The Weakest Hero's Ascension

Ethan never thought much of himself. In fact, most days he felt like a background character in the story of life—ordinary in every way. Not ugly, not particularly charming, not a genius in school, and certainly not athletic. His college professors would probably forget his name if they could, and his social life consisted mostly of quiet nights in his small apartment, eating instant noodles while scrolling aimlessly through the internet.

That particular Tuesday had started just like any other. The alarm clock had betrayed him with a late snooze, the bus had been twenty minutes late, and his professor had decided to randomly quiz the class on material no one had fully read. Ethan had gotten every answer wrong. Again.

“Maybe today can’t get worse,” he muttered as he trudged across the campus courtyard, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Famous last words.

Because somewhere between the college library and the coffee shop, reality decided it had enough of Ethan’s boring existence.

A sudden, inexplicable whirl of light erupted in front of him, blindingly bright and impossibly beautiful. The air smelled of ozone, magic, and—Ethan wasn’t entirely sure—burnt toast. Before he could even open his mouth to scream, the ground vanished beneath him, and he was falling.

---

When he hit, it was less “splat” and more “bounced in a weird, physics-defying manner.” Ethan scrambled to his feet, dazed. The world around him was… not his world.

Instead of the familiar concrete and brick of Los Angeles, he now stood in a vast meadow, the grass glittering with faintly luminescent dew. Towering mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and menacing. Two suns shone in the sky, one pale gold, the other a fiery orange. And most importantly: he wasn’t alone.

A group of people approached, all wearing gleaming armor, flowing capes, and wielding weapons that looked straight out of a video game. They stopped a few meters from him, glaring in a way that suggested they had all the patience in the world… and that Ethan had just personally offended it.

One of them, a tall man with platinum hair and eyes that seemed to pierce through his very soul, stepped forward. “So… you are the hero we summoned.”

Ethan blinked. “Wait… what? Hero? Summoned? I… I think you have the wrong guy.”

The platinum-haired man raised an eyebrow. “Do you deny it?”

Ethan shook his head vigorously. “No, I mean… yes? I’m—I’m just Ethan. Ethan Miller. College student. I study history. And, um… what exactly is a hero supposed to do? Fight dragons? Save kingdoms? Because I’m terrible at sports.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the group. Ethan froze. Laughter was the last thing he wanted.

Another hero, a petite woman with fiery red hair and a bow strapped across her back, stepped forward. “You call this terrible?” She gestured at him as if to highlight his painfully average existence. “You can barely even stand up straight! You’re… pathetic.”

Ethan flinched. “Ouch. Okay, that’s… that’s harsh.”

The platinum-haired man sighed. “Pathetic is… generous. You are the weakest hero in history. I have no idea why the summoning ritual picked you. But congratulations, I suppose.”

Ethan’s brain short-circuited. Weakest hero? That sounded… bad. Like, really bad.

“I… I think you’ve made a mistake. I mean, I can try magic or—”

“You will fail,” the platinum-haired man interrupted, voice as cold as steel. “Everyone fails against our training trials. You, however… will fail spectacularly.”

Ethan gulped. He had a strange feeling that he might actually die here.

---

The first test was simple: pick up a wooden sword and swing it at a training dummy. How hard could it be?

Ethan gripped the sword with sweaty hands and swung with everything he had. The sword ricocheted off the dummy harmlessly, bounced off a tree, and… hit him squarely in the shin.

“Are you even trying?” the red-haired archer asked, suppressing a giggle.

“I… I think I’m cursed,” Ethan groaned. “Or maybe gravity hates me.”

The next trial was magic. The instructors demonstrated a simple fireball spell. Ethan mimicked the hand gestures, muttered the words, and—nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. On the third attempt, a tiny spark shot from his fingertip… which immediately exploded in a puff of smoke and singed his own eyebrows.

“Congratulations,” the platinum-haired man said dryly. “You’ve successfully cast the weakest fireball in history. Most impressive.”

Ethan wanted to curl into a ball and cry. He had failed at literally everything. His stomach twisted in despair.

And then… a voice spoke in his head.

> “SYSTEM ACTIVATED. HERO CLASS: FAILURE-BASED POWER. INITIAL ABILITY UNLOCKED: FAILURE DETECTION. YOUR POWER GROWS THROUGH FAILURES.”

Ethan froze. Was he hallucinating?

> “You… what?” he whispered aloud.

> “Do not panic. Your lack of skill and repeated failures are not a liability. They are your strength. Every failure will grant you abilities or enhance existing ones. Your first failure grants passive resistance to minor magic. Congratulations, hero.”

Ethan blinked. Magic resistance? That was… actually kind of useful.

> “Oh, and one more thing. Fail spectacularly. The bigger the failure, the bigger the gain.”

He looked around at the group of glaring, judgmental heroes. He was already failing spectacularly. Did that mean he was… getting stronger?

The thought was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.

---

Over the next few days, Ethan’s “training” consisted of one catastrophic failure after another. He fell off training platforms, accidentally summoned a tiny slime that chased the red-haired archer around in circles, and managed to trip himself into a pond while practicing a basic teleportation spell. Every single time, the system pinged in his mind, giving him tiny boosts he didn’t yet understand.

By day three, Ethan realized something: he wasn’t getting weaker. He was… getting stronger. Or at least, slightly stronger. He could dodge a weak lightning bolt without electrocuting himself. He could survive a small explosion without losing limbs. And he could even… make his minor failures sometimes backfire on enemies in amusing ways.

The other heroes noticed too. First, they mocked him. Then, they watched him warily. Ethan didn’t understand why yet. He had failed in almost every conceivable way, yet here he stood, bruised, battered, and still alive.

“Maybe he’s… lucky?” one of the junior heroes whispered.

“Luck?” the platinum-haired man muttered, narrowing his eyes. “No. I think… he’s something else. Something I don’t understand.”

Ethan didn’t know what he was yet. He didn’t know the limits of his system, the extent of his powers, or the strange path ahead. All he knew was that he was a college student, lost in a magical world, and somehow… the worst hero in history.

And for the first time in his life, that didn’t feel like the end of the world.

Because the system promised him one thing: failure is not the end—it’s the beginning.

And Ethan, the weakest hero, was about to begin a journey unlike any other.