting a wooden club. Four against one. Not great odds, but he'd faced worse in games. This was just… real.

He slipped back, weighing his options. Running wasn't his style, and they'd find him eventually—Joren's grudge was too deep, Darius's pride too loud. Fighting head-on was suicide with this body, but he had wind, a flicker of life, and a brain that knew their moves before they made them. The novel had painted Joren as a bull, Darius as a strategist. He could use that.

The footsteps grew closer, and Sung-Min acted. He summoned his mana, the green light flaring in his palm, and shaped it into a gust—not a blade, but a push. He aimed low, sweeping it through the underbrush. Leaves and dirt exploded outward, a sudden cloud that swallowed the group. Joren cursed, stumbling, while Darius barked, "Spread out!"

Sung-Min darted left, keeping low, his staff a silent anchor. The mist was his ally now, blurring his outline as he circled behind. He spotted the ice mage first, the boy's hands glowing blue as he scanned the haze. Sung-Min lunged, staff cracking against the boy's knee—not hard enough to break, but enough to drop him with a yelp. One down.

"Over there!" the club-wielder shouted, charging blindly. Sung-Min ducked under a wild swing, his wind flaring again—a sharp burst that shoved the boy into a tree. He hit hard, groaning, and stayed down. Two.

Joren roared, his earth mana surging. A slab of rock tore from the ground, hurtling toward Sung-Min's last position. He rolled, the stone crashing where he'd been, and sprang up, heart pounding. Darius stepped forward, flames licking his fists, his eyes narrowed. "Cute tricks, runt. Let's see how you dodge this."

Fire erupted—a wide arc, searing the mist away. Sung-Min dove, heat singeing his tunic, and landed hard, his staff skittering out of reach. He scrambled to his knees, summoning his wind blade—sharper now, honed by days of practice. He swung, the green edge slicing through the flames, splitting them just enough to leap clear.

Darius smirked, unfazed. "Not bad. But you're done." He raised a hand, fire coiling into a spear, while Joren flanked him, earth spiking from the ground like jagged teeth.

Sung-Min's mind raced. He couldn't match their power—not yet—but he didn't have to. He focused, pulling his mana inward, and tried something new. The life tendril—fragile, untested—flickered to life, curling from his hand. He thrust it down, into the dirt, willing it to grow. A pulse of green shot through the soil, and roots—thin, wild—burst up, tangling Joren's legs. He stumbled, cursing, his spikes faltering.

Darius hesitated, the fire spear wavering. "What the hell—?"

Sung-Min didn't wait. He lunged, wind blade flashing, and aimed not for Darius but the ground at his feet. The blast kicked up a storm of dust and pebbles, blinding him. Darius swung wildly, flames scattering, and Sung-Min ducked under, tackling his legs. They hit the ground hard, Darius's fire snuffing out as he grunted in surprise.

"Get off!" Darius snarled, elbowing Sung-Min's ribs. Pain flared, but Sung-Min held on, pinning one arm until shouts broke through the chaos.

"Enough!" Instructor Torv's bellow cut the mist like a blade. He stormed in, Sera and Kael trailing behind, wide-eyed. Torv grabbed Darius by the collar, hauling him up, while Joren disentangled himself from the roots, red-faced and fuming.

"What's this?" Torv demanded, his scarred face thunderous. "Ambushing a student? You lot think this is a street brawl?"

Darius shrugged off Torv's grip, brushing dirt from his tunic. "Just a lesson, sir. He started it—provoking us."

Torv's eyes narrowed, shifting to Sung-Min, who climbed to his feet, clutching his side. "That true, Min-Sung?"

Sung-Min spat dust from his mouth, meeting Torv's gaze. "They jumped me, sir. Four on one. I defended myself."

Sera stepped forward, arms crossed. "I saw it start—Joren and his goons cornered him. Min-Sung didn't throw the first punch."

Kael nodded. "Same. Darius was in on it—saw the fire from the dorms."

Torv grunted, glaring at the group. The ice mage and club-wielder groaned on the ground, ignored for now. "You four—detention, two weeks. Cresthaven doesn't tolerate this. Min-Sung, you're bruised but breathing. Good enough. All of you, clean up and get to class."

Darius shot Sung-Min a look—pure venom—before stalking off with Joren in tow. The other two limped after, leaving Sung-Min with Sera, Kael, and a still-fuming Torv.

"You've got guts," Torv said, his tone gruff but not unkind. "Stupid, but guts. Watch your back—won't always be here to break it up." He marched off, barking at lingering onlookers to scatter.

Sera punched Sung-Min's arm, light but sharp. "You're insane, you know that? Four on one, and you won?"

"Didn't win," Sung-Min muttered, wincing as he retrieved his staff. "Just survived."

Kael grinned, his dark hair mussed from running over. "Still impressive. That root trick—where'd you pull that?"

"Luck," Sung-Min said, half-true. "And a little push."

They headed back, Sera chattering about how she'd spotted the fight from the dorm window and grabbed Kael for backup. Sung-Min nodded along, but his mind was elsewhere. The life mana—it had worked, clumsy but real. Wind and roots, speed and resilience. He was scratching the surface of something bigger, something his old self could only dream of.

As they reached the main hall, Liora emerged from a side path, her violet eyes locking on Sung-Min. She'd seen—or heard—enough, her expression unreadable but intent. "You're still standing," she said, stepping closer. "Darius won't forget that."

"Good," Sung-Min replied, his voice steady despite the ache in his ribs. "Neither will I."

Her almost-smile flickered, and she nodded. "Keep pushing, then. You're starting to look like you belong." She walked off, leaving him with a spark of pride he couldn't shake.

Sera raised an eyebrow. "She's definitely curious now. What's your secret, huh?"

"No secret," Sung-Min said, grinning through the pain. "Just too stubborn to quit."

They laughed, heading inside, but the weight of the morning lingered. Joren and Darius wouldn't stop—detention or not, they'd come harder next time. Liora's interest was a lifeline, Sera and Kael a shield. And Kang-Jae… still a ghost, his absence a puzzle Sung-Min couldn't solve.

He flexed his hand, the green light faint but alive. Power was building, thread by thread. Let them come again. He'd be ready.