Next week, is my birthday.

  Next week, everything would change.

  Then—

  A gentle knock tapped against my door.

  “Miss Ria,” Kana said. “May I come in?”

  I didn’t need to ask who it was.

  “Just come in,” I said. “You don’t need permission.”

  The door opened anyway.

  Kana stepped inside with her usual precision, back straight, posture flawless, every movement measured, as if the house itself demanded obedience.

  She folded her hands. “Your parents request your presence for lunch.”

  My breath caught.

  “…Is Mother there?”

  Kana hesitated.

  “Yes,” she said at last, her voice lowered. “The Madam is present.”

  Cold spread through my chest. My gaze dropped, fingers curling into my skirt.

  Kana stepped closer and knelt until her eyes met mine. Her hand rested on my shoulder.

  Steady... insistent.

  “Miss Ria,” she said quietly, “you can’t keep folding in on yourself every time she enters the room.”

  My throat tightened.

  “You’ll be fifteen soon. An Exvertia does not bow forever.”

  “I… I can’t—”

  “You can,” Kana cut in, her tone sharp as glass. “And if you falter today, I’ll stand with you until you don’t.”

  Her hand pressed lightly against my back.

  There would be no retreat.

  “…Okay.”

  The word barely left my lips.

  Kana’s eyes softened. “Good. Then we’ll meet her together. Your father is waiting.”

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  Each step toward the dining hall felt heavier than the last.

  The table was already set. Steam rose from untouched dishes.

  Only Father was there.

  He looked up and smiled the moment he saw me warm and gentle.

  I sat beside him, clinging to that familiarity.

  Mother isn’t here yet.

  The thought had barely formed when the door opened.

  “Mother.”

  Her footsteps were sharp. Her presence filled the room before she spoke.

  Father stood politely. “Good afternoon, dear.”

  She didn’t look at him.

  Her gaze locked onto me.

  “So,” she said coolly. “You finally dare to sit at this table.”

  “I—I… good afternoon, Mother.”

  “Raise your head.”

  The command sliced cleanly through the air.

  “An Exvertia-in-training does not speak to the floor.”

  My hands trembled as I forced my chin up, my eyes still refusing hers.

  She took her seat with deliberate grace.

  “I hear you will soon become an Exvertia,” she continued. “From then on, there will be no excuse for childish behavior.”

  Father cleared his throat. “She’s still learning. Let her take it slowly—”

  “Silence.”

  Her voice was quiet. Absolute.

  “Slow is another word for weakness.”

  I clenched my fists beneath the table.

  Behind me, Kana stood unmoving—a silent pillar.

  “Next week,” Mother said, lifting her fork, “the world will weigh you.”

  Her eyes flicked to mine.

  “Fail—and it will crush you.”

  No one spoke after that.

  When the meal ended, Mother rose and left without another word.

  Father placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “Come, Ria.”

  “…Where?”

  He smiled. “The Exvertia Center. It’s time you chose a mentor.”

  My heart lurched.

  “Already?”

  “At your age,” he said softly, “delay is a luxury.”

  Father’s black car slid into the underground parking hall of the Exvertia Center.

  Rows of luxury vehicles gleamed beneath crystal lights. Even the air felt rarefied.

  We stopped at a space marked.

  VVIP RESERVED

  Uniformed guards approached.

  They are tall, immaculate, unnervingly handsome.

  Father acknowledged them with a nod.

  No questions were asked.

  We passed through guarded corridors until we reached a wall of glass stretching from floor to ceiling.

  Beyond it stood dozens of people.

  Children. Teenagers. Adults.

  Some spoke confidently. Some displayed their abilities with practiced ease.

  The moment Father and I appeared, the room fell silent.

  Eyes turned toward me.

  Hungry. Expectant.

  “Ria,” Father said quietly, “choose.”

  My breath caught.

  Many stepped forward. Smiles bloomed. Power flared.

  But my gaze stopped instantly.

  A guy, yet bit older than me, stood at the center of the room, tall, unwavering.

  His presence pulling everything toward him.

  He spoke calmly, confidently, as if the world already listened.

  My heart pounded.

  I didn’t want to be like him.

  I wanted him.

  I tugged Father’s sleeve and whispered, pointing.

  “Him…”

  Father studied the guy for a long moment.

  Then he laughed softly.

  “Very well.”

  He leaned closer. “That one is expensive.”

  His voice dropped.

  “But for you, my daughter, there is nothing I won’t pay.”

  Behind the glass, shoulders slumped.

  Smiles vanished. Hope dimmed.

  They looked at me as if I had taken something from them.

  Maybe I had.

  “Is it wrong,” I whispered, “to choose him?”

  Father’s hand rested on my shoulder.

  “No,” he said. “Choice is a privilege—not a kindness.”

  That guy never turned around.

  He didn’t need to.

  I already knew.

  I didn’t want an Exvertia.

  I only wanted him.