The 5% Reject: Rise of the Powerless Hero"

The story started in a hospital,where a boy bron but something is different about him, because he is glowing, after that day all the boys or girls started born with superpower and the world 95% population is now with superpower The world split into 2 types of people,first who use their power to save others and second who use their power to attack on others. First type peoples calls "Heroes" and second peoples calls 'Villains' One important thing: the superpower awaken after 4 or 5 years later after born Now let's go to the main story: The hospital hallway smelled of ozone and sterile floor cleaner, a scent that had become synonymous with hope for most families. But for Jack, it just felt cold. Everywhere he looked, the world was alive with light. In the waiting room, a toddler was giggling while small sparks of static electricity danced between his fingertips. Across the hall, a nurse moved a heavy equipment cart without touching it, her eyes glowing a faint, telekinetic blue. "Next," a voice called out. It was flat, professional, and devoid of the magic that saturated the rest of the city. Jack felt his mother’s hand tighten around his. Mrs. Hinata’s palm was sweating, a nervous tremor radiating through her touch. She didn't say a word as they walked into the small examination room. Inside, Dr. Arisaka didn't look up from his tablet. He was scrolling through charts with a rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his stylus. The clock on the wall seemed to scream in the silence, counting down the seconds of Jack's childhood. "Jack Hinata, age five," the doctor muttered, finally looking up. His eyes didn't glow. They were just a tired, flat brown. He looked at Jack’s hands—empty, still, and normal. "I’ve run the blood work three times," Dr. Arisaka began, his voice dropping an octave. He set the tablet down and leaned forward, his chair creaking. "Usually, by this age, the mitochondrial spark has ignited. We look for a surge in the nervous system—a sign that the 'Glowing Boy’s' legacy has passed on." Jack held his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to find that spark inside him. He imagined a flame, a bolt of lightning, even a tiny flicker of light. Anything. But all he felt was the steady, quiet beat of his own heart. "Mrs. Hinata," the doctor said, finally looking at Jack’s mother. "Your son’s DNA is... stable. Too stable. There is no sign of an awakening. Physically, Jack is a perfectly healthy boy, but..." "But what, Doctor?" Mrs. Hinata’s voice was a whisper, a fragile thing that sounded like it might snap at any moment. "He is powerless. Jack is part of the five percent. He is a Non-Awakened." The word felt like a physical blow. Powerless. Jack looked down at his lap. The colorful posters on the wall—pictures of Shadow flying through the clouds and saving falling skyscrapers—suddenly felt like they were mocking him. The world was a playground for gods, and he had just been locked outside the gate. A wet drop hit Jack's hand. He looked up to see his mother, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, violent sobs. "Don't worry, son," she choked out, pulling him into a hug that felt like she was trying to shield him from the entire world. "I am always with you. No matter what." But as Jack felt his mother’s tears soak into his shirt, he didn't look back at her. He looked out the window at the towering statues of heroes in the distance. The walk home was a blur of neon signs and people flying overhead, but the Hinata apartment was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant siren of a hero chase three blocks away. ​Jack didn't go to his room to play with his toy capes. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the worn carpet, just inches away from the television screen. His eyes were wide, reflecting the blue and white flashes of the news report. ​On the screen, the sky was filled with smoke. A giant villain made of jagged concrete was tearing through the downtown plaza, throwing cars like they were pebbles. Then, the camera shook as a dark streak cut through the air. ​"It’s him!" the reporter screamed, barely audible over the chaos. "Shadow is here!" ​The hero didn't wear a bright costume or a cape that flowed in the wind. He was a silhouette of pure obsidian, moving so fast the camera could barely track him. With a single strike—a punch that seemed to vibrate the very air—Shadow sent the concrete monster crumbling into dust. He stood there for a second, his dark aura flickering like a dying candle, before vanishing into the night. ​Jack’s hands were pressed against the cold glass of the TV. He could feel the static electricity humming against his palms—the only "power" he would ever get to touch. ​"He’s so cool..." Jack whispered. His voice was small, trembling with a mix of awe and agony. ​Behind him, the kitchen was dark. Mrs. Hinata stood by the counter, her back to him. She hadn't turned on the lights. She was just standing there, her silhouette framed by the moonlight hitting the sink. The sound of Shadow’s victory theme played on the TV—a triumphant, heroic horn section—but in this room, it sounded like a funeral march. ​Jack turned away from the screen. His eyes were red, the tears he had been holding back since the doctor’s office finally spilling over ​"Mom?" ​She didn't move at first. Her shoulders just tightened. ​"Mom... the doctor said I don't have a spark," Jack said, his voice cracking. "He said I'm stable. Just normal." He looked back at the frozen image of Shadow on the screen. "But... Shadow doesn't look like he has a light either. He’s just fast. He’s just strong." ​Jack looked up at her, his heart laid bare. "Mom, do you think... even if I'm a reject... can I also become a hero?" ​The silence that followed was louder than the explosion on the TV. ​Mrs. Hinata turned around. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen from the crying she thought she had hidden. She didn't answer him. She couldn't. How could she tell her son that the world he lived in was built to crush people like him? How could she tell him that heroes were born, not made? ​She dropped to her knees on the carpet and pulled him into a hug so tight it felt like she was trying to fuse their souls together. She buried her face in his neck, her fingers clenching the fabric of his shirt. ​Jack waited for the words. He waited for her to say "Of course you can" or "I believe in you." But the words never came. ​There was only the sound of her shaky breath and the distant, muffled cheers of the crowd on the television, celebrating a hero that Jack could never be. In that hug, in that silence, Jack got his answer. (To be continue.....)