That night, Ysaac cried until his body gave out. Somewhere between sobs and exhaustion, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
When morning came, the light creeping through the curtains felt too bright, almost mocking. His eyes were swollen, his throat dry. For a long time, he just sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
B-class. The word still echoed in his chest like a curse. No amount of sleep could wash it away.
But beneath that crushing weight, another voice lingered—his mother's.
Your father didn't start as an S-class. He became one because he never stopped moving forward.
Ysaac touched the ring hanging around his neck. The metal was cool against his skin, grounding him. His father's ring. His father's legacy.
Dragging himself up, he shuffled to the mirror. The boy staring back at him looked pitiful: dark circles under his eyes, messy hair, shoulders slumped. Is this really the son of a legendary figure?
For a moment, despair threatened to pull him under again. But he clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.
"…I'll prove them wrong." His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it carried weight. "Even if I'm only B-class… I'll climb higher. I have to."
He splashed cold water on his face, straightened his uniform, and forced himself out the door.
The world outside hadn't changed. The streets were still noisy, people still chattered, classmates still glanced at him with whispers and smirks.
But for the first time since the test, Ysaac didn't feel like running away.
His mother's words echoed in his chest with every step:
You don't have to be your father. You just have to be you.
The path ahead was uncertain, steep, and full of scorn—but Ysaac walked forward anyway.
The classroom buzzed as usual the next morning, but when Ysaac walked through the door, the noise shifted. Conversations dropped to whispers. Eyes darted toward him. Some mocking, some pitying, none kind.
So it begins again… Ysaac thought, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.
"Look, it's the 'B-class prodigy,'" someone snickered from the back.
"Guess S-class was too far out of reach," another whispered, not nearly quietly enough.
Ysaac ignored them, his face calm. Or at least, he hoped it looked calm. Inside, his chest burned.
"Oi, Ysaac!" John waved, grinning like nothing had changed. "About time you showed up. Thought you'd ditch class after yesterday."
"Shut it," Ysaac muttered, though a small part of him was grateful. John's bluntness was almost… comforting.
But not everyone was so kind.
Adrel leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "Well, well. Look who decided to crawl back. The 'future S-class,' huh? Tell me, Space boy, how's it feel to fall so far short?"
Laughter rippled across the room.
John slammed his desk again, already rising. "Say that again, you bastard!"
"Sit down, you giant oaf," Adrel sneered. "What's the point of protecting him? He's just dead weight now. Blink here, Blink there, ooooh, such a scary power." He mimicked with exaggerated gestures, sending another wave of laughter through the class.
Ysaac froze. His first instinct was to lash out, to yell, to prove he wasn't worthless. But his mother's words echoed in his mind:
You don't have to be your father. You just have to be you.
He took a breath. Calm. Steady. Then, without looking at Adrel, he walked to his seat by the window and sat down.
The laughter dulled. A few snickers lingered, but most students quickly lost interest. Adrel frowned, irritated his jab hadn't landed.
John grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Hah. Good. You keep walking forward, Ysaac. And if anyone tries to trip you…" His gaze flicked to Adrel. "…I'll break their damn third legl."
Ysaac almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he tightened his grip on the strap of his bag.
Yeah… even if I'm just B-class, it won't stop me.
The classroom door slid open with a sharp clack. Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Norris, strode in with his usual stern look. The idle chatter died instantly as everyone sat straighter.
"Quiet down. Let's begin."
His lectures carried on as normal—formulas for mana efficiency, tactical formations for squad combat—but few students were paying attention. The test results still lingered in the air like a storm that hadn't passed.
Finally, at the end of the class, Mr. Norris set down his chalk and faced the room.
"One more announcement before dismissal."
The entire class perked up.
"This weekend, the awakened students of Q-Zone Academy will begin preparations for their guild applications."
The atmosphere shifted instantly—whispers, gasps, excited murmurs filled the air. Even Adrel leaned forward with a smirk.
Mr. Norris continued, "This year, we have been granted a rare opportunity. The number one guild of Q-Zone—EverNight—has opened access to one of their monster zones. Their Mundane-class dungeon will be reserved for your training."
"Wha—?!"
"EverNight? Seriously?!"
"No way, they never share their monster zones!"
The classroom erupted.
Mr. Norris silenced them with a glare. "Don't misunderstand. It's a low-level dungeon, meant for new awakens. But the monsters within will give you far more experience and loot than the scraps you'd find in the public fields. If you wish to impress the recruiters during guild applications, this is your chance. Do not squander it."
Excitement buzzed like electricity. Students whispered about loot drops, rare skills, and who might get scouted by which guild.
Adrel stretched lazily in his chair, a confident grin plastered across his face. "Perfect. A dungeon sponsored by EverNight itself. Guess I'll make sure to shine enough to get as high level as I can be." His eyes slid toward Ysaac, mocking. "Well… for some of us, just surviving will be an accomplishment."
Laughter followed, sharp and cruel.
Ysaac didn't rise to the bait. He just stared down at his desk, fingers brushing the ring on his chest.
A dungeon, huh…
His heart beat faster—not with fear, but with a strange anticipation.
B-class or not… this is my chance. If I can prove myself in there, maybe… just maybe, I can take the first step toward Father's path.