Near the raised platform at the far end of the ballroom, surrounded by a loose ring of attendants and a noticeably wider berth than anyone else in the room, sat the royal family.

The Royal family, in short words were the ones who rule the whole continent, next in line of power will be the Church, these two have already amassed so much influence that citizens just have to bow and respect them, any show of disrespect to any of the royal family was also regarded as disrespect to the king himself. While being branded heresy by the church.

[Note: any disrespect to the royal family or the faith of the church is only punishable by death regardless of status]

King Theodric Arden looked like a man in his mid forties. Strong jaw, blonde hair swept back, the kind of build that suggested he hadn’t spent the last few decades sitting on a throne doing nothing. He had a presence that filled the space around him without him needing to do anything in particular, the kind of weight that came from sixty five years of ruling and surviving things that would have ended most people decades earlier.

Beside him sat Queen Iseult, red hair catching the chandelier light, composed and elegant, offering the occasional wave to passing nobles with the practiced warmth of someone who had done this more times than she could count.

The two of them waved periodically at the gathered crowd, acknowledging house after house as they were announced or simply recognized. Each acknowledgment sent a small ripple through whichever cluster of nobles received it, bows, murmured thanks, the occasional barely contained excitement from someone clearly experiencing this kind of attention for the first time.

The king had nine children in total.

Tonight only three of the youngest were present.

The seventh prince, Cassian, fifteen years old, blonde like his father, stood near the edge of the platform with the relaxed posture of someone who had attended enough of these to stop being nervous about them. He wasn’t competing this cycle, too old for it, but his presence here was its own kind of statement.

Beside him stood the second princess, Talia, eleven years old. She had the kind of quiet presence that made people glance twice, not because she demanded it but because something about her simply drew the eye. Her affinity for wind had earned her the title Blessed by the Wind among the court, a title that had started as flattery and had since proven itself entirely accurate. She would be competing tonight.

And beside her, the ninth prince. Youngest of the nine. Same age as Talia. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, watching the room with an expression that was pleasant on the surface and calculating underneath, the kind of look that suggested he’d already mapped out exactly who in this room mattered and who didn’t.

He would also be competing.

Sitting beside Talia, blonde hair catching the light, young features arranged into an expression that kept sliding between an arrogant smug and a practiced polite smile, was the ninth prince.

Cedric.

The Lightning Prince. S rank talent, one of the very few names in the room tonight that everyone already knew before they walked in. Eleven years old and already carrying himself like the outcome of tonight had been decided weeks ago.

But his attention wasn’t on the crowd. Wasn’t on the nobles bowing toward the platform or the murmurs following his sister’s title around the room.

His gaze was fixed on a girl seated across the ballroom beside her mother.

Purple hair. Purple eyes. The kind of presence that didn’t need to try, the kind that came from bloodline and breeding and years of being told exactly how important you were. She sat with an expression that bordered on bored, watching the room with mild detachment, like the entire event was something she was tolerating rather than attending.

Cedric watched her for a long moment.

A small, satisfied smile settled onto his face as his fingers formed a fist.

’Today,’ he thought. ’I’ll finally settle things with that failure.’

[A/N: He is referring to our boy Leon not the girl]

—

The girl across the room let out a slow breath through her nose.

She was going to make herself clear today.

Sera Vorn.

S rank talent, daughter of one of the most respected houses in Everett, and as of recently, the unwilling center of attention she’d never asked for. The proposals had started coming in not long after her assessment results spread, the usual flood that came with being one of the rare S ranks of her generation. Her mother had handled most of them with practiced efficiency.

Then the prince had taken an interest.

And every single one of those proposals had quietly withdrawn within the week.

She still wasn’t sure which part of that bothered her more. The fact that Cedric apparently believed staring at her across rooms counted as courtship, or the fact that an entire field of potential matches had folded the moment a prince so much as glanced in her direction. It was honestly a bit unsettling, the way grown men with titles and lands had simply vanished from consideration because someone with more status had looked her way first.

But there had been one name that hadn’t withdrawn.

Leonis Silford.

She’d heard plenty about him, same as everyone in the capital had. The Silford family’s E rank. The twin of the actual prodigy, the one who’d apparently spent his entire life standing in his sister’s shadow because there was nothing else for him to stand in.

The rumors around him were the kind that multiplied the less anyone actually knew, and she’d heard most of them.

Despite originating from the bloodline of the esteemed heroes, he participated in slavery even going as far as possessing a beastkin slave. People even say she tened to him in the night.

There was also a rumor about him being unable to do anything without his sister covering for him.

He even refused to even attend events where his presence was mandatory. After all, this wasn’t the first time a gathering meant for nobles like them was held.

In one word, he was, by reputation, the most detestable person attending tonight.

And somehow his name was still on a list her mother hadn’t fully closed the door on.

Sera’s plan was simple.

Defeat him. In the colosseum, in front of the entire continent, in the most humiliating way possible. Make it so thoroughly embarrassing that no one, not her mother, not the Silford family, not anyone, would ever bring his name up again in the same sentence as hers.

An E rank.

How hard could that possibly be ?