The school buildings were divided into different segments, each reflecting the school's luxurious hierarchy.
Each grade occupied its own building, with classes ranging from A to F.
The classes were arranged by status—the brilliant and prestigious in Class A, while the dullest and poorest were relegated to Class F.
If a student wasn't rich but too intelligent to ignore, they would be placed in Class A or B, given first-hand opportunities to mingle with the elite and represent the school in international competitions.
But if a student was both poor and dull, their fate was sealed in stone.
Their place lay somewhere between Class D and F, where the shadows of privilege never reached.
—
In Grade 11's building, nestled beside Grade 10's, the structures formed a circle around the central field.
Inside Grade 11, Class A, the air shifted as two boys from Grade 12, Class C, entered.
They moved toward the back, stopping behind a red-haired boy who was fast asleep.
And then, they dropped to their knees.
The classroom fell into a heavy silence.
Students frowned, eyes flickering with curiosity and disdain, but no one spoke.
A hesitant voice broke the quiet:
"Daniel…"
Roger's tone was low, strained—his head bowed, teeth gritted like he wished he could do this differently.
Seconds passed.
No response.
The silence thickened, suffocating.
Roger tried again, but before the words left his lips, a roguish-looking boy with a bruised face reached out, gripping his wrist.
Ferdinand shook his head bitterly.
Roger swallowed and obeyed, kneeling motionless.
Minutes passed.
Then, Daniel stirred.
His red hair shifted as he raised his head, yawning. Stretching his arms lazily, he blinked blearily at the two kneeling figures.
"Huh? Roger?" His brows furrowed. "What the hell are you guys doing?"
Roger's fingers clenched into fists. Lowering his head even further, he muttered, "I know you warned us not to get involved with you… but Daniel, we need your help."
A sharp frown crossed Daniel's face.
Ferdinand rushed in before he could refuse.
"Before you say anything, just listen to us."
Daniel sighed, folding his arms across his chest.
"You better be worth my time."
Ferdinand exchanged a glance with Roger—a silent conversation flashing between them.
Then, he turned to Daniel and spoke.
"You know your brother created the Mereung Alliance, right? We operate under certain laws."
Daniel's expression darkened.
"If you came here to ask me to lead your gang, don't waste your breath," he interrupted. "Just because my brother created it during his time here doesn't mean I have to shoulder his responsibility."
Ferdinand inhaled deeply.
'Calm down and listen, damn it…'
He dared not voice his frustration aloud.
"No, it's not that," he clarified. "We need your help with something else. Someone has been insulting and bullying members of the alliance—because of his skills. We need you to deal with him."
Daniel's brow arched.
"Wait… you got beat?"
His gaze sharpened on Ferdinand's bruised face.
Ferdinand lowered his head. "Yes…" His voice was barely above a whisper. "He's skilled in martial arts. I don't think there's anyone else in this school who can beat him—except you."
Daniel's smug grin spread across his lips.
"Oh, there are plenty," he mused. "They just don't like you guys."
Leaning back, he chuckled. "Honestly, I keep hearing how the Mereung Alliance has turned into a pit of rabid dogs who just want to bark. But you? You are my seniors, and I heard you even served my brother closely. And yet—"
His smirk widened. "You got beat by some random dude?"
Roger and Ferdinand flinched, their heads bowing deeper in humiliation.
Daniel shook his head, his lips twisting into an amused smirk.
There was a reason they feared him.
He wasn't just another thug—his name carried weight.
Ferdinand had fought enough people to know: Daniel was a beast.
A former boxing prodigy, forced to abandon his dream because of his father's iron rule.
But even now, Daniel never let go of boxing.
His fists were still deadly. His reflexes, unmatched.
A lightning-fast striker with a flawless record—zero losses, eleven recorded wins.
When he quit, his coach and manager had pursued him for six months, desperate to get him back.
Some had even considered confronting his father directly.
Of course, that idea died before it even started.
Meeting Daniel's father was harder than meeting the president.
So, they gave up.
But Daniel never stopped training.
Every day, he searched for an opponent strong enough to challenge him.
And when he couldn't find one, he created them—dragging rookies through hellish training, hoping one might survive long enough to become his rival.
That's why, when Ferdinand mentioned a martial artist who had beaten them, Daniel's heart ignited with excitement.
A real fight.
A real opponent.
But just as quickly, he smothered his interest.
'No one in this school is capable of beating me.'
His fingers drummed idly against the desk.
"What grade is he?"
Ferdinand turned to Roger.
Roger hesitated. Then, voice trembling, he muttered:
"G-G-Grade 10."
Silence.
Then—
Daniel burst into laughter.
The sheer absurdity of it nearly knocked him off his chair.
It was hilarious.
Just like how he had entered Grade 10 and beaten the living hell out of the Grade 11 seniors back then.
Now, it was happening to them.
"Are you guys seriously making a habit of getting beaten by your juniors?!"
Roger and Ferdinand's—Ferdinand most especially—faces burned with shame.
Daniel finally calmed down, shaking his head.
"Alright, fine." He stretched lazily. "I'll help you this time."
Then, narrowing his eyes, he smirked.
"But seriously—you guys need to toughen up. I even offered to train you in boxing, but you ran away like cowards."
At the mention of 'training', both of their faces twisted in horror.
'That wasn't training—that was torture!' Ferdinand cursed internally.
Even with his endurance, he couldn't handle Daniel's training.
Because it wasn't training.
It was madness.
Daniel would do anything to find an opponent strong enough to fight him.
Even if it meant pushing a bunch of weaklings through hell—just so he could one day face them in battle.
"Get this kid," he ordered. "After school, I'll teach him a lesson. But you owe me one."
"YES, SIR!!" Roger and Ferdinand chorused, scrambling to their feet.
They bolted from the classroom.
Daniel turned to the window, expression unreadable.
He heard what they said.
A junior had beaten them.
But still, he wasn't expecting much.
'Ferdinand and Roger are just too weak. I doubt this kid is anything special.'
He sighed.
Then, resting his head on the desk, he closed his eyes—waiting for the day to pass.