"Are you alright?" Isolde’s voice was calm, though her expression betrayed little. Her tone carried more weight than her face ever did.
"Man, I expected him to break out of it eventually, but he would’ve really fallen. Tsk. Pathetic." Siegfried pointed mockingly at Godfrey, while Snow carried his tray to a table as if nearly throwing soone off the third floor was no different than swatting a botherso fly.
"You’re laughing? At nearly killing ?" Godfrey’s jaw tightened, his ocean-blue eyes narrowed as he glared at Snow. His chest swelled with restrained fury as he pushed through the crowd and into the heart of the cafeteria.
Beside him, Isolde moved with her usual grace. Sixteen, the sa age as Godfrey, her golden-white hair and golden-orange eyes gave her an almost ethereal air. The tension of the cafeteria seed to bend around her.
"You still run that mouth of yours!" Siegfried barked, stepping forward and throwing a straight punch. It carried strength, but it was reckless, riddled with openings.
Godfrey’s instincts surged. He seized Siegfried’s arm, twisted the elbow, pivoted, and flung him over his back. The sophomore crashed into the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
"I’ll kill you!" Siegfried roared, scrambling to his feet. This ti his punch carried his true strength, the kind that could crack cent walls. But to his shock, Godfrey raised his forearm and blocked it.
A strike that should have snapped bone barely made Godfrey flinch.
Siegfried froze. His connection to his beast, gone and strength was gone. In that instant, 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 to gape.
"He beat Siegfried. That’s... impossible!" Cecil, the bob-cut girl at Dale’s table, frowned deeply.
Dale, however, only chuckled, arms crossed, eyes sliding mockingly toward Snow, who, for once, looked frozen.
Just then, another lackey surged forward, too fast for Godfrey to follow. Even with his guard raised, the boy’s fists broke through, hamring Godfrey with blow after blow. A final uppercut, the sa blow as revenge, launched him into the air, crashing him hard against the wall. He slumped to the ground, unmoving.
The cafeteria fell into stunned silence.
Snow stood. His expression distorted in disdain, then, without a word, he stord out. Students followed quickly, scattering like startled birds. The idea that Snow had lost his composure was unsettling. Had it been Dale, perhaps they’d accept it. But Snow? No. That was alien.
When the hall had emptied, only Isolde remained. She stood before Godfrey’s crumpled form, her gaze cool.
"Giving you an opportunity for a fair fight was stupid," she said flatly. "You were dood from the start."
"Even then..." Godfrey’s voice was low, but steady. He forced himself upright, eting her eyes. "I gave him what he deserved."
Isolde’s golden eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
"Thank you," Godfrey continued, his breath 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 to his chest, wincing. "Sothing’s broken," he muttered, staggering toward the exit.
Minutes later, Godfrey lay on a sickbed in the academy’s infirmary. Manhattan High’s "sick bay" was not for illness, it was for the battered, the broken, the survivors of fights that pushed students to the brink.
Growth was forged in conflict. To maim or to kill was forbidden, on paper. Godfrey wondered if the rules truly mattered. 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 blood, from which descended a radiant dove. Its beak and talons glimred gold, and its wings spanned 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, bruises faded, and drowsiness pulled at his eyes.
"You took quite the beating," the nurse sighed, her gaze soft. It had not even been a day since he transferred, and already he had ended up here. This place wasn’t for the ordinary. Manhattan High was for monsters and their servants. You either rule or you serve.
And Godfrey, looked far too stubborn to serve, and far too weak to rule.
Before Godfrey could respond, a knock sounded.
Monts later, Isolde’s voice drifted in as she spoke to the nurse who went to open the door.
"He didn’t get to eat his lunch. I gathered sothing for him. Please make sure he eats."
Hard lines creased Godfrey’s brow as warmth stirred faintly in his chest. Why...why was she being kind?
His question was answered when the nurse returned with a tray. Tucked beneath the plate was 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.
’You tell a guy you like his face and expect him not to overthink it? How does that even work?’ he muttered to himself.
The nurse flipped through a file. "I suggest you rest. You’re Godfrey Daniels, yes?"
He nodded.
"You have the awakening ceremony tomorrow. Rest, or you may not be fit for it. Rember, if you miss this chance, you may never awaken anything beyond the low tier so when I say rest, I an it."
The next morning, the academy’s grounds glead beneath the rising sun. Crowds of freshn gathered, along with countless others, outsiders who had paid dearly for the right to use Manhattan’s legendary Awakening Platform, fad for producing higher awakenings than anywhere else in the world.
Godfrey stood among them, hands buried in his pockets, fists clenched tight. This was it. His only chance. He had failed to awaken naturally. If he failed here too, then the truth would be undeniable: there was no summon within his soul.
No summon ant no future. In this world, a summon defined a man’s worth. To have nothing ant to be nothing, an insect in a kingdom of predators. Worse, Manhattan High’s acceptance had been conditional: he needed at least an Elite-tier beast 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 had the potential.
From the classrooms above, students leaned out of windows to watch. On the central stage, an elevated platform shimred with glowing runes, powered by six dungeon cores.
The headmaster stepped forward, slim and severe in his pinstripe suit, his presence radiating discipline. His eyes swept across the crowd.
"As you all know," he began, his voice just right for the crowd, "today determines your lives. There will be no needless speeches. We begin imdiately."
His gaze dropped to the paper slip in his hand.
"The first na is..." He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat, lifting his gaze back to the crowd and locking on the only teen with 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.
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