"You sure you want to wear an eye patch?" the General asked as Won adjusted his uniform in front of the mirror one final time. The uniform, the shoes, even the books he'd need—all of it had been provided by the General, including a phone and some surprisingly expensive clothes. His uniform consisted of a navy coat, a white shirt underneath, and matching blue trousers.
The General had already begun treating Won with a kind of respect and admiration the boy had never known.
When Won didn't respond, the General circled around and settled onto the couch, arms crossed, silently watching him.
"Either way, you look sharp," he remarked with a small nod.
Won finally turned, shaking his head. "General, you don't need to feel sorry for me. I can manage just fine. Still… thank you—for everything you've done so far. And I'm sorry for how I spoke that day… about your son and everything."
"It was my fault anyway. My greed, my fear… I sent my son into that place chasing both. I couldn't save any of them." The General lowered his head, his voice raw. "What good is being a General if I can't even protect children?"
Then, attempting a smile, he added, "You don't have to call me 'General' all the time. Call me Henry Benjamin."
Won offered a faint smile. "Mr. Benjamin, then."
"But you still haven't told me what exactly happened in the veyne. The one that changed your eye color."
"Nothing much," Won replied with a shrug. "I'm counting it as a side effect of the battle."
The General studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll drive you to school. We can talk more on the way—about everything that lies ahead."
***
"Won, listen," the General began, his hands steady on the steering wheel, "the other kids will probably pick on you. You're the only flintshade in your class this year. So don't go around trading insults. I am scared of your sharp tongue. Seriously! No need to respond. Just avoid them."
Won gave a silent nod. He didn't care much about being mocked. How bad could it be? He'd heard rich kids didn't bully like those in the squalor.
"You'll also face a series of weekly tests. Each will involve conquering an instance veyne as part of a group. So, try to get along with everyone. You might think that just because you defeated the master veyne alone, you can take on anything solo now—but trust me, things are different from here on out."
"This might come as a surprise, but I also enrolled you in the basic courses. Since you've never been to school before, what kids your age study might feel overwhelming at first. You'll have to work twice as hard. But you're a sharp kid—I believe you'll catch up quickly."
Won sighed. "So they really offer basic courses here."
"They do. Though they're usually empty. Not many kids from the squalor end up studying here."
"So, I'll be the only one in those classes."
"Yep," the General said, watching his expression—still unreadable, as always. Won didn't show even a flicker of concern.
"The academy… it's a seven-year program, right?" Won asked.
"Yes. It's different from the standard education path. In the regular system, you'd head to college at seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen. But in this world—where veyne conquering matters more—we finish everything here. You're actually quite young. Fourteen. Most awaken at fifteen. Seeing someone younger is rare. I was fourteen too, actually, when I awakened."
As if he didn't listen to anything the General just said, he shrugged, asking, "When do we become professionals? Seven years is a long time."
"You can become one right now if you want. But the academy is here to train you—to make you stronger. Generally, you're eligible for full-fledged professional status after two years, or just one if you show exceptional progress. Why—worried about money?" the General asked.
He wasn't wrong. Won had been thinking about it—but he didn't answer, hoping the General would understand.
The man cleared his throat. "Well, if that's on your mind, don't worry too much. Aside from study, training, and simulation veynes, the academy will also send you on real missions from time to time—to give you practical experience. You'll be rewarded for each one. Also top results in academics and proper reflection of survival skills earn you money too."
"Also, your education and dormitory stay are fully covered by the government. It's all profit. Just make sure you do well in your studies."
Good results only attract attention, Won thought grimly.
I'll just make sure not to fail.
A few seconds later, the General added, "You have my number, right? Call me if you ever need anything. And during breaks or vacations, you're welcome to stay at my place."
"We don't have to go that far, Mr. Benjamin," Won replied, shaking his head. "I know you're starting to think of me as your son. But I can't be that. I cannot be the shadow of your son. And you should remove your name from the guardian registry."
The General's eyes widened slightly at the remark. "How did you know?"
"The phone," Won said simply. "The academy texted me. They've already begun generating student profiles. I checked mine and saw your name listed as my guardian. It's an unnecessary burden."
"I forgot to mention that. I'm sorry, Won. I just thought…"
Won cut him off. "It's fine. I don't care about the profile itself. Just… don't put pressure on me. You're the strongest man in the nation, after all."
"If that's what you want, I'll have it removed today. But remember—you can reach out to me anytime. My door is always open."
"Drop me here," Won said abruptly. "I don't want anyone seeing the General driving me to school."
"Alright, alright…" the General said, though his voice hesitated at the end.
***
Minutes later, Won stood in front of the gates of Meteor Ashen Technical, his first and only piece of luggage beside him. He could feel the intense energy radiating from within, even from the outside. It was his first time entering a school. Until now, he had only seen what a school might look like on TV. He chuckled inwardly, remembering the days back in the slums when kids—including himself—would scramble for a spot near any shop that had a television.
He would forget his hunger while watching TV. It was addictive—even for a boy like him. He wondered if rich kids felt the same way.
Students brushed past him as they entered the school grounds. Most arrived in lavish, branded cars. He was the only one standing there, idly trying to calm himself before stepping inside.
Suddenly, a boy tapped him on the shoulder and asked, "You're new, right? How long are you planning to stand here? Let's head in."
The boy had been watching him for a while before stepping out of his car. Won had unwittingly become a welcome distraction from his parents' moral lecture about academics and achievement.
Won tilted his head, studying the boy. He was good-looking, with green eyes and brown hair.
"I'm Orson Driscoll, by the way," said the green-eyed boy, offering his hand.
It was another first for Won—shaking someone's hand. He had believed handshakes were a formality reserved for the rich. Apparently, that wasn't true.
He took Orson's hand gladly. "Won."
Seeing the puzzled expression on the boy's face, Won repeated, "My name. It's just Won."
Orson smiled and shook his hand.
As they entered the large auditorium, decorated brightly for the orientation program, a few other new Ashens began waving at Orson.
"Hey Orson! Long time no see, man! How've you been?" said a boy with curly hair and a flashy grin. Behind him stood a girl with brunette hair tied into a high ponytail and another boy with striking white hair. Both were smiling.
"I'm good. How about you guys?" Orson asked.
Won felt awkward among them. He instantly sensed this school wasn't meant for kids like him. Everyone here exuded wealth—from head to toe—even though they all wore the same uniform. Somehow, it still showed.
Soon, all eyes turned to Won. The curly-haired boy looked at Orson and asked, "You already made a friend the moment you walked in?"
Orson nodded. "His name's Won." Then he turned to Won and introduced the others.
The curly-haired boy was Murphy Mann.
The brunette girl was Jaem Wab.
The white-haired boy was Arnold James.
Won nodded politely at each of them. Then, without warning, Murphy asked, "What's your rank? Skarnveil? Braylock? Inronwake?"
Won swallowed hard. There was no way he could reveal he was Gravemarch-ranked. No one would believe him anyway—they'd think he was insane.
"Flintshade," he replied, trying to sound proud.
Immediately, Murphy and Jaem burst into mocking laughter.
Calming himself, Murphy turned to Orson and said, "What is this, man? The first guy you make friends with is a Flintshade. I thought it was a joke when I heard there was only one Flintshade this year. Turns out it's true. Hahaha."
"Murphy, that's rude. Why are you laughing?" Orson asked, his voice cold.
Arnold stepped in. "Jaem, you too. You shouldn't mock someone's rank. That's wrong."
"Oh, please, Arnold. Everyone's going to do it anyway. I heard this boy didn't even attend the first test. He had to join another one. Lucky for him that he did. But….." Jaem scoffed. "He still has to bear the burden of all the dead, thirty three Ashens who failed the Veyne Test where he didn't even appear."
The mood darkened at once. Students around them grew cautious. Won fought to hold his tongue, but he couldn't.
His guess had been wrong after all.
Rich kids can be bullies too.
"Dead, huh?" Won said quietly. "Death doesn't haunt the brave—it hunts the cowards who laughed while others fell. Thirty-three kids died. And you think that's funny? Trust me—I could bear the burden of a dead God. Thirty-three kids won't break me."
"Sharp tongue, huh? You are even wearing an eye-patch. What? Did you lose an eye during your veyne test? And trust me too, you don't want to be a target here. So keep your mouth shut," Jaem hissed.
Arnold stepped in again. "Let's just go. No one wants a scene on the first day."
Orson quickly turned to Won. "I'm sorry for their behavior. They can be... arrogant, sometimes."
Won had already calmed himself. He turned to Orson and asked, "What's your ranking?"
Orson smirked, scratched his head, and replied,
"General."