The classroom emptied after Professor Camila Giovani dismissed the students. Ansel lingered at the back, hesitating. The looks, the whispers—they never stopped. He clutched his books tightly, preparing himself for the hallways of Valeon Academy.
No sooner had he stepped out than a group of Class C students intercepted him.
"Hey! It's the manaless freak again," one boy said with a grin. He had curly dark hair and a chipped tooth, and he spat the words with venom.
Another, taller than the rest, stepped in front. "How did you even get in? Did someone leave the servant door open?"
Ansel didn't respond. He kept his head down and tried to move past them.
"Oi! Don't ignore us!" one of them barked, shoving him hard. His books tumbled to the ground.
They laughed as he knelt to pick them up, but he didn't argue. It was always like this.
The rumors had spread like wildfire—Ansel Nighthawk had no mana. Not just students, but professors and even senior students knew. Even when Professor Camila had raised the issue with the principal, it had been brushed off.
"He won't last long," Xavier Dragonheart had muttered. "If he can't handle it, he doesn't belong."
That evening, the air was heavy with silence as Ansel walked alone through the long marble corridors. His footsteps echoed, slow and hesitant. A paper ball hit his shoulder. Then another. Laughter followed.
"Cursed one!"
"Go back where you came from!"
He turned a corner—and collided with someone tall and broad. A senior student, two years older.
"You blind, freak?" the boy growled.
"I'm sorry," Ansel whispered.
"Sorry? You think that's enough?" the older boy sneered, grabbing him by the collar.
Two of his friends appeared from behind and seized Ansel's arms.
"Let's have some fun."
They dragged him into a quiet alleyway behind one of the old lecture buildings. The torches were dim, shadows thick.
They threw him to the ground. One kicked him in the ribs. Another in the stomach. A punch split his lip.
"You're not even a real student."
"No mana, no place here."
Then—
"Leave him."
A sharp voice rang out, cold and commanding.
They paused. Standing at the alley's edge was a tall student with wavy crimson-red hair, deep blue eyes, and a golden-trimmed Class A uniform that gleamed even in the shadows. He had a calm yet intimidating presence. His posture was straight, his gaze piercing.
"I said, leave him alone."
"And who the hell are you?" one of the seniors barked.
The red-haired student stepped forward. "Vulcan Ashwood. Class A."
The bullies snorted. "Class A or not, this isn't your business."
"It is now."
One lunged at Vulcan. In a heartbeat, Vulcan dodged and landed a brutal punch to his gut. The second attacker tried to grapple him but was tossed effortlessly into a wall. The third raised a spell circle, but Vulcan kicked his wrist and disarmed him, then slammed him down.
"Still think this isn't my business?" Vulcan asked, expression unreadable.
The seniors scrambled up and fled.
Vulcan knelt beside Ansel, who was on the ground, bruised and bleeding.
"Why didn't you fight back?"
Ansel looked away. "Because I'm weak."
"So?" Vulcan said. "Even the weak can swing. You let them walk all over you."
"What would be the point? I'd lose anyway."
"Maybe," Vulcan said, standing and extending a hand. "But you'd lose with pride."
Ansel hesitated, then took his hand and stood up.
"Why are you helping me?" Ansel asked. "You're from Class A. If people see you with me, you'll be mocked too. I'm manaless. I'm nothing."
Vulcan tilted his head. "So what? You're still a person, aren't you?"
Ansel frowned. "But I have no mana… and they say I'm cursed."
"I don't care what they say," Vulcan said flatly. "I don't follow cowards who bully the weak. I judge people myself. Besides…"
He gave a small smile. "I don't have many friends either. Most are scared of me."
"Why?"
Vulcan smirked. "Because I'm the second son of the Asura Clan's leader."
Ansel's eyes widened. "You're… from Valoria?"
"Born and raised," Vulcan nodded. "My family's known for swordsmanship. But I don't go around boasting. I'd rather earn respect my way."
"You really helped me… Thank you," Ansel said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet," Vulcan replied. "Just promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"Next time—swing back. Even if it's hopeless."
Ansel gave a faint nod.
Vulcan looked at him for a long moment, then clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
As they walked back toward the dormitory, Ansel felt a strange warmth in his chest. He wasn't sure what had changed—but something had. Maybe he wasn't completely alone after all.
And perhaps… he didn't have to be.
The spark of defiance, long dormant, flickered quietly to life.