The Great Mercator System

Chapter 1: A Life of Mediocrity

From the moment he was born, his life had been defined by one word: average. He was neither exceptionally smart nor hopelessly inept, neither particularly athletic nor completely uncoordinated. He was just another face in the crowd, a nameless figure lost in the grand machinery of the world.

His childhood was uneventful, marked by lukewarm grades and forgettable friendships. He was never the top of his class, nor was he at the bottom. Teachers hardly remembered his name, and classmates never sought him out unless they needed an extra body for group projects. Even his parents, while loving, never expected greatness from him. He was the kind of child that people saw but never truly noticed.

In middle school, he discovered his first real struggle: fear. Fear of standing out, fear of speaking up, fear of pursuing anything that could set him apart. He learned early that trying too hard only invited unwanted attention, so he chose the path of least resistance. When he was bullied, he smiled and laughed along, pretending it didn’t hurt. When his friends made jokes at his expense, he swallowed the sting and played along, unwilling to risk isolation.

High school wasn’t much better. He harbored a deep, quiet love for a girl in his class—a girl who, like the rest of the world, barely knew he existed. She was kind, always smiling, always surrounded by friends. He longed to tell her how he felt, to confess the feelings that had weighed on him for years. But every time he tried, his courage failed him. She deserved someone strong, someone bold. Someone who wasn’t him.

Years passed, and life carried him forward, as it always did. He graduated high school with unimpressive grades, went to an average university, and earned a degree in business. Not out of passion, but because it seemed like the safest option.

By the time he entered the workforce, the pattern of his life had already been set. He became a sales agent for a mid-sized corporation, a job that required long hours and offered little in return. The pay was decent, but promotions were scarce, and his colleagues outshone him at every turn. He was diligent, but never exceptional. Reliable, but never impressive. Just another nameless worker in a sea of ambition.

Day after day, he watched as his coworkers climbed the ranks, as they secured better positions and better lives. He told himself it was fine. That he didn’t need recognition, that he was content with his modest salary and a quiet existence. But deep down, resentment festered. Not toward others—but toward himself.