I still remember it like it was yesterday…
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June 1, 1518
The hall was crammed with rows of rusty desks and cold steel chairs. The kids around me — ragged, frail, and visibly starving — clung to their seats as if the metal could somehow anchor them to hope.
There were no noble children here. Why would there be? No noble would let their precious heir rot in this government-run hellhole. At best, there was me — Kite Lighthart — who looked slightly more groomed than the rest. And one more... a girl.
She sat a few rows away, alone. Her eyes were sharp — too sharp for someone her age. There was a cold hunger in her gaze, not for food, but for survival. She sat with the poise of someone holding on to pride like a thread above a pit.
We had just finished our aptitude screening for STF, and refreshments were being served. A moment of reprieve. That's when we were handed our evaluation sheets — our scores broken into five categories:
Intelligence, Strength, Mana Capacity, Vitality, and Endurance.
I had scored surprisingly well. An average of 94 across the board.
If someone had asked me a month ago if magic existed — if monsters and ancient powers lived among us — I would've laughed. But things changed fast. Henrik had already warned me: as mankind advanced and modernized, we drifted further from nature, the very source of mana. Without it, we couldn't perform magic. To bridge the gap, the STF developed a solution — Imperial Arms, or IA, mechanical weapons powered by directly extracting mana from the user's body. Or making an equivalent deal with one of the sisters.
The inventor of IA was none other than my father — Kian Lighthart. A Golden Badge. A legend.
As I studied my results, a man in black military uniform walked in, pinning the ranking sheet onto the board.
I'd ranked the highest.
Not because I was gifted — but because I had time, a mentor, and resources. I had privilege.
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't even notice the intense glare burning into the back of my skull.
That was the first time she looked at me like that — the girl with fire in her eyes.
And that…
was the day I became her favorite punching bag.
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I still remember it like it was yesterday…
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I was born into a crumbling noble bloodline, the Sherringtons — a name that once held weight, now reduced to whispers of a forgotten legacy. I was their final hope. A doll wrapped in velvet and lace, prepared to smile at nobles and bow to men thrice my age.
But I wasn't born to bow.
I wanted freedom.
And freedom came at a terrible price.
I screamed at the shadows around me,
"No! Don't laugh at me! Don't whisper about me! Just leave me alone!"
But they never stopped. The whispers lived in the walls, in the glances, in the quiet dinners and empty hallways. They grew louder than my own thoughts.
There was a noble pig who tried to claim me.
Old enough to be my father — eyes like vultures, hands like slime. He would touch me when no one looked, and even when they did, they said nothing. My parents gave him a half-hearted warning, but never stopped him. They needed his coin, his favors. They sold me off in all but name.
I became loud. Sharp. A blade forged by disgust.
I wasn't the girl in lace anymore. I was teeth and poison. Because I learned early: silence was suffering. So I talked louder than anyone else. I turned my pain into performance — into sarcasm, mockery, arrogance. A castle of thorns I built around my soul.
Not to keep people out…
But to keep myself safe.
And then…
There was Kite.
He didn't shrink away from my temper.
He didn't mock me behind my back.
He saw me — the angry, hurting, raw version of myself I tried so hard to bury.
With Kite, I didn't have to wear armor.
And that was what terrified me the most.
Because tragedy doesn't always look like blood or death.
Sometimes… it looks like giving someone the power to destroy you, and praying they won't.
I crouched in the darkness of my room, hugging my knees like a child. The floor was cold, the silence unbearable. My breathing was shallow, my thoughts loud.
How pathetic could I get?
I looked up.
There he was.
Kite, sitting quietly nearby. He hadn't spoken. He never made a scene. He was just… there. Like light bleeding into a corner I thought would always stay dark.
"Kite… huh…" I chuckled softly to myself.
"I've always found that name strange…"
But I liked it.
I liked it.
Because in a world that had never felt safe —
Kite felt like the first thing that didn't want to hurt me.