heir of the cursed blood

A week had passed since the fateful battle in the coliseum.

The infirmary was quiet, sunlight filtering softly through the tall stained-glass windows. Rows of clean white sheets lined the beds, but only one figure lay motionless beneath them—Kael.

His chest rose slowly. His breathing had stabilized days ago, but his consciousness had remained locked behind a veil of pain and regret.

Suddenly, his fingers twitched.

A soft gasp escaped from one of the nurses tending nearby. She rushed forward, eyes wide in disbelief."He's awake! Call Sir Eorun and the Master—now!"

Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. Eorun entered first, his expression unreadable but eyes sharp with concern. Behind him walked the Master of RagDon, his arms folded, face grim.

Kael blinked slowly. His body felt heavier than ever. He reached toward his face—but stopped when he felt the rough fabric wrapped tightly across his right eye.

"…What happened?" His voice was hoarse.

Neither Eorun nor the Master answered right away. Instead, Eorun moved closer and gently began unwrapping the bandages.

When the last layer fell away, Kael raised a trembling hand to feel his skin. But there it was—a long, jagged scar running diagonally over his right eye. It wasn't deep, but it was undeniable. Permanent. A reminder of his defeat.

He stared at the wall in silence.

"…I lost," he whispered.

Eorun looked at him, eyes shadowed. "You fought well. But yes, you did."

Kael's fists clenched the blanket as the weight of the humiliation settled over him.

The newspapers from the capital, from the north, from every corner of central Raghas… all carried the same headline:

"Vaelion of the Glorious Elarion Bloodline Defeats the Fallen Bastard of RagDon"—An Unforgettable Victory of the Strong Over the Powerless.

Kael shut his eyes in shame. He could almost hear the sneers, the laughter echoing through every noble hall. Vaelion hadn't just defeated him—he had used his family's power to broadcast Kael's fall like a grand performance.

Eorun didn't say anything at first. But when Kael turned his head away in silence, the old man muttered quietly, "I never thought I'd see your face like this."

"…Now what?" Kael asked flatly, eyes still staring at the ceiling.

It was the Master who stepped forward then, arms still crossed. His tone was cold, but his words hit hard.

"Despite your loss, you still have value. You defeated Theo—a ranked fighter. That earns you something."

Kael looked up, barely believing what he was hearing.

"I'm recommending your name for the entrance exam of the greatest academy in all of Raghas. You'll take it in two months."

Kael's eyes widened. "You're… seriously letting me join?"

The Master turned away but paused at the door. Without looking back, he said one final line:

"You may carry the RagDon name—but don't make it more shameful than it already is in the central region."

Then he was gone.

Kael sat there, silent, the scar on his eye burning—not from pain, but from memory.