"Are you alright?" Isolde asked.
Her voice was calm, but her expression remained unreadable as ever, not betraying the slightest emotion. Yet her tone carried more weight than her face ever did.
"Man, I expected him to snap out of it eventually, but he would've really fallen. Tsk. Pathetic." Siegfried pointed at Godfrey with open mockery.
Snow simply carried his tray to a table, as if nearly throwing someone off the third floor was no different than swatting a bothersome fly for him.
"You're laughing? After almost killing me?" Godfrey's jaw tightened.
His ocean-blue eyes narrowed as he glared at Snow. His chest swelled with restrained fury as he shoved through the crowd and into the heart of the cafeteria.
Beside him, Isolde moved with her usual, effortless grace.
At the age of sixteen, the same as Godfrey, her golden-white hair and amber-gold eyes gave her an almost ethereal presence.
The tension in the cafeteria itself seemed to bend around her.
"You still won't shut that mouth of yours!" Siegfried barked.
He stepped forward and threw a straight punch; it carried strength but was reckless, full of openings.
Godfrey reacted on instinct. He caught Siegfried's arm, twisted the elbow, and pivoted around before hurling him over his back.
The sophomore slammed into the floor with a bone-rattling thud.
"I'll kill you!" Siegfried roared, scrambling to his feet at once.
This time his punch carried true strength, the kind that could crack cement walls. But to his shock, Godfrey raised his forearm and blocked it.
A strike that should have snapped his bone barely made him flinch.
Siegfried froze. His connection with his beast was gone, and along with it, his strength.
In that moment, he was no different from a powerless human.
Godfrey's fist struck him square across the face. A second blow, an uppercut, lifted Siegfried off his feet and sent him sprawling across the cafeteria floor.
"Did you see that?" a student gasped, abandoning his untouched tray. Another, midway through shoveling food into his mouth, stopped chewing and stared with his mouth agape.
"He beat Siegfried. That's… impossible!" Cecil, the bob-cut girl at Dale's table, muttered and frowned deeply.
Dale, however, only chuckled and crossed his arms, his gaze sliding mockingly toward Snow, who, for once, looked frozen in shock.
Just then, another lackey lunged forward, too fast for Godfrey to follow.
Even with his guard raised, the boy's fists broke through, slamming into him again and again.
A final uppercut, the same blow as Godfrey's as revenge, launched him into the air. He crashed hard against the wall and slumped to the ground, motionless.
The cafeteria fell into stunned silence.
Snow rose slowly. His expression distorted in disdain, then, without a word, he turned and stormed out.
Students hurried after him, scattering like startled birds.
The idea that Snow had lost his composure left them unsettled.
Had it been Dale, perhaps they would have accepted it.
But Snow?
No.
That was simply unthinkable.
When the hall emptied, only Isolde remained. She stood over Godfrey's crumpled form, her gaze cool.
"Giving you an opportunity for a fair fight was stupid," she said flatly. "You were doomed from the start."
"Even so…" Godfrey's voice was low but steady as he forced himself upright and met her eyes.
"I gave him what he deserved."
Isolde's golden eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.
"Thank you," Godfrey continued, his breath still uneven. "He got to taste what it's like, calling to your soul and hearing nothing in return. For a minute or two, he lived what I've lived for sixteen years."
He pressed a hand against his chest and winced.
"Something's broken," he muttered, staggering toward the exit.
Minutes later, Godfrey lay on a narrow sickbed in the academy infirmary.
At Manhattan High, the "sick bay" wasn't for fevers or colds. It was for the battered, the broken, those students who survived fights that pushed them to the brink.
Growth was forged in conflict. To maim or to kill was forbidden. On paper.
Godfrey stared at the ceiling, wondering if those rules truly meant anything.
Snow had nearly ended him.
The nurse, dressed in a pristine white coat over pale blue attire, extended her hand.
Behind her, a glowing magical circle bloomed, light spilling across the room as a radiant dove descended from its center.
Its beak and talons glimmered like polished gold, and its wings stretched twice that of a Steller's sea eagle, the largest bird recorded before the cataclysm a century ago.
With a single beat of its wings, warmth washed over Godfrey. His ribs knit together with soft pops, bruises faded, and a heavy drowsiness tugged at his eyes.
"You took quite the beating," the nurse sighed, her gaze gentle.
It hadn't even been a day since his transfer, and he had already ended up here. This place wasn't meant for the ordinary.
Manhattan High was for monsters and those who served them.
You either ruled or you bowed.
And Godfrey looked far too stubborn to bow and far too weak to rule."
Before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door.
Moments later, Isolde's voice drifted in as the nurse went to open the door.
"He didn't get to eat his lunch. I brought something for him. Please make sure he eats."
Godfrey's brow furrowed, hard lines forming on his forehead as faint warmth stirred in his chest.
Why… why was she being kind to him?
His question was answered when the nurse returned, carrying a tray in her hands.
And tucked beneath the plate lay a folded slip of white paper. On it, written in elegant script:
I just like your face. Don't overthink it.
Godfrey stared, heat rising in his cheeks as he stared at the note.
'You tell a guy you like his face and expect him not to overthink about it? How does that even work?' he muttered.
The nurse flipped through a file. "I suggest you rest. You're Godfrey Daniels, yes?"
He nodded.
"You have the awakening ceremony tomorrow. If you don't rest, you may not be fit for it. And remember, if you miss this chance, you may never awaken anything beyond the Low Tier. So when I say rest, I mean it."
__________
The next morning, the academy grounds gleamed beneath the rising sun.
Crowds of freshmen gathered in the courtyard alongside countless others, outsiders who had paid dearly for access to Manhattan's legendary Awakening Platform, famed for producing higher awakenings than anywhere else in the world.
Godfrey stood among them, hands buried deep in his pockets, fists clenched tight.
This was it. His only chance.
He had failed to awaken naturally. And if he failed here too, the truth would be undeniable: there was no summon within his soul.
No summon meant no future.
In this world, a summon defined a man's worth. To have nothing meant you were nothing, an insect in a kingdom of predators.
Worse, his acceptance into Manhattan High had been conditional.
He needed to possess at least an Elite-tier beast if he wanted to stay.
There were five tiers:
Low Tier (1.0–3.4),
Elite Tier (3.5–5.4),
High Tier (5.5–7.9),
Lord Tier (8.0–10.0),
And the fabled King/Queen Tier (10.1–12.9).
Even dragons, for all their majesty, rarely reached King-tier, even when they possessed immense potential.
From the classrooms above, students leaned out of windows to watch.
At the courtyard's center, an elevated platform shimmered with glowing runes, powered by six dungeon cores.
The headmaster stepped forward, slim and severe in a pinstripe suit, his presence radiating discipline.
His eyes swept across the crowd as he began.
"As you all know," his voice was just right for the crowd, "what happens today will determine your very lives. There will be no needless speeches. We shall begin immediately."
His gaze dropped to the slip of paper in his hand.
"The first name is…"
He raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat and lifted his gaze back to the crowd, locking onto the only teen wearing Manhattan's jacket.
"…Godfrey Daniels."
....
A/N: I hope you enjoy the opening of this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.