The Heroic Tale of the Weakest Ability User ~The F-Ranker with the Dual Pistols~ - Chapter 1

I woke up. to the morning sunlight that hits my face through the curtains. I must have been exposed to the heat of the sun for a long time because my face was hot. 

I slowly got up from the bed.

The hot sunlight that passesthrough the window is so bright that it was obvious that it was already the month of July.

Perhaps it was because I was exposed to such sunlight that I had the same dream that I always have.

 As I wiped the sweat from my head, scenes of the dream lingered in my mind, just like heat and fire that consume me. The intense pain of losing my body, and the sharp sensation of something carving a strange mark on my right hand. Every time I think about it, it drives me crazy.

After a while, I was able to forget about the dream completely.

Then I checked my cell phone, which was making a fun jingling sound, to see if I had an email.

Apparently it was from Professor Ken.

Text message:

[“You’re the only one with a low attendance record for written lectures. Since I have a day off today, we can have a one-on-one class.” (Peace emoji)]

As I read the message, I held my head in my hands.

“Ah, why is it just me… I don’t want to do it.”

I threw my mobile phone on the table and, not feeling like going, I went back to bed.

That’s right, I’ll pretend I didn’t see this email. I’ll do that.

Then I crawl back into bed. Then a second message arrived.

[“I’m sure you understand, but if you don’t show up… it’s death penalty time!”]

Fear of the “death penalty” got me moving.  I changed into my school uniform and stepped outside. My name is Task Sabe. I’m this academy’s sole dropout—a so-called “F-Rank” with no abilities. Constant make-up tests and late assignments aren’t due to my incompetence, of course. Just… misfortune. Definitely.

As I walked through the hall, a couple caught my attention:

“Pffft! Look, it’s the bottom-of-the-bottom F-Rank loser himself!” the boy sneered.

“Hey! That’s rude, Ren! the girl scolded, though her tone lacked sincerity.

I sighed. Being the only F-Rank student, I immediately knew they were mocking me. Why, of all places, did these random students have to insult me in the hallway?

“That guy can’t even handle practical skills! Useless F-Rank. Rumor has it, he joined the academy as the oldest student ever,” the boy added.

“I heard from Mei that he’s… cursed or something. We’re better off staying away,” the girl replied, lowering her voice but not enough to escape my hearing.

Despite standing infront of them, their relentless insults continued.

“Oh yeah, the cursed thing is real. He’s a survivor of Lost City, right? Mei, go talk to him!” the boy teased.

“Ew… His face is nice, but weak guys are such a turn-off!” she retorted.

“Bwahaha! Totally. Let’s get outta here. The mood’s too gloomy,” the boy chuckled as they walked off.

Even as their voices faded, I felt a strange numbness—it wasn’t new. I’d grown used to being ridiculed. A book I once read said, “When you grow accustomed to insults, it’s a sign you’ve given up on yourself.” Back then, I didn’t understand what that meant. But now, I do.

It’s true. I had already given up on finding strength in my powerless self.

Ken Misaki-sensei was already waiting in the study room when I arrived, and our one-on-one lesson began.

“Your face looks awful today. You know, overdoing it with… certain activities can leave you feeling drained. Moderation is key,” she said bluntly.

This was Ken Misaki-sensei. Her sharp, black hair fell to her shoulders, and her piercing eyes gave off an intimidating aura. Most striking of all was the black eyepatch over her right eye, adding a battle-hardened vibe to her otherwise beautiful face. She looked like a hero from a war-torn past.

“Actually, I’m not that kind of guy,” I replied casually, used to her unfiltered way of speaking. I pulled out my notebook and pen, ready for the lesson.

The remedial class was straightforward: summarize the key points of her lecture and submit it as a report.

“Let’s begin. First, those who can freely control supernatural abilities are called ESPers. The defining feature of an ESPer is the unique mark on the back of their hand. You have one too, don’t you?” she explained, almost like reading from a game manual.

I jotted down notes and glanced at the mark on my right hand.

“Yeah, but mine’s a bit different from the usual ESPers,” I said.

My mark was unique—a double-layered design, unlike the standard ESP tattoos. When viewed through red and blue lenses, the overlapping lines appeared in 3D, with distinct colors.

“Well, you’re a special case—a ‘Secret Child’ admitted to the ESP Academy. Everyone’s different, just like how no two bodies are the same. But in your case, you can’t use your abilities. That means you can’t participate in practical lessons, so you have more written assignments. Understand?” she said.

I couldn’t help but wonder if someone like me, without any real “talent,” belonged here. But the mark on my hand was proof enough to secure my place. I joined the academy at 13, three years later than most. The delay was due to being a survivor of Lost City—a story for another time.

Most students here shared one thing in common: no memories before the age of 10.

“Still, Sensei, you don’t have to waste your time on my remedial lessons. I can write the report in the library,” I said, trying to avoid the class. I hated lessons, preferring to spend my nights gaming and sleeping during the day. I figured most of this knowledge wouldn’t matter in the future anyway.

As I entertained these thoughts, something shot out from her hand at lightning speed.

“…Silence. Don’t test my patience,” she snapped.

A stun-gun-like device buzzed near my ear, making me break into a cold sweat. Misaki-sensei was a specialist in ESP combat training, unmatched in close-quarters combat. During a previous lesson, she’d landed a right hook to my stomach as a demonstration for other students.

Despite her harsh methods, she had a soft spot for someone like me—a bottom-tier student.

“Y-yes, ma’am!” I stammered, retreating into my chair. An awkward silence filled the room, heavy enough to make my stomach churn.

“You don’t submit assignments, you can’t perform practicals, and you don’t have any friends. I absolutely hate half-baked delinquents like you!”