REBIRTH SYSTEM: From Disowned heir to world Dominator

CHAPTER. 6 — Bruises and Mockery

The warehouse floor smelled of oil, dust, and crushed cardboard—an odor Leon was starting to associate with defeat. By his sixth day, the place felt less like a workplace and more like a punishment chamber designed specifically for him.

He tightened his grip on the pallet jack and pulled another overloaded crate toward the loading bay. His palms stung—raw, cracked, and blistered beneath thin gloves. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the grime on his neck.

Every lift hurt.

Every step echoed with the weight of what he had lost.

A week ago, he was untouchable.

Now—

He winced as pain shot up his left shoulder.

Now he was barely holding together.

“Yo, Hale!”

Leon kept moving. Responding only made things worse.

“Oi, Hale!”

This time the voice was closer—sharp, mocking.

Leon paused and turned. A group of workers watched him from near the conveyor line, amusement plastered across their faces.

Jax—stocky, shaved head, always chewing gum—smirked. “You hearing problems, prince? Or do you only listen to people with money?”

Laughter rippled through the group.

Leon said nothing. He returned to the crate and pushed.

“You see that?” another guy—Tanner—snorted. “The former young master doesn’t talk to peasants.”

“Dude, that’s the guy who used to ride in a black Bentley every morning.”

“No way.”

“Look at him now, man. Bent like an old washing machine.”

Someone whistled. “Should’ve stayed rich, Hale! Homeless ain’t your color!”

Leon kept his head down. Words like that didn’t cut him anymore—not compared to what he’d already endured. His father discarding him. Vanessa walking away. Eveline smiling as he was stripped of everything.

Compared to that, warehouse mockery was nothing more than noise.

But pain was pain, no matter the size.

The crate hit a bump in the concrete. Leon’s shoulder gave out for a second, sending him stumbling.

More laughter.

“Hey Jax, think he’s gonna cry today?”

“Nah, rich boys don’t cry. They… crumble silently.”

Leon straightened, breathing slow and controlled. His ribs hurt, his feet throbbed, and his spine burned like someone had poured hot metal inside it.

“Come on, Hale,” Tanner called. “Give us a quote from the top. Something inspiring for the working class!”

Leon continued pushing.

“He’s ignoring you, bro.”

“That’s not very humble of him.”

“You’d think bankruptcy would knock some manners into him.”

Then came the worst voice in the building.

“What's going on over here?”

Mason Briggs.

Leon stiffened automatically.

Mason walked toward them with a clipboard in hand and arrogance in every step. His supervisor vest hung unzipped, his boots clacking confidently. He looked like someone who enjoyed power a little too much—even if that power only extended over a warehouse full of exhausted laborers.

“Boss,” Jax said with a grin, “we were just educating the new guy. Teaching him how to fit in.”

Mason looked Leon up and down slowly. “Hale, why are you moving like a snail? That load was supposed to be on the truck ten minutes ago.”

“It’s heavy,” Leon said quietly. “I can get it there—just need a moment.”

“A moment?” Mason barked out a laugh. “This is a warehouse, not a spa.”

More laughter.

Leon kept still, jaw clenched.

Mason circled him once, like a wolf assessing injured prey.

“You know, Hale,” he said, voice loud enough for the entire floor to hear, “I’ve supervised hundreds of workers over the years, but you—” He leaned closer. “—you’re by far the most disappointing.”

Leon didn’t flinch, but inside something tightened.

Mason wasn’t finished.

“I looked up your little scandal,” he continued. “Fraud, embezzlement, corporate sabotage… impressive résumé you got there.”

Leon’s vision dimmed around the edges. “I didn’t do any of that.”

“Sure,” Mason smirked. “And I’m the King of England.”

Tanner snorted. “More like King of Trash.”

Leon stepped forward, quietly. “I said—I didn’t do it.”

Jax cupped a hand around his ear. “Look, the prince does talk!”

Mason lifted a brow. “Is that attitude, Hale? You want to lose this job too? Because trust me”—he jabbed a finger at Leon’s chest—“there are a hundred guys who’d love your spot.”

Leon stared straight ahead, not at Mason, not at the workers, but into the empty space beyond them.

If he lost this job, he wouldn’t survive the week. Rent. Food. Clothes. Everything was hanging by a thread.

“I’m not giving attitude,” he said quietly. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“And I’m telling you to shut up and work.” Mason stepped back, voice sharp. “Pick up the pace, rich boy. I don’t wanna see you dragging your feet again.”

Leon nodded. “Understood.”

Mason smirked like he’d won a prize. “Good. Now get to it, Hale. Before I put you on trash duty for the rest of the week.”

Leon returned to the crate. He tightened his grip, ignoring the flare of agony in his shoulders, and pushed.

The wheels screeched.

The load shifted.

He nearly slipped.

Behind him, the voices resumed.

“Look at him wobble.”

“He’s gonna drop it.”

“Bet he cries at home every night.”

Leon pushed harder.

One step.

Another.

His muscles shook violently. Sweat dripped down his chin and fell to the concrete.

The warehouse noise faded. The voices became distant, muffled, like echoes underwater.

All he could hear was the thudding of his heart—and the grinding noise of the pallet jack refusing to move.

He braced his legs and forced it forward. A surge of pain exploded down his spine, and he bit down hard to keep from groaning.

For a moment, he thought he might collapse.

But he didn’t.

He kept moving.

Step by miserable step, he pushed through the shadows of disgrace, humiliation, and physical agony until finally—finally—the crate reached the loading bay.

He let the handle go.

His arms dropped to his sides, trembling.

Jax shouted from the distance. “Hey, Hale! You planning on taking all year?”

More laughter.

Leon closed his eyes.

He felt the bruises forming beneath his skin, blooming like dark flowers.

He felt the sting of mockery eating at whatever pride he still had left.

He felt the cold weight of the world pressing down on him.

And yet—

Somewhere inside, something small and faint flickered.

Not anger.

Not hope.

Just… a refusal to die here.

A refusal to end like this.

Leon exhaled slowly, opened his eyes, and returned to the floor.

He didn’t know it yet.

But with every insult, every bruise, every humiliation—

He was walking closer to the moment everything would change.

Closer to the moment the System would awaken.