The afternoon sun hung lazily above West High School, its golden rays seeping through the classroom windows, painting everything in a warm but melancholic glow. Dust motes danced in the light, silent witnesses to a boy sitting motionless at his desk.
His name was Max Duskgrave—a boy with golden hair that caught the sunlight like strands of fire. His lean, well-shaped frame hinted at quiet strength, though his eyes were downcast, heavy with something far deeper than sleep.
The classroom buzzed faintly with chatter, laughter, and the sound of chairs scraping, but Max heard none of it. His head rested against his folded arms, mind lost somewhere far beyond these walls—perhaps in the world that had already begun to turn its back on him.
"Max Duskgrave!"
The sharp voice sliced through the noise. It was clear, commanding, almost melodic. Max slowly lifted his head. Standing before him was a girl with light-yellow hair and flawless, porcelain skin. Her uniform—a crisp white blouse and blue skirt—accentuated the natural grace that had once made Max believe in the word beautiful.
"Rose Valeborne," he murmured, her name almost caught in his throat.
She crossed her arms and inhaled sharply, her blue eyes gleaming with decision. "Let's be straight. I'm here to cancel our marriage contract."
The words struck him harder than any physical blow could. For a heartbeat, the room felt eerily silent, as if even the air itself pitied him.
Max blinked, trying to process what he'd heard. "Do you… really want to cancel it, Rose?" he asked quietly.
Her lips curved—not in kindness, but in pity. "Of course. Who would want to marry someone with a talent like MonsterBreeder? Your pactrating is only F-rank, Max. I have dreams—real ones. I want to stand among the elites, and you… you can't help me reach them."
Max's jaw tightened. Behind his calm eyes, memories flickered—the young Rose who used to chase him through flower fields, laughing and shouting, "Max, when we grow up, I'll marry you!"
The girl who'd held his hand when his father cast him out. The girl who'd once smiled as if he was her entire world.
Now she stood there, cold and distant, as if those days never existed.
"I see," Max said softly, his tone steady but his voice trembling at its edges. "Then so be it."
He reached for the parchment she held—their engagement contract, sealed with the Duskgrave family crest—and tore it apart. The sound of paper ripping echoed through the classroom like the snapping of old promises.
Rose's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't be cocky," she said, her words dripping with disdain. "You're not a Duskgrave anymore. Oh, and—" she tossed an envelope onto his desk, "—an invitation to my engagement party. Promise you'll come."
She smiled—beautiful and cruel—before walking away, her two attendants following close behind.
When she was gone, the silence returned, but this time it felt heavier. Max stared at the invitation for a long time before clutching it tightly in his hand. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
How could someone who once promised to stand beside me now look at me like I'm beneath her?
His chest ached, not just from heartbreak but from something deeper—the crushing weight of powerlessness.
He rose from his seat, leaving the shredded parchment scattered across the desk. As he walked out, whispers followed him.
"Did you hear? Rose dumped him."
"F-rank trash."
"Even the Duskgraves threw him out."
He ignored them all, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Outside, the wind brushed against his golden hair. The skies were wide and blue, but for Max, they felt suffocatingly small. In this world, where strength determined worth, he was less than nothing.
He found himself wandering past the training grounds where other students practiced summoning their beasts—flashes of light, roars, and cheers filled the air. Max paused, watching a group celebrate as a boy successfully summoned a C-rank Flame Hound. The sight stung. He still remembered his own awakening ceremony—how the others had cheered while he stood there alone as a faint glow appeared, revealing his small F-rank serpent.
The laughter that day had been louder than any applause.
"Maybe Rose was right," he whispered to himself. "Maybe I really am useless."
But even as he said the words, a faint voice echoed in his heart—his mother's gentle tone, full of warmth and belief.
> "Max, never let others decide your worth. You're destined for something far greater than they can imagine."
He smiled bitterly. 'Mother… if only you were still here.'
The faint chiming of the school bell snapped him back. It was the last day of high school, the final chapter before students faced the academy selection exams. The teacher's words from earlier still lingered in his mind:
"Train your beasts well. Even with low talent, effort can make you shine."
Max almost laughed. Effort? In a world where talent decided everything, effort was nothing more than a comforting lie.
Yet… a small spark remained in him—something stubborn and unbroken.
He looked up at the horizon, the dying sun setting over the city of Westreach, and whispered, "If the world wants to mock me… then I'll make them kneel instead."
As the shadows lengthened, the boy with golden hair walked away from the ruins of his past—toward a future that had yet to know his name.