That day, Hazandeen International High School was unlike any other.
The school gym felt far too small to contain the explosive energy within. Thousands of HIHS students and guests from Makazhar Elite School filled the stands. Trumpets, chants, mini flags, and posters bearing the participants’ names flooded the hot, excitement-charged air.
The school’s internal commentator narrated from the digital broadcast booth, his voice booming:
"Up next! The most anticipated match of the day! A clash between three of the top young heirs in Eastern Indorosia! David Virellano—Idham Tamarvich—and Rudi Norvalien!!"
Screams erupted—mainly from female students and even a few excitable teachers shouting:
"DAVID! DAVID VIRELLANO! YOU’RE SO COOL!!!"
David Virellano stepped into the arena.
Tall, athletic, with an aristocratic face and an air of utter confidence. The MES uniform fit his frame elegantly. He wasn’t just handsome—he radiated dominance.
From the opposite side, two of Hazandeen’s aces entered the court: Idham Tamarvich, former student council president and eldest son of the school’s owning family, and
Rudi Norvalien, the rich boy whose mind seemed more preoccupied than focused.
But everyone knew who the star truly was: David Virellano.
Within seconds, it became David’s show.
His movements were sharp, fluid, and stylish. Every shot he made drew cheers. Some teachers even stood up and cheered—clearly losing their neutrality.
Idham played with fiery spirit. He knew this wasn’t just a game. It was personal. About pride.
But Rudi was... different.
He wandered, lazily passing the ball now and then, but never showing any true intent to compete.
His eyes followed the ball while a small smile curled on his lips—watching David shine.
David dominated effortlessly.
The crowd was entranced by his natural charisma on the court.
The match ended in a landslide victory for MES.
Idham, dripping with sweat and fury, glared at Rudi.
"You didn’t even try, Norvalien..."
"I just didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of David. He’s playing on another level, isn’t he?"
As the audience poured out of the bleachers, Idham stormed off the court.
His eyes burned with frustration.
In the exit hallway, he accidentally bumped into someone.
Thin, quiet, with his usual eye bags, slowly walking through the corridor.
Idham stared him down. And grinned—channeling his anger into someone random.
"Move aside, orphan boy."
Al tilted his head, glanced briefly, and simply stepped aside.
No response. No words.
The martial arts competition was about to begin.
But the atmosphere had shifted.
The crowd’s cheers had become a murmur. Everyone now waited for the next highlight.
Al’s pace was slow as ever. Dull and unmotivated, he just wanted to find an empty spot and lie down.
But fate had other plans.
Coming from the opposite direction, David Virellano appeared—fresh from his match. A towel around his neck, hair wet with sweat, yet still radiating glory—showered in praise.
The moment David saw Al... his expression froze.
There was a flicker—something sharp, tense—in David’s gaze.
But he quickly masked it, squinting slightly and offering a razor-thin smirk.
From afar, Rina saw the brief exchange.
What was that? she wondered.
But all she saw was David walking away, calm.
Rudi Norvalien followed behind David.
Unlike him, he stopped.
He stood directly in front of Al and scanned him from head to toe.
"Well, look who’s still breathing. The scholarship rat."
The words rolled off his tongue easily—but cut deep.
Al said nothing. His eyes dull, cold, and empty.
He looked at Rudi as if he were air.
What does this guy want? Al wondered. It’s been two years. What is his problem? Some weird love drama I don’t know about?
Rina stepped in, shoving Rudi with a rough push.
"Move, Norvalien. Don’t mess with Al."
Rudi chuckled and narrowed his eyes at her.
"Careful hanging around him. That poor-people disease might be contagious."
Then, with a teasing smirk, he added:
"But you’re getting more interesting, Rina. I like tomboys like you."
Rina’s expression hardened.
She was ready to throw it.
A hand caught hers mid-swing.
Fast. Precise. Powerful.
His movement... way faster than the last time I saw him fight.
He’s improved, she thought.
David looked at her without emotion.
"Don’t be impulsive, Rina. You’ll regret it."
Rina tightened her fist. But she knew—this wasn’t the time.
David turned away. But just before he fully walked off, he dropped one cold, venom-laced sentence:
"Careful who you play with. Some of them... are servant’s kids."
It pierced someone he loved deeply.
A parent... who had nothing to do with any of this.
Why must you insult them too...
The storm surged inside him.
But this time, Al didn’t explode.
He inhaled. Slowly. Deeply.
Then calmly, he turned.
Staring at David’s back.
"So... you do know who the servant’s kid is, huh?"
Like an invisible arrow, the words struck.
His left hand clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.
Rudi blinked in confusion.
But David didn’t turn around.
He just took a breath...
Silent. Furious. And with no reply.
A voice from long ago echoed.
The voice of a woman who once held him as a child.
Al said nothing more.
He knew what he had just done.
He knew his words had cut.
But he also knew—this was a small return
...for a wound aimed at someone who had loved him like no one else.
Someone who—sadly—had always loved David