The entire academy roared with cheers as hundreds of students awaken their systems, staring in awe at their skills
[System awakening complete]
[Class assigned: assasin class]
[Class assigned: elementalist]
[Class assigned: Healer]
All Except for one, josen malkador heir to the malkador bloodline, if the the seven ruling families
As the robotic voice ding echoed
[ERROR: student is not compatiable with a system]
[ERROR: Student will be classified as: DEFECTOR]
The room falls into a still silence then suddenly the Laughter erupts
Mocking glances carve into him like daggers As He trembles, the weight of silence louder than any shout.
He falls to his knees. His lips tremble. His skin turns pale.
"No. No—this can't be happening"
He was supposed to be the heir. Destined to be the pride of the Malkador family. Not this. Anything but this. If he wasn't... they'd abandon him, those ruthless savaged monsters
Laughter explodes around him, cruel and satisfied. The once-proud Josen, the one who strutted through Liones like the sun rose for him, now looked like a cracked porcelain doll.
Then came the voice, smug and sharp as ever.
"Well, well, well... if it isn't smug little Josen."
Jason Cael. Heir to the drosmore house, both the drosmore and malkadors known for being families with the best prfriencry in dark arts
It was clear to see that josen had failed to be the head of this generation
Jason strolls forward, arms folded like a victor surveying a battlefield.
"How does it feel to be, well you know....worthless?",he snared
slinging an arm around josens slumped form like they were old friends. His grin was laced with venom.
"Weren't you gonna be the future leader of the Malkadors? Didnt you claim you were gonna get an S-rank gift, how that coming along? Oh wait..."
Laughter. Again. This time louder. Crueler. As others who barely knew him joined in the mockery hoping to curry favour in future heir of the drosmores
"Hey—guess what I got?"
tapping the button on his wrist crystal. A blinding interface flashes above him, filled with gleaming system stats. Gasps ripple through the crowd.
[Class assigned: Necromancy]
A-rank Gift: Soul Consultant.
The highest ever recorded was a B-rank gift among the major families, he had shattered expectations... while Josen couldn't even live up to any.
His chest sinks in. His breath shortens. Not only had he failed—Jason had soared in stardom having the best gift know for a newly awakened
He was nothing now.
Not an heir, not admired, Not chosen.
Just...
[A DEFECTOR]
The Malkadors had always been giants—even in the eyes of the other major families. Known across the world for their powerful summoner bloodline, they'd produced legends—players who led top guilds, summoned monsters that crushed armies, and even stood as Earth's representatives in the Death Games. Being a Malkador meant you were born for greatness. It was in the name. It was in the blood.
So someone like Josen… someone who awakened as nothing—just a filthy Defector—
That wasn't just a disappointment.
It was a disgrace.
Somewhere, deep down, Josen still hoped. He hoped they'd love him. He hoped they'd see past the failure. That maybe, just maybe, family meant more than power.
He hoped—
He hoped wrong.
SLAM.
The great oak doors of the council chamber slammed shut.
The Malkador family wasted no time. The moment news of Josen's failed awakening reached them, the elders gathered in an emergency session.
"All in favor of casting him out to the outskirts of Liones… to live with that man?"
Hands rose instantly.
Every single one.
Except hers.
Mrs. Adam Malkador—Josen's stepmother.
His strongest supporter. His only comfort in that cold, power-hungry house.
Her hand trembled in her lap, knuckles white as she clenched her skirt.
Silence followed.
"It is sanctioned," the head elder declared. "Effective immediately, Josen is no longer the future heir of the Malkador family."
A servant stepped forward and handed him a sealed envelope.
"You have five hours to pack your belongings and sever all ties to the Malkador family," the steward said coldly. "Then you will take the 6 p.m. train to this address."
As he read more and more the more crushed he felt they weren't even going to try for him, nothing no second chances, no backup plan, no alternative job for him just casting him away in some outskirt village
Mrs. Malkador said nothing.
But it was understandable. Her words meant nothing among the elders.
She simply turned her face away, wiping silent tears with a lace handkerchief—torn between loyalty to the family and love for the boy they were throwing away.
"Go to the barn house at St. Peter Square," the steward added. "There, you will meet your grandfather… who was also a Defector."
Before he could ask anything, another voice cut through the room like a whip.
"Useless failure," his father spat, storming in with blood red eyes be anger ecihing and the room
but he felt it was a selfish anger
A mocking anger
A judging anger
"How dare you disgrace the Malkador name."
He stood frozen.
Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the face of the man he had once admired—no, worshipped. The man he had trained for. Bled for. Sacrificed everything for.
He had given up sleep.
Given up friends.
Given up his childhood.
All for this man's approval.
"Abandon those who slow you down."
"Sharpen your technique."
"Honor the Malkador name."
"You are a Malkador. Show it."
He had lived by those words.
Now they cut deep and feel like blades stabbing him from all sides
"F–Father… I—"
"ENOUGH."he snapped.
"Be silent. Leave immediately."
His face twisted in irritation as he turned away, not even glancing back.
"Your grandfather will teach you whatever worthless things Defectors know. Maybe then… you'll be of some use."
He stopped at the doorway.
"Prove yourself—or the Malkador family will discard you completely."