Does power level matter

My story

In a world where power is everything and you get everything handed to you based on it, i was born at the bottom, the weakest. the lowest of the low. so i was put into the place that suited me. the slums, very few people lived here and i was given to a couple, almost nobody stays with their biological parents in this world and i was no acception. 

i looked quite different from my parents, both had jet black hair and brown eyes. i on the other hand had amber eyes and bright red hair, so my parents named me vulcan like a volcano and they gave me their last name, striker.

growing up i was always skinny, we couldn't afford food. and my parents were blackened in soot. i tried helping them wash off in the lake but the soot stayed, so i left it alone.i still bathed and tried to keep clean, working jobs so i could get cleaner clothes. 

remember how i said you get put where you belong because of your power level, that's no 100% true. every year there's a tournament where you can fight your way up the hierarchy however its a battle to the death. 

after i turned 15 my parents kicked me out, they couldn't afford me anymore, told me i'm too old and i could fend for myself. so i did i stole ran and stole some more. i was fired from my jobs after i was kicked out because i didn't have an address anymore.

the first item i stole was a big hunting knife, while money was scarce weapons weren't, i guess they wanted us to kill each other and we did, without consequences, nobody ever payed attention to the slums. we were insignificant, couldn't even enter the main town without being yelled at or killed.

i was handed a letter by some guy who was dressed way to fancy to live here in the slums so obviously i opened it had told me told me that my biological parents had been killed due to treason against the capital, to be honest i didnt care.

"did they leave me with anything" i asked the guy with my natural deep monotone voice.

"surprisingly those traitors actually managed to get you something, not that i have any clue why they care about trash like you" the man said and threw a black cloth into the mud, when i went to grab it he kicked me into the floor and ground his heel into my spine.

to be honest i wanted to kill him but he looked powerful and important. another person with jet black hair slicked back, he had sunglasses on and a pure white suit, i can see why he hated me. although i tried to keep clean its difficult with the constant rain and the ground staying muddied, that and he knew of my power level. its tattooed on everyone like a birth mark, mine is on my wrist, a cold 100. which seems high until you know the average is 1000, and as you know your power level has nothing to do with your parents.

after a few seconds of grinding his heal into my spine he let off spat on me and walked away. that's when i grabbed the cloth and opened it i saw the most beautiful silver blade connected to a dark wooden handle which had a crystal in it that seemed to glow a dark purple. as i stood up and took the blade in my hand firmly the crystal changed color to a dim grey.

"hm must be broken, still a good blade though" i spoke quietly to myself and then ran off with my new blade, during the next year instead of running after i stole i stuck around till someone came out and tried to kill me after that it was a fight to the death, i could no longer run from them.