Prologue – 20 Years Ago, A Distant Land
"He can't have gotten far! Spread out and bring me his head!"
The voice—angry, commanding—echoed through the forest as Mr. Vino paced furiously beside a flickering campfire.
"But, sir… he broke his limiter," one of the men stammered, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "He's even stronger now. He already took out several of our men. It's been hours..."
Mr. Vino let out a sharp scream of frustration, then abruptly fell silent, his fury boiling beneath the surface.
"Let the rat think he's free…" he hissed through clenched teeth. "We'll start over. Where's the rookie—Beretta?"
"In his tent, sir," another soldier replied, bowing slightly.
"Our search ends here. Tell him to teleport us back."
Present Day, Chile
7:00 AM. The alarm blared relentlessly in the morning heat of a Chilean summer.
From beneath a pile of blankets: incoherent mumbles.
The door slammed open.
"Today's the day, son! You're finally graduating!" his father beamed, striding in and yanking the curtains open. "Get your lazy ass up."
Saint groaned, burying his head deeper into his pillow.
"Just five more minutes, Dad..."
Without hesitation, his father launched into the air and landed an elbow drop on the bed.
"Alright, alright! I'm up!" Saint groaned, rubbing his ribs. "What's for breakfast?"
"The usual. Come on!" his father said cheerfully.
After a sluggish morning routine and breakfast, Saint found himself in the passenger seat of his father's dusty old car.
"I've been waiting for this day," his father said as they drove toward the school. "Now you can finally apply to Sangre De Reyes. Aren't you excited?"
Saint stared out the window. "Whatever, Dad. I'm only doing this for you."
His father's smile faltered for a moment. A quiet worry clouded his eyes.
They arrived in front of the school. His father pulled him in for a tight hug.
"I'm proud of you, son. You're strong. I've never lied to you, Saint. I always tell the truth."
Saint blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. He hugged his father back.
"...I won't let you down."
With that, he stepped into the school for his graduation ceremony.
The event was a blur—smiles, applause, pictures, hugs. By the end, Saint was heading toward the exit when a finger jabbed him in the back.
"GAH—!"
"Ana! You scared me, creep."
Ana chuckled. They had grown up together—born the same year, nearly the same day. If anyone knew him, it was her.
"So, what now?" she asked, walking beside him.
"I'm applying for Sangre De Reyes…" Saint muttered, eyes on the ground.
Ana's eyes widened. "Really? Wow... I mean, I'm not surprised. You've always been the strongest in class. And with your Mana already awakened? You'll be fine."
"I don't know, Ana… I've heard some crazy stories about that place."
She paused, then smiled gently. "Well, I'm staying here. Taking over the family business. Fighting's not really my thing. But I'll cheer for you. I'll always be here for you."
Her words were kind, but there was a sadness behind them—a silent wish he'd stay.
As they reached her house, silence lingered for a moment.
"Thanks, Ana. I'll visit you and Sant—"
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight.
"Take care of yourself. Please."
Saint stiffened. "Y-yeah… of course."
Ana wiped her eyes and punched him lightly on the arm. "What was that for, idiot?" she laughed, running inside.
He stood alone on the path before heading home. As he neared the house, a familiar scene played out—neighbors tossing garbage and shouting insults.
"Make sure to hit his son too! Crazy bastard!"
Saint ducked inside, barely avoiding a rotten apple.
"Dad? You home?" he called casually, slipping off his shoes.
From the backyard, his father emerged, drenched in sweat.
"There you are. Took you long enough. Get changed—we're doing a quick test."
Saint sighed. "Whatever."
Minutes later, in his training clothes, Saint stepped outside. His father handed him an application form.
"Sign this. Then we spar."
Saint groaned. "I'm not fighting you. You'd crush me."
He signed and handed the form back. His father watched him walk away, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
The next morning, 6:00 AM sharp.
"Wake up, son. They're here. It's time to go."
Saint grumbled, dragging himself out of bed. "Already? I just graduated yesterday… no break?"
Downstairs, two sharply dressed men in white pastel suits stood waiting.
"Is this him?" one asked, raising a brow.
"Of course it's him, jackass," the other muttered.
His father stepped in. "Saint, meet Beretta and Brugger—your escorts to Sangre De Reyes."
"Pleasure to meet you. I've heard great things," Beretta said warmly.
"Yeah… thanks," Saint replied awkwardly.
Without warning, Brugger lunged, throwing a blindingly fast punch. Saint dodged—barely—and landed on the floor, stunned.
"Heh. Nothing special if you couldn't see that coming," Brugger smirked.
WHACK!
Beretta smacked him on the head. "Ignore him. He can't help himself."
He helped Saint up.
"So, when do we leave?" Saint asked, brushing himself off.
"Whenever you're ready. We'll teleport there instantly."
Saint exhaled. "...Let's go."
In an instant, they stood before the principal's office.
Beretta nodded. "Go on in."
Saint stepped inside. The principal, a tall man in dark robes, stared out the window.
"You must be Saint," he said flatly, without turning.
"Yeah."
"I'm Oshoku, principal of Sangre De Reyes. You know where you are?"
"Yes. I'm familiar."
Oshoku finally turned and handed him a blank form.
"Write your application."
"What? I already—"
"Do it."
Saint took the form, confused, but complied. When he handed it in, Oshoku didn't even glance at it.
"Again."
"What? But you didn't even—"
Suddenly, the air grew heavy. A crushing pressure radiated from Oshoku, nearly knocking Saint off his feet.
"O-okay! Fine!" he stammered, quickly rewriting the form. This continued for what felt like an hour—form after form—until Oshoku finally accepted one.
"You pass. Here's your ID. Don't be late."
Saint bolted out of the office, checking the ID: Class B22 – 2 Minutes Late.
Down the hall, a commotion drew his attention. A crowd circled around two students.
"Is that all you got, dork?" one voice taunted.
"Bet you can't even land a hit on Plaster, Beyce!" another laughed.
A student was launched across the hallway, crashing into the wall. Saint rushed over.
"You alright?" he asked, offering a hand.
The boy took it. "Yeah. Thanks. First day too?"
Saint nodded. "Looking for B22."
"That's exactly where I flew from!" he grinned. "I'm Beyce."
"Saint," he replied.
Suddenly, the one called Plaster approached, hands in his pockets.
"And who are you?"
Saint tensed. This guy… he's strong.
"I don't want any trouble. It's my first day."
"No trouble? Then why are you leaking Mana like a fountain?"
Plaster cracked his knuckles, but before he could act, another student stepped in.
"That's enough, bro."
Plaster scoffed and turned away. The newcomer faced them with a friendly smile.
"I'm Ari. Haven't seen you around. You in our class?"
Saint nodded slowly. "Yeah."