The golden hue of dusk blanketed Valeon Academy as Ansel made his way toward the dormitories assigned to Class F—the lowest tier among the academy's rankings. The path was quiet, lined with statues of legendary mages and swordsmen. Ansel's eyes were fixed ahead, focused, but the weight of the day clung to his shoulders like a silent shadow.
As he rounded a corner near the eastern garden, he froze.
Two figures blocked his path—figures he recognized instantly.
Eldric Greenal, his half-brother and the proud heir of the Greenal family, stood with arms crossed and a mocking smile tugging at his lips. His silver-blond hair was tied back, and his sharp emerald eyes glinted with arrogance. The sigil of Class A gleamed on his chest.
Beside him was Serina Greenal, graceful and composed, her golden-brown hair flowing over her shoulders. Her violet eyes—more cold than curious—narrowed as they landed on Ansel. She wore the Class B insignia like a badge of superiority.
"Well, well," Eldric said, breaking the silence. "Look who crawled out of the servant wing."
Serina tilted her head slightly. "Are they just letting anyone in now? Even the failures."
Ansel met their eyes but said nothing. He knew how this would go.
"You're really pathetic, Ansel," Eldric said, taking a step forward. "No mana, no talent, and no name. What makes you think you belong here?"
"I didn't come here to belong to anyone," Ansel said quietly. "I came to learn. To grow."
Serina chuckled. "So noble. So naive. You'll break before the month is over."
Eldric leaned in close, voice cold. "You're a disgrace. Don't think you'll be treated like a Greenal here. You're just a stain we left behind."
They brushed past him, not sparing another glance.
Ansel stood still for a long moment. The pain stung—sharper than he wanted to admit. But deep inside, that fire refused to die. No matter their words, no matter their cruelty… he would carve his own path.
And one day, they would see.