Me and My Overpowered Abilities

"Mom, I'll be entering the dungeon tomorrow. With my Knight job class, I'll surely make a name for myself," Mark said with a sad smile, looking at his mother as she lay weakly on the bed. She struggled to shake her head, silently begging him not to go, but Mark just smiled and stood to leave for college.

For as long as Mark could remember, it had always been just him and his mother. His father was a ghost, someone he had never met. Growing up, he'd harbored an uncontrollable hatred toward the man who had abandoned them, watching as his mother worked tirelessly to raise him on her own. That rage, bottled up for years, often spilled out at school, making him act out.

It wasn't long before he became a bully. But even in his anger and frustration, his mother kept him grounded. She guided him, making sure he never crossed certain lines and encouraging him to keep his grades up.

Mark worked hard to honor her efforts, determined to one day repay her for all she had sacrificed. But six months ago, everything changed. His mother was injured, and their insurance company did everything in its power to avoid helping them. Left to handle the mounting medical bills on their own, they had no choice but to scrape by.

Luckily, Mark awakened to the Knight job class, a highly valued role that made him capable of fighting on the front lines. With this newfound power, he saw an opportunity—not just to escape their financial struggles, but to make his mother proud.

Tomorrow, Mark might die. He knew the risks. The monster attacks six months ago were only from F-rank monsters, but things have escalated since then. A month after the attacks, dungeons began appearing worldwide—pocket dimensions filled with danger and opportunity.

Each F-grade dungeon held swarms of F-rank monsters, along with three sub-bosses and a single E-rank dungeon boss.

The sub-bosses were a nightmare on their own. Bulletproof and nearly impervious to most conventional attacks, only powerful, specialized weapons could break through their defenses. The dungeon boss, however, was on an entirely different level. Completely immune to most weapons, it could destroy buildings with a single attack. Its raw strength and near-invincibility made it a deadly challenge even for seasoned fighters.

And this was just an F-grade dungeon. No E-grade dungeons had been reported yet, but the mere idea of their existence unsettled many.

Dungeons came with another challenge: time. F-grade dungeons needed to be cleared within a single day, or the monsters inside would spill out into the world. There were only two ways to prevent this: clear the dungeon entirely or delay the outbreak by having someone remain inside. While this tactic bought precious time, it wasn't foolproof. Eventually, the monsters would leave the dungeon on their own, overwhelming anything in their path.

Sighing to himself, Mark headed to college. He hadn't even made it inside before his eyes landed on Adam, who had just arrived at the same time.

At one point, Mark had pitied Adam. He'd watched as everyone picked on him, mocking him while Adam just stood there and took it. Back then, Mark had even tried to help, stepping in to defend him. But damn, was it hard to like Adam.

It wasn't Adam's personality—no, that wasn't the problem. It was his body. There was something about Adam's smell, and his appearance, that made it difficult for anyone to genuinely connect with him or feel good about doing something nice for him. Mark had tried, at first, but eventually, he gave up. In the end, it was easier to join the crowd and pick on him like everyone else did.

At some point, Adam became Mark's punching bag—a convenient target for all the frustration and rage he couldn't vent elsewhere.

Today, that frustration was bubbling over. Mark watched Adam approach the school grounds and make his decision.

He needed this. He needed to rough Adam up a little, to release the tension gnawing at him before tomorrow's dungeon run. Adam was here, and Mark was going to use him as an outlet—just like always.

Mark wasted no time, steering Adam toward a secluded spot where they wouldn't be interrupted—or so he thought. They were about the same height, but Mark had an athletic build from his time on the football team. 

"What are you doing?" Adam asked calmly, his eyes flicking toward the growing crowd. Students were pulling out their phones, ready to record the spectacle. Adam wasn't surprised; if anything, he looked almost bored. He'd seen this happen too many times before, and the novelty had long since worn off.

"Adam," Mark began, sighing faintly as he looked around. "I pity your fat ass. It's only your second day back at the academy, and you're already about to get jumped."

Adam didn't respond, his indifferent expression unchanged as he watched the crowd grow.

Mark shook his head as more students stepped forward, their eyes lighting up with excitement. He recognized that look all too well. Every time he went after Adam, there was never a shortage of people eager to join in, hoping for their moment of amusement at Adam's expense.

Adam was an outsider... no, he was an outsider even to the outsiders. He was everyone's punching bag. Teachers, students, even random strangers on the street—it was just how things were.

Mark stared at Adam, waiting for him to react. Normally, Adam would look scared, his eyes darting around, searching for a way out. But this time, he didn't. Instead, Adam stood still, his expression calm, his gaze fixed on Mark with an intensity that felt almost like a challenge.

The lack of fear annoyed Mark. No, infuriated him. Without thinking, he swung his fist at Adam.

But Adam moved smoothly, dodging the punch with an ease that left everyone, including Mark, stunned.

Embarrassed, Mark launched another punch, his pride driving him to make contact. Adam stepped backward, forcing Mark to advance with another swing. This time, Adam shifted to the side, his movements fluid and controlled, and cast a genjutsu, a subtle illusion that targeted Mark's sense of balance.

Suddenly, Mark's footing faltered. He stumbled, unable to steady himself, and fell forward.

His knee landed hard on the sharp edge of a broken tree branch that had been cut and left on the ground. The wood pierced cleanly into his knee.

Mark's cry of pain echoed through the air, silencing the crowd. A few students rushed forward, their faces pale with shock, to help him. The sight of Mark writhing on the ground left everyone horrified, a heavy tension settling over the scene.

Adam gave Mark a brief, indifferent glance before turning and continuing on with his day. He knew, that if their roles were reversed, no one would care.

If it had been him on the ground, injured and in pain, it would have been nothing more than fuel for laughter and cruel jokes. No one would have rushed to help. But for Mark? They would make sure he was okay, checking on him, comforting him, before eventually they would start clowning him once he was okay.

The contrast wasn't lost on Adam, but he didn't dwell on it. He had seen it all before.

Here's a refined version of your passage with improved flow, emotional nuance, and clarity:

"What's going on here?" The blonde-haired woman from yesterday descended from the sky, landing gracefully before rushing to Mark's side. Her sharp eyes quickly took in the scene, noticing several students holding up their phones, recording.

"Show me the video," she demanded, her voice firm as she knelt by Mark. At the same time, she called for medics—Mark's knee injury looked severe, and she knew it might leave him crippled for life if untreated.

As she watched the footage, her eyes narrowed. "...It's him," she muttered under her breath, realizing that Mark had been facing Adam. She had just missed him. She remembered seeing Adam earlier but hadn't paid him much attention.

After yesterday's encounter, she'd asked around about Adam, curious about the man who seemed so detached yet so polarizing. To her surprise, people had been eager to talk about him, the man who looks Skinner than tomorrow, The Death Star eater... and the nicknames were endless and ruthless.

She had learned all she needed to know. At first, people often wanted to help Adam, drawn by some sense of pity. But eventually, they'd find themselves swept up by the crowd, joining in the endless cycle of bullying. Even she had to admit, much to her shame, that she'd made a few creative jokes about him herself. It was just so easy.

A pang of guilt hit her as she thought, 'It's like he's a magnet for bullies, his gravitational pull just draws them in...' She winced inwardly. 'Oh, I did it again.'

She sighed, feeling bad for Adam. She hadn't meant to make another cruel joke, but somehow, it just came out. That was the problem—it was too easy to bully him, even unintentionally.

"Sorry, kid… your left leg is useless," the doctor said, his voice steady but laced with regret. "The fall didn't just pierce your knee—it practically destroyed it. It can be healed, thanks to the new abilities some doctors are awakening, but there's a problem. Your insurance is refusing to pay for the procedure because of the circumstances behind your injury."

Mark's eyes widened in horror as he stared at the doctor, his heart sinking.

"What can I do? I have to go dungeon clearing," Mark said, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with fear and desperation.

The doctor sighed heavily, leaning forward. "I'll be straight with you. The longer you wait to heal your leg, the slimmer the chances are of it ever being fully functional again. Your best option right now is to amputate and get one of the new prosthetic limbs. If you want to get back into the dungeons as soon as possible, that's your quickest path forward."

He paused, meeting Mark's panicked gaze. "Your insurance is willing to cover the cost of the prosthesis, but not the healing. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it's the reality of the situation."

Mark sat there, stunned, his mind racing. Slowly, tears began to spill from his eyes, blurring his vision. How was he supposed to help his mother now?

This was all his fault. It was Adam's fault.

Mark's eyes burned with uncontrollable rage. Why did Adam dodge? Why didn't he just take the hit like he always had? If he hadn't moved, none of this would've happened.

Suddenly, a notification appeared before him, glowing faintly in the air:

{Conditions met. (Wrathful Knight) has been awakened. Your rage is your strength. So long as your fury burns, you can never be stopped!}

Mark's eyes widened as he read the message, his heart pounding. A surge of energy coursed through him, unfamiliar but intoxicating. He quickly opened the system menu to view the new skills available to him.

Among them, one skill immediately caught his attention: Wrathful Healing.