The midsummer city of Loran burned like a furnace.
Heavy clouds smothered the sky, trapping the suffocating heat that clung to the air.
Inside a classroom of the Holy Bow Academy, the atmosphere was even more stifling.
The cicadas shrieking on the sycamore trees outside and the weak hum of the ceiling fan only made the silence more unbearable.
Born's hands were clenched tight beneath the desk, knuckles bone-white. Rage seared in his eyes. His lips bled from how hard he had been biting them. The wound on his chest and the bruises along his arms screamed of the humiliation he had suffered just the day before.
Around him, students either smirked, pitied him, or pretended not to notice. None of them dared to meet his gaze—because the one standing in front of him was someone no one wanted to offend.
That was Miles.
A boy with a handsome face twisted by the cruelty in his eyes. Standing tall, he looked down at Born with a predator's sneer.
"Born, have you made up your mind?" His voice carried a suffocating weight. "Quit the academy… or pay the price."
Born's nails dug so deep into his palms they nearly broke skin. He wanted to raise his hand and slap that sneer away, but reason screamed at him—he wasn't Miles's match.
Just yesterday, that noble brat had provoked him, rallying his lackeys to corner and beat him. Born had endured, until he couldn't anymore. He struck back once—his fist landing squarely on Miles's face.
But that single punch had dragged his entire family into the abyss.
He had once prayed the academy elders would uphold justice.
But when he saw the venerable Headmaster bowing to Miles's father, all hope shattered.
Justice? That was a joke.
"Why did you fight back?"
"Why didn't you just run?"
The Headmaster's cold words cut deeper than any blade, severing Born's last illusions.
In their eyes, he was meant to be trampled. He was not allowed to resist.
Because Miles's father was no ordinary man—he was the vice-captain of the largest hunting corps in Loran, a Knight of renown, and the academy's most generous patron.
The root of all this misery came from something absurdly small—
Born had once spoken a single sentence to the girl Miles fancied.
Here, poverty itself was a sin.
If you were born low, even breathing was an offense.
"What's wrong, Born? Can your family really scrape together a hundred thousand gold?" Miles sneered, his eyes dripping with contempt. "Your father, the sewer-cleaner… he could work himself to death and still never earn that much."
"A nest of filthy rats—that's all your family is."
"If you won't quit the academy, that's fine too. I've got plenty of ways to make your life hell. I heard you've got a little sister… and a brother, right?"
Every word slithered into Born's ears like venomous snakes, fueling the fire in his chest until his blood felt ready to boil.
"Miles—shut your damn mouth!"
Born's head snapped up, his teeth clenched, rage twisting his voice into a roar. "I'll drop out… but you will not hound me further! And you will not lay a hand on my sister or my brother!"
Miles only smirked, a glint of mockery in his eyes. "Good boy. At least you know your place. To stain my blade with the blood of lowborn trash like you… would only disgrace it."
But the truth was simpler, darker.
Miles wanted Born ruined for one reason alone—
Born had gotten too close to the girl Miles coveted.
All his life, everything Miles desired, he took.
Wealth, status… women.
To him, Born was nothing more than a worthless commoner with mediocre talent, a bug crawling in the dirt.
And Miles never tolerated accidents that could interfere with his plans.
Born's expulsion from the academy—that was what he truly wanted.
As for the so-called "conditions" he just promised? Whether he kept his word would depend entirely on his mood.
Watching Miles and his lackeys leave, Born's clenched hands finally loosened. His body sagged into the chair. He stared blankly at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, lazy circles. His eyes were hollow.
On the continent of Tyria, every youth, upon reaching adulthood, was granted one chance—
The Awakening Ceremony.
A ritual that revealed their inborn Talent Mark.
Combat, Healing, Augmentation—three great paths that upheld the cultivation and order of the land.
And every mark bore a grade.
From the lowest rank F, to the supreme, near-mythical SSS.
Born's mark?
At his awakening, all he received was an E-rank Combat Talent—Archer.
Just a hair's breadth above the bottom of the barrel.
Miles, on the other hand, had awakened with the noble bloodline of his house—
an S-rank Combat Talent: Lord of Wind.
The power to command the very elements, a gift destined to place him above ordinary men.
From the moment of awakening, the gap between them had become an unbridgeable chasm.
"If only my talent were stronger…
B-rank, even A-rank…
Would I have been granted the justice I prayed for?"
Born's thoughts spiraled, dazed and chaotic.
But reality was cruel.
Even B-rank or A-rank was nowhere near enough.
He couldn't remember how he walked out of the academy that day.
The crowd swallowed his figure whole,
while the brand of "E-rank" sealed him as nothing more than another forgettable commoner.
At the academy gates, a golden notice board stood tall.
Inscribed upon it:
"Kingdom Border Legion Recruitment—No matter your birth, merit can be earned in blood."
Born halted, staring at the sign. His fists shook as they clenched tight.
Deep within his chest, a desperate courage stirred—
If the academy had abandoned him, then perhaps the battlefield was his only path left.
And in that moment—
A cold, commanding voice thundered within his mind:
"Conditions met. Expelled from the academy, sworn to join the army. Contract Seal—activated."
"Current Talent: E-rank Archer."
"Recalibrating… Matching host to a higher destiny."
"Match successful—SSS-rank Archer Talent: Blessing of the Moon Goddess."
A silver radiance erupted.
An ancient screen of light unfurled before Born's eyes, shimmering with divine inscriptions.
Etched upon it was a mark of fate that belonged to him alone.
"This… what is this?"
Born froze, his heartbeat hammering like a war drum.
Across the glowing panel, words burned with impossible clarity:
[Talent: Blessing of the Moon Goddess (SSS · Unique)]
Born's nails dug deep into his palms as his entire body trembled.
Slowly, he lifted his head, locking eyes with Miles amidst the crowd.
His gaze was sharp, cold as winter steel.
But he did not strike—not yet.
Miles was nothing more than the beginning.
The Headmaster of the Holy Bow Academy.
Miles's powerful father.
Those arrogant nobles who looked down from on high—
They were Born's true enemies.
Born's family was dirt poor.
His father scraped by as a sewer worker.
His mother pushed a rickety cart to sell street food.
And at home were a younger brother and sister still too small to fend for themselves.
The family was like a fragile boat in a storm, ready to capsize at the faintest wave.
Born had once dreamed of becoming a warrior, using his talent to pull them out of misery.
But Miles's oppression had nearly shattered that dream—and with it, his home.
Now, lifting his head, his gaze pierced the cracked walls and the half-broken iron gate of his house.
For the first time, an unshakable conviction ignited in his heart.
"One day… they will pay the price."
The wooden stairs creaked under his feet as he climbed to the small attic room they called home.
From the doorway drifted the scent of familiar cooking, laced with the harsh tang of cheap tobacco, stirring a bittersweet ache in his chest.
He drew in a deep breath, slipped the key into the rusty lock, and pushed the door open.
"Mom, I'm home."
In the dim glow of the oil lamp, his father sat slumped on an old wooden chair.
Once broad-shouldered, now bowed under the weight of life.
"Dad."
"Mm." The man grunted without lifting his head, a cheap cigarette burning between his fingers, its acrid smoke filling the room.
From the kitchen, his mother peeked out—her face lined with exhaustion, yet still carrying a gentle smile.
"Go wash your hands. Dinner's ready."
His younger siblings hadn't come home yet—their mother had already set aside food for them.
At the table, the three of them ate in silence.
Only the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain broke the air.
At last, his father spoke, voice low, thick with restrained anger.
"Yesterday… why did you get into a fight?"
His mother stiffened, quietly setting down her bowl and chopsticks. Her eyes flickered to Born, filled with unspoken worry.
Born looked up, meeting the gaze of the man who had raised him for over a decade.
He knew his father's temper—proud, stubborn, unwilling to bow to anyone.
"Dad," Born said at last, his voice steady, "I quit the academy."
No excuses.
No hesitation.
Just the most important decision of his life.
"What?" His mother gasped, her hands trembling so violently she nearly spilled her bowl. Her face went pale with panic.
"You… you dropped out? Are you out of your mind?!"
"Yeah." Born nodded, his tone calm, almost unnervingly so.
"I quit. This way, they won't press us anymore. You don't need to borrow money. It ends here."
Bang!
His father's palm slammed against the table, rattling the dishes. His voice roared with fury:
"Who gave you the right to drop out? Even if I have to sell everything we own, I'll find the money!"
"You'll go back to that academy! That's an order!"
Born set down his chopsticks, meeting his father's bloodshot, rage-filled eyes without flinching.
"Ten thousand gold coins. That's impossible for us. Dropping out… was the deal I made with him."
"No!" His father's roar was ragged, desperate, almost mad.
"You have to go back! If you don't study, what else can you do with your life?!"
Tears welled in his mother's eyes as she pleaded with him in choked whispers.
But Born only shook his head. His gaze was unyielding, carved from steel.
"I'll enlist. I'll join the Kingdom's Border Legion."
He drew in a breath, forcing down the sting rising in his eyes, and added, his voice low but firm as iron:
"Yesterday… the reason I hit him—
was because he insulted you.
He said you were nothing but a worm in the sewers."
The words hung heavy in the room.
Born suddenly stood, the legs of his chair scraping hard against the floor, and walked toward the door. He shut it behind him with a resounding slam.
Bang!
Outside, his father and mother stood frozen.
The old man still tried to roar, but his voice cracked, growing hoarse, until it broke down into muffled sobs.
His son had taken the humiliation for him.
Had stood tall in his stead.
And yet, as a father, he could not even raise a single shield to protect his boy from the storm.