The cries of a newborn echoed through the grand halls of House Vermillion's manor. A boy had been born. He was innocent—his cries were innocent, his breath was innocent, everything about him was untouched by the cruelty of the world. He was placed beside his mother, and her pale fingers gently brushed the infant's soft cheeks.
Though exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, she asked the question that mattered most. "Where is Decker? He should meet his son."
The child resting beside the white-haired woman was Benjamin Vermillion, though his name was yet to be spoken. Minutes later, Decker entered the chamber where his wife lay cradling their newborn. His gaze passed from his wife to the child, yet no smile found its way to his face. He approached the infant, perhaps believing that holding the boy might stir something within him, but when he lifted the child into his arms, nothing changed. There was no warmth, no affection. To him, the boy's birth was not an act of love—it was a formality, an obligation fulfilled.
His heart belonged to another woman, one known to almost no one. When he looked at the woman he had married, there was neither love nor hatred in his eyes. Their union had never been forged by affection; it existed solely out of necessity, a calculated bond between powerful bloodlines.
Years passed, and with each passing year, the father's feelings toward his son remained unchanged. He walked past the boy without acknowledgment, and when greeted, he responded with nothing more than a brief nod. They were strangers living beneath the same roof. The boy, desperate for recognition, sought his father's approval in everything he did. He trained relentlessly to hone his combat skills. He learned to play the piano—his father's favorite instrument. Yet none of it mattered. In sixteen years of life, father and son never shared a single true conversation.
Then, one day, everything changed.
The boy noticed his father smiling. He did not understand why, but curiosity compelled him forward.
"Father," he asked hesitantly, "why are you so happy?"
For the first time in his life, his father truly looked at him. A proud expression crossed Decker's face as he spoke.
"I met a very interesting person."
The boy did not know whether to feel joy or resentment. Yes, his father had finally spoken to him—but only because someone else had made him happy enough to do so. Jealousy and anger bloomed in his chest. It did not take long for him to uncover the truth. The meeting had occurred during the entrance exam.
The name soon reached him.
Tristan Merigold—a crimson-haired boy with a brazen attitude, or so the rumors claimed. Benjamin learned that Tristan would be attending the Academy as a first-year student, and a strange desire to meet him took hold. This was the boy who had earned his father's smile.
As Benjamin's carriage passed through the Academy gates, he leaned out of the window, searching the grounds for the crimson-haired stranger. He searched, but found nothing.
Doubt crept into his mind. Perhaps he had been misled.
That thought lingered until a single boy caught his attention—a boy who seemed entirely unconcerned with decorum. He climbed the Academy stairs ahead of everyone else, walking beside the children of the Five Great Families, breaking tradition without hesitation. Whether he was ignorant of the rules or deliberately defying them was unclear.
The crowd erupted in outrage. A lesser had dared to step forward before the nobility—worse still, alongside the heirs of the highest bloodlines.
Benjamin found himself amused, though irritation quickly followed. His mother had taught him that the Vermillions stood above all others, that respect was reserved only for those who deserved it. And from the moment he learned to speak, she had made one thing clear: lessers were beneath contempt—they were filth.
He entered the classroom and waited.
One of Tristan Merigold's compatriots arrived—a golden-haired boy with a powerful build. Strong, perhaps, but still a lesser. Tristan Merigold did not arrive until midway through the first lesson. He entered late, met the scornful gazes of his peers, and ignored them entirely. He walked to his seat without so much as a glance at those who despised him.
Benjamin's frustration grew. Tristan did not care—at least, not about anyone he deemed unworthy.
When the lesson ended, Benjamin confronted him, hurling insults at Tristan, at his mother, at anything that might provoke a reaction. Tristan advanced on him in anger—but before anything could escalate, Decker arrived.
Benjamin watched closely. Would his father stand beside his son, or beside the stranger who had stolen his attention?
To his shock, Decker chose neither. Instead, he ordered the two boys to fight, turning the confrontation into a lesson for the class. The notion of being forced to duel a lesser disgusted Benjamin, but the chance to humiliate Tristan Merigold was irresistible. Perhaps through battle, he would finally understand what made this boy so special—and perhaps he would destroy it.
The duel began.
Benjamin quickly realized that Tristan's swordsmanship was crude, unpolished, as though he had only recently taken up a blade. Yet despite that, Tristan endured. He fought without using his abilities, as though he truly believed he could win. Annoyed, Benjamin unleashed a spiral of flame—meant to wound, not kill.
But the blow never landed.
His father stepped between them, shielding Tristan Merigold from harm.
The concern etched across Decker's face struck deeper than any blade ever could. Worse still was the look he gave Benjamin afterward—a look of disappointment.
'Why does he care so much for him?'
Benjamin remembered scraping his knee as a child, bleeding and crying, and how his father had never once shown such concern. So why—why did a stranger receive what he never had?
In one short month, Tristan Merigold had gained what Benjamin Vermillion had been denied for sixteen years.
His father's love.