The next morning, Arthur woke up with a wide, effortless smirk plastered across his face. Sunlight spilled through the blinds of his apartment bedroom, warming the sheets, but his good mood was entirely fueled by the lingering, vivid memories of the night before.
"Man..." he muttered, resting his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think half the modern girls in this academy could manage a blowjob that even comes close to what Arne did last night. And that was her absolute first attempt..."
His smirk deepened into a low, quiet chuckle. "And that was just the warm-up before she practically turned the bed into a warzone."
He shifted, reaching a hand over to brush the lingering warmth on the mattress beside him, the exact spot where Lady Arne had rested her head against his chest before quietly dissolving back into the soul rift in the early hours of the morning. The faint, sweet scent of ozone and iron still clung to the fabric.
"Doggystyle next, maybe?" Arthur mused, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. "Let's see how much ancient knightly dignity she keeps in that position."
He took a deep breath, stretching his arms as a profound sense of satisfaction washed over him. Out of every noble heir, legacy brat, and high-tier student in the entire city, he'd managed to bind a legendary vanguard who wasn't just built to shatter dragons. She was completely devoted to pleasing him.
"Yeah," Arthur whispered, rolling out of bed with a fresh surge of energy. "I definitely won the grand prize."
His eyes flicked to the digital clock on the bedside table. The neon green numbers blinked back at him: 5:45 AM. It was time to get moving.
Arthur swung his legs out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. After a quick shower, he skipped his usual faded school hoodies and pulled on a crisp black button-down, pairing it with tailored black trousers.
As he stepped out into the hallway, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh eggs drifted up the stairwell.
"Uncle Potus is back at it again," Arthur chuckled softly to himself, following the scent down the stairs.
Sitting in his kitchen nook, Uncle Potus was flipping a pancake when he turned, taking one look at Arthur's sleek, monochromatic outfit. His eyebrow shot straight up.
"Whoa there, kid," Uncle Potus said, leaning on his spatula. "Why are you dressed like you're heading straight to a funeral?"
Arthur grabbed a fork, casually stealing a thick strip of crispy bacon right off the serving plate. A subtle, sharp smirk touched his lips. "That's because I'm in mourning, Uncle."
Potus blinked, completely threw off by the dark tone. "Mourning? Mourning who?"
"My old self," Arthur said, taking a slow, deliberate bite.
Potus stopped mid-flip, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"
Arthur just kept his enigmatic smile intact. He had zero intention of revealing his newly awakened status as a summoner, or the absolute powerhouse currently sleeping inside his soul rift, just yet. Let the world, and his family, stay in the dark a little longer.
A few minutes later, Arthur was standing at the edge of the bus station platform, his eyes instinctively drifting upward toward the massive, illuminated billboard towering over the intersection.
It was the exact same advertisement he'd stared at every single morning for the past three years: Lady Abelle, the Tempest Empress.
She was depicted high in the clouds, straddling the back of her towering, armored wyvern, her radiant smile gleaming against the sky. Naturally, the marketing department had made sure the low-angle shot emphasized her ample cleavage and flawless, heroic posture. It was the same magnificent view that had started Arthur's mornings throughout his high school life.
In the past, he'd just stand there with his hands in his pockets, lost in foolish fantasies, imagining himself riding into high-rank rifts beside her, fighting back-to-back against calamity-class beasts. They were the desperate, empty dreams of a nobody, a rankless kid with zero prospects.
Not anymore, Arthur thought, his eyes narrowing as a slow, confident grin spread across his face.
The playing field had completely changed. He was no longer just another spectator in the crowd. He'd humiliated Sidwig, a legacy heir backed by a high-ranking family, and he'd done it using an ancient, dragon-breaking vanguard. The dream of standing beside someone like Lady Abelle, or even being recruited into her elite Guild, was no longer just a pathetic teenage fantasy. It was an actual roadmap.
Honk!
The heavy, metallic rumble of the academy bus ground to a halt right in front of him, its wide yellow frame cutting directly into his line of sight and blocking the billboard.
Arthur didn't even sigh this time. He just smirked, adjusting his bag over his shoulder as the pneumatic doors hissed open. He didn't need to stare at a printed poster anymore.
Soon enough, they'd be looking at him.
As the doors hissed shut behind him, the low chatter inside the bus ground to a sudden, absolute halt. Every single head turned in his direction.
A day ago, those glares would have been dripping with casual disdain, the cruel, mocking sneers reserved for a nobody without an ounce of combat potential. But today, the air was entirely different. The whispers were quiet, almost reverent, filled with the sudden, uneasy realization that the quiet kid in the back was carrying something terrifying inside his soul rift.
For the first time, they weren't looking at a target. They were looking at a powerhouse in the making.
"Hi, Arthur..." a girl near the front murmured softly, leaning out into the aisle with a sweet, overly polite smile as he walked past.
Arthur barely gave her a second glance, offering only a cold, brief nod as he kept his stride toward the empty rows at the very back.
‘So now you all want to play nice?’ he thought, a dark bitterness curling around his chest.
He slid into his usual seat by the rear window, leaning his head against the cool glass as the bus lurched forward into traffic.
None of these people were his friends. Not a single person in this bus had ever bothered to look his way, offer a hand, or even learn his name before he dragged Sidwig across that arena floor. Their sudden respect wasn't genuine but fear and opportunistic brown-nosing.
Arthur closed his eyes, a faint, dangerous smirk touching his lips as the mental warmth of Lady Arne’s core pulsed softly in his chest. Let them stare. Let them try to act friendly. He didn't need any of them anyway.
When Arthur arrived at the main building, a dense crowd of first-years was gathered around the large, glowing digital leaderboard mounted outside their classroom. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
The hallway was buzzing with chaotic energy. A few students were cheering and slapping each other on the back, while others stared at the screen with crushed, hollow expressions.
And then, right in the center of the commotion, stood Sidwig.
"No fucking way..." Sidwig roared, his face flushed a dangerous, violent red as his eyes scanned the projected holographic text. "There's no way in hell that worthless scum is ranked above me!"
Christoffer stood beside him, waving his hands as he tried to de-escalate his patron's meltdown. "Sidwig, calm down, please! People are watching....."
"Don't touch me, you filthy rat!" Sidwig snarled, violently shoving Christoffer’s arm away.
Sidwig spun around, breathing heavily, only for his glare to lock directly onto Arthur, who had just stopped at the edge of the crowd.
The surrounding students fell completely silent, their heads snapping back and forth between the humiliated legacy heir and the calm, black-clad summoner standing a few paces away.
Sidwig’s jaw twitched violently. His fists trembled at his sides, white-knuckled with raw, unadulterated hatred. But with Mrs. Alger's disciplinary enforcers patrolling the hallways, he couldn't throw a punch. With a final, vicious glare that promised blood, Sidwig turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor.
"Sidwig, wait!" Christoffer called out, nervously glancing at Arthur before scurrying after him like a kicked hound.
As Arthur stepped forward toward the screen, the sea of students instantly parted for him, scrambling back to give him a wide, respectful berth.
Arthur raised his eyes to the illuminated blue interface hovering against the wall.
[First-Year Official Combat Rankings]
No. 5: Christoffer Vance
No. 4: Cade Mercer
No. 3: Sidwig Bennett
No. 2: Arthur Cole
No. 1: Isoreth Godolkin
Arthur stared at his name glowing near the top of the entire freshman class, his pulse hammering against his ribs. A slow, heavy breath escaped his lips as the sheer reality of the moment washed over him.
Ranked second... he thought, a dark, thrilled satisfaction settling into his chest. I actually knocked a legacy heir down to third.
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