The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character
Chapter 194: Zhao Yuren [1]

Charred stone stretched into a red sky that never blinked. Ash rained from clouds that didn't move. Weapons lay half-buried in cracked earth, long rusted. A storm hung overhead like a wound that refused to close.

And there, sitting atop a jagged throne of broken spears, was him.

Zhao Yuren.

Built like a mountain. Skin like bronze. Raid wild hair and matted. His bare chest bore scars deep enough to tell stories. In one hand, he held the Soul Bound Staff casually like it weighed nothing. His eyes were shut, but I knew he'd sensed me the second I arrived.

His voice hit like a landslide.

> "Another cub come to bare his fangs, eh?"

I didn't answer.

He opened one eye. And smiled.

Not the friendly kind. The kind you give before a fight to the death.

> "You look weak. I could split you in half with my finger."

I swallowed.

"Probably," I said. "But that's not why I'm here."

He blinked. The staff twitched in his hand.

> "Not here to fight?"

"No."

> "Then why are you here, brat?"

"I want the staff," I said plainly. "I want you to hand it over."

"hahahah.... HAHAHAHA!"

He laughed. Long and loud.

> "You think this is a market stall, boy? You think I'll give away the thing I bled for? You want it, you earn it."

He stood, dust falling from his body like rock shearing from a cliff.

> "That's the rule. You beat me, you get the staff."

"I can't beat you," I said without flinching. "I know that. And you know that."

Something changed in his face. The laughter paused. One eyebrow lifted.

> "…Then why come here? You want to negotiate? With me?"

I nodded. "I want to make a deal."

His expression soured.

> "I don't deal. I kill."

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

That made him pause.

> "…Hmph."

I took a step forward.

"You think this staff deserves someone who can swing it around like a hammer. Who wins battles by brute strength. But this staff wasn't just about power, was it?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"This staff… was a message. A rebellion. Huò Xian didn't just make it to smash things—he made it to mock the heavens. He was a trickster. Like Sun Wukong. Like you."

His eyes flickered, just slightly.

I pushed forward.

"You were banished too, weren't you? Not literally from the heavens, but from the order of the world. The world change in over. Everyone you care for dead in instant. You didn't belong in this world, That's what you thought. So you made your own path."

I raised my hands.

"I'm not strong. Not yet. But I'm like you. I want to be strong. Strong enough so that I can never be look down upon. Not from anyone and not from this world."

"…Bold words," he growled.

"But true. And you know it."

He walked toward me now, slow, heavy steps cracking the stone beneath his feet.

> "You have a silver tongue, brat."

I didn't blink.

> "Still doesn't mean I'll hand it over."

This is going nowhere. If it keeps going like this then I would kicked out from this realm.

I have to adjust my tactics slightly.

"You know I have ability to see a future."

It's not a total lie. I know about future events of the plot after all.

"What?"

Zhao Yuren blinked his eyes as he doesn't believe in me.

That's fine. It's going the way I want.

"I can also see the past and that's why I knew so much about you."

And this time he narrowed his and glared hard enough to make me flinch but I keep my expression as calm as I could.

"Careful with your words boy."

A red aura flared from his body, Zhao Yuren seems to be ready to attack me any moment but he didn't.

So, I naturally nodded my head and continue.

"I am telling the truth. The [Soul Bound Staff] I get from the doungen that you stopped from running wild and in the process you perished while trying to save the world at that."

It's true. It even mention even in novel at later chapters.

At that time the world was almost an apocalyptic world. Dungeon were running wild, monster were on the road almost every day.

The term 'Hero' didn't even exist at that time.

Instead they were called 'Adventure' and there was no official Organisation for theme like they have now for hero's.

They were self proclaimed adventures.

Zhao Yuren was one of them.

One day, a dungeon broke open in the heart of the eastern region.

Not just any dungeon—an Overflow Gate. The kind that never closes. The kind that spills death into the land until nothing remains.

No one went near it.

No one… except one man.

Zhao Yuren was able to stop at the cost of his own life and while doing so dungeon level lowered and it became [B] rank doungen that I and Leo's party cleared it.

"You entered alone," I said, my voice low. "They begged you not to. You knew you wouldn't come back. But you did it anyway."

Zhao Yuren's jaw clenched.

I kept going.

"You weren't even the strongest. You weren't chosen. You weren't blessed by fate or luck. But you were stubborn. Loud. Angry. And you didn't give a damn about waiting for someone else to clean up the mess."

The ash around us swirled.

"You fought for three days in that place. You dragged the monsters away from the villages and into the dungeon's core. And when the mana surge hit… you used your own spirit to seal it."

He turned his head slightly. His fingers tightened around the staff.

I stepped forward again.

"You died to protect people who forgot your name."

"…I didn't do it for them," he muttered, the first time his voice wavered.

"I know," I said gently. "You did it because no one else would."

The red in his aura flickered, then burned brighter for a moment—before collapsing inward like a dying star.

Zhao Yuren stared down at me with eyes that had seen too many deaths and not enough mornings.

"And what's a brat like you want with that story?"

"Because I'll face that same world soon," I replied. "I'm not asking for your power to be handed to me. I'm asking to inherit your will."

He snorted. "Big words for a twig like you."

"I'll grow," I said. "Like you did. With anger. With desperation. With enough cunning to make gods nervous."

There was a long silence.

Then he looked up at the burning sky and barked a harsh, bitter laugh.

"You know what the worst part is?" he muttered. "They call them 'Heroes' now. Wearing fancy coats and shining badges. They get training halls and sponsorships and medals."

His eyes met mine.

"We never had time for that. We bled in mud. Starved on the road. We were ghosts by the time we were twenty."

"…But you saved more lives than any of them," I said.

He didn't reply for a while.

Then, he spoke.

"Alright, boy. I'll give you the damn chance."

I blinked.

"Not the staff. Not yet."

"But a test. You pass, I let you wield it."

My stomach sank. "What kind of test?"

He grinned—and this one was a little friendly. Still feral, still filled with fire. But something behind it softened.

"My memory. My last day. You live through it."