Hunger.

  It wasn't a normal hunger. It was a primal, clawing emptiness that started in his marrow and worked its way out.

  Amari sat in the back of the mess hall, staring at his tray. On it sat a bowl of "Nutrient Paste Type C"—a grey, flavorless slop designed for F-Class students.

  He took a bite. It tasted like wet cardboard and chalk.

  Garbage, Amari thought, swallowing with difficulty. 300 calories. Minimal protein. Zero spiritual energy.

  His body was screaming at him. The Breath of Iron had stripped his muscles down to the cellular level. To rebuild them, he didn't just need food; he needed fuel. High-density protein. Vitality.

  He looked across the cafeteria to the Hero Class table. They were eating steak, roasted phoenix chicken, and drinking glowing blue mana-elixirs.

  They get the fuel because they have the potential, Amari thought bitterly. The System invests in the strong and starves the weak.

  He checked his pockets. Zero credits. He couldn't buy supplements.

  But Amari Malik had spent twenty years surviving in a wasteland where money didn't exist. He knew that in a magical world, "trash" was just a matter of perspective.

  He waited until nightfall.

  At 02:00 Hours, the Academy was silent.

  Amari slipped out of the F-Class barracks. He moved through the shadows, his breathing shallow and controlled. His new Iron Lung technique allowed him to hold his breath for three minutes at a time, making him silent as a ghost.

  He headed for the Loading Docks behind the main kitchen.

  This was where the high-end ingredients for the Hero Class were delivered—and where the "waste" was thrown out.

  He crouched behind a crate as a security drone buzzed overhead. Its spotlight swept across the concrete, illuminating the rows of massive bio-hazard dumpsters.

  Pattern analysis, Amari calculated. The drone loops every 45 seconds. I have a 10-second window.

  The light passed.

  Amari sprinted. He didn't run flat-footed; he ran on the balls of his feet, absorbing the impact. He slid behind the third dumpster, labeled [BIOLOGICAL WASTE: INCINERATE ONLY].

  The smell was atrocious—rot, copper, and ozone.

  He quietly lifted the heavy lid.

  Inside was a slaughterhouse of rejected parts. Glands, organs, and bones from monsters that the chefs deemed "too toxic" for the precious Hero Class students.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Amari pulled out a small flashlight and clicked it on, shielding the beam with his hand.

  "Bingo," he whispered.

  Right on top sat a massive, purple organ the size of a football. It was pulsing faintly.

  [Item Identified]

  [Name: Liver of a Horned Boar]

  [Grade: E-Rank Ingredient]

  [Toxicity: High]

  [System Warning: Do not consume. Causes mana poisoning.]

  Amari grinned.

  To a mage, this liver was poison. The Horned Boar concentrated mana toxins in its liver to fight off predators. If Prince Caelum ate this, his mana circuits would seize up, and he'd vomit blood for a week.

  But Amari had no mana circuits.

  He didn't care about the toxins. He cared about the Blood Essence. This liver was packed with dense, primal vitality—the kind of raw energy that could forge iron skin and steel bones.

  The System calls it poison, Amari thought, wrapping the slimy organ in a plastic bag. I call it a protein shake.

  He reached deeper. He found a bundle of dried, gnarly roots.

  [Item Identified]

  [Name: Salt Root]

  [Classification: Industrial Cleaner / Detoxifying Reagent]

  "Perfect."

  He grabbed the roots.

  BZZZZZT.

  The drone was back early.

  Amari froze. The spotlight swung toward the dumpster. He could hear the hum of the rotors right above the lid.

  If he was caught, it wouldn't just be detention. Scavenging bio-waste was a Class B Health Violation. Expulsion. Blacklisting. Or worse—being branded a "Thief" by the System, a mark that would prevent him from ever entering a Guild.

  He stopped breathing. He slowed his heart rate using the Void technique, turning himself into a stone.

  The light washed over the dumpster lid. It lingered for a terrifying second.

  Then, it moved on.

  Amari exhaled, his lungs burning.

  "You have good instincts, boy."

  Amari spun around, dropping into a combat stance.

  Standing in the shadow of the loading bay door was an old man. He wore a grey janitor's jumpsuit and leaned on a mop. He had a stiff leg, favoring his left side, and his face was a map of deep wrinkles.

  But his eyes... his eyes were sharp. They didn't look like the eyes of a janitor. They looked like the eyes of a soldier who had seen too much.

  The old man looked at the bag in Amari's hand.

  "Horned Boar Liver," the janitor rasped. "And Salt Root to neutralize the bile. That's an old recipe. A very old recipe. From before the System told us what was safe to eat."

  Amari didn't lower his guard. "Who are you?"

  "I'm the guy who mops up the vomit when the rich kids drink too many potions," the janitor said, stepping into the light.

  He pointed a calloused finger at the bag.

  "You cook that wrong, you die. The ratio is 3:1. Three parts root, one part liver. Boil it until the purple turns grey. Understand?"

  Amari stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"

  The janitor spat on the ground.

  "Because the System thinks that liver is trash," the old man grunted. "And it thinks I'm trash. And it thinks you're trash."

  He turned and limped back into the building, dragging his mop bucket.

  "Use the maintenance closet on the 4th floor. The ventilation is better. You don't want the dorms smelling like boar guts."

  Amari watched him go. He noticed a faint scar on the back of the old man's neck—a brand that looked like a broken chain.

  He knows, Amari realized. He remembers the Old Ways.

  Amari checked the drone one last time, then vanished into the darkness.

  [The Maintenance Closet]

  An hour later, Amari sat over a portable electric burner.

  The pot bubbled. The smell was intense—musky and sharp, like boiling pennies.

  He watched the purple liver turn a dull, safe grey. The Salt Root dissolved, drawing out the neon-green mana toxins and neutralizing them.

  [System Warning: Toxic Ingredient Detected.]

  [Recommendation: Discard Immediately. Consume Nutrient Paste Type C.]

  "Shut up," Amari whispered to the blue window.

  He turned off the heat. He poured the thick, grey stew into a mug.

  It looked revolting.

  But as he held it, he could feel the heat radiating from it. Not just thermal heat—Vitality. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

  Amari Malik raised the mug to his lips.

  It was time to forge.