The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The wind unleashed a sudden blaring noise, its forceful gusts assaulting the contestants who stood illuminated under a dazzling light. As the match reached its conclusion, the center stage abruptly transported the participants back into the midst of a chaotic sky filled with flying debris, obscuring the view of those who had fainted.

Amidst hushed whispers about the upcoming match, one voice cut through the murmurs, asking, "Which group do you reckon will emerge victorious? We always have those three groups dominating every round." The students engaged in speculative conversations while the center stage gradually transformed its appearance, morphing into a simple grassland, unadorned yet pregnant with possibilities.

"Ah, those who possess a mastery over earth-related elements will undoubtedly enjoy an advantage here," the students mused, their curiosity piqued by the shifting stage. It had already transitioned into a volcanic plain, a jungle expanse, and various other advantageous environments.

As the students exchanged their hushed words, the transparent letters declaring the winner above the center stage transformed into a countdown timer for the next match. Expanding in size, they revealed the names of the participants from each group who had advanced to the next round—the semifinals.

While most eyes fixated on the center stage and the list of names, one astute student's gaze fell upon a familiar inscription. "Hey, isn't he the one who was mocked by the son of the Master Wizard? The one who teamed up with young master Edison."

Their words instantly drew the attention of the onlookers, who were astounded to see Clark, Edison, Matson, and an unfamiliar name united in a single group. Disbelief etched on their faces, they muttered in disbelief, "What the hell? How did these strangers end up together? Hahaha!"

The student who had spoken before erupted in laughter, but their mirth was met with perplexed and bemused gazes from their peers. Laughter echoed, while some chose to ignore the mockery and others silently indulged in their own secret amusement. "Bro, you didn't witness their previous matches, did you?" one of them asked.

"N-no," stammered the laughing student, hastily wiping away a tear from the corner of their eye. Realizing they were the sole source of amusement, their face flushed red, and they averted their gaze, stealing glances at the person who addressed them. "Y-you?" they managed to stammer, only to be struck by another jolt of surprise—it was Clark, the very person they had mocked.

Yet, Clark's countenance remained devoid of anger or resentment. He merely offered a reassuring smile and gently patted the student's shoulder. "Good luck, and may you find a place among the esteemed academy students," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of chilling determination as he infused a touch of his wood magic into the gesture, causing the student's shoulder to ache.

Though the student groaned in pain, they dared not voice their distress aloud. Resentment flickered in their eyes as they stared at Clark, but soon, their determination to exact revenge faltered. Pale-faced, they clutched at their joints, fear creeping in as the sounds of bones cracking filled the air. "Ah!

P-please, stop!" they pleaded, the other students growing astonished at the audible snaps that reverberated through the space. Clark's initial impression as a feeble and unassuming student had been shattered.

"S-sorry. Are you alright?" Clark, now faced with the disapproving gazes of his peers, began to grasp the uncomfortable truth—he had unknowingly assumed the role of the aggressor, bullying the weaker student. The once-begging student recoiled, his body instinctively retreating, his gaze resembling that of someone confronting a monstrous entity.

Clark felt the weight of all those eyes upon him, their mocking gazes piercing through his being, filling him with a deep sense of disgust for his own behavior. "You guys know nothing!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with frustration. However, due to their fixed positions on separate stone debris, no one could bridge the gap and approach the center stage.

Even their attempts to traverse to other debris were met with an invisible barrier, keeping them confined.

In a display of humility, Clark shrunk in stature, offering his shoulder as a symbol of remorse, his head bowed in embarrassment. "Why? Why did I do that?" he pondered, the weight of his actions conflicting with the image he had strived to embody—the person Eliz wanted him to be—all these years.

Suddenly, his body was engulfed in a radiant light, and in an instant, he found himself back on the center stage. As his gaze settled upon the familiar surroundings, a voice cut through the air, taunting him. "Eh? Did you eat something shitty?" Edison mocked, his eyes bearing down on Clark, who knelt on the ground.

Matson cast a fleeting glance of pity toward Clark before redirecting his focus to the distant opponents, preparing himself for the battle ahead. Ignoring Clark, they left him kneeling, their actions highlighting his perceived insignificance.

"Get up, peasant! We need your power right now!" A voice laced with profanity addressed Clark, but beneath the harsh words, an underlying encouragement could be discerned.

"Fatty!" Clark raised his eyes and found Gibson as the sole person extending a helping hand. *Smack!* The sound of the slap reverberated through the air as Gibson's frustration erupted. "Fuck! Stop calling me that shitty name! Don't revel in it! We only need your fucking stroke of luck to win this match!" he shouted, his hands meeting Clark's head in a resounding blow.

Their relationship had evolved through the trials they faced together, reaching a peculiar stage where they appeared to be friends playfully teasing one another. The onlookers were dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the dynamics of their interactions.

"Yeah, we're just temporary allies," Clark admitted, a hint of sadness creeping into his gaze as he glanced at the backs of his teammates. If only they didn't possess those detrimental flaws, he mused silently, he could consider them true friends.

As Clark's gaze shifted toward the remaining group, his eyes locked onto Eliz, the opponent he would face. A wave of hesitation washed over him as he constantly glanced between his teammates and Elizabeth's group. It was then that Matson turned his back and addressed him, sensing the wavering in Clark's weak voice.

"If you can defeat her, she will leave you behind," Matson spoke, his words laced with a hint of truth. Though reluctant to admit it, Clark excelled in socializing, surpassing Matson in that regard.

While they were still competitors, Matson realized that antagonizing Clark and their other teammates would risk his father's disapproval and jeopardize his chances of becoming a student in the academy—his pride simply couldn't allow that.

Even Gibson and Edison, who had subjected him to repeated mockery since their first battle, had softened due to Clark's actions and his treatment of others. Yet, Matson's desire to assist his father and reclaim his wounded pride tugged at his resolve. His warm gaze shifted back to one of arrogance and pride as he looked down upon their opponents, determined to prove himself.