Anna Eriksen had spent most of her childhood abroad.

  By the time she moved to France, the language felt heavy on her tongue, the jokes too fast, the cultural codes invisible but sharp. She learned quickly — she always did — but fitting in was another matter.

  So she did what she had always done.

  She retreated.

  Books. Music. Quiet hobbies. Safe routines.

  When the Tower took her, she had thought — foolishly — that maybe this would be different. A reset. A place where effort mattered more than fluency.

  Day 82.

  She hadn’t left her room in two days.

  Tears ran freely now. Not dramatic sobs — just silent, exhausted crying. The kind that came when there was no one left to perform strength for.

  “I thought it couldn’t get worse…” she whispered hoarsely.

  It had.

  She cursed the Tower.

  Cursed whatever system had torn her away.

  Cursed the fact that none of her friends had been brought with her.

  If even one familiar face had been here…

  A few weeks earlier, she had reached her breaking point.

  Isolation was heavier than fear.

  So when a small party from the French College of Coeurderoy asked around for a healer, she volunteered.

  They barely knew her name.

  But she had discovered something studying in the library. She had an affinity. A strong one. Restoration magic responded to her cleanly, efficiently. Her mana control was precise.

  For the first time since arriving, she felt… useful.

  The ascension went fast.

  Too fast.

  They pushed floors aggressively. Took risks. Cleared dungeons back-to-back. Stress mounted.

  And stress needed an outlet.

  It found her.

  Every time someone got clipped by a monster.

  “Why wasn’t that healed instantly?”

  Every time someone overextended.

  “Pay attention!”

  Every close call became her fault.

  She worked harder.

  Stayed up studying healing optimization.

  Increased cast speed.

  Still — it wasn’t enough.

  On Floor 4, they entered their first elite dungeon.

  Anna felt it immediately.

  The mana density. The enemy scaling. The damage spikes.

  They weren’t ready.

  When she mentioned it, they dismissed her.

  She was burning through mana just to stabilize basic pulls. Her hands trembled halfway through the run, but she didn’t complain. Didn’t slow them down.

  At the boss room, everything collapsed.

  Damage output insufficient.

  Positioning sloppy.

  Panic.

  She overextended her mana trying to keep two of them alive at once.

  A mistake.

  One fell.

  Then another.

  Then the wipe.

  Twelve hours in the dark void.

  No senses. No sound. No body.

  Only thoughts.

  And the knowledge that she would wake up to consequences.

  When she returned to the ground floor, still shaken, they were waiting.

  “You choked.”

  “Useless.”

  “A true disaster.”

  They didn’t even hesitate.

  They kicked her from the party on the spot.

  Worse — they told others. Framed it cleanly. Efficiently.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  It spread fast.

  Floor 4 wipe. Healer failure.

  Anna Eriksen.

  Too ashamed to defend herself, she retreated again.

  Back to her room.

  Back to silence.

  But hunger doesn’t care about humiliation.

  On the second day, her stomach cramped hard enough to make her dizzy.

  So she stood.

  Slowly.

  She took a shower, letting the hot water run longer than necessary, as if it could wash off words.

  Dried her hair.

  Put on clean clothes.

  Stared at the door for a long moment.

  Her hand hovered over the handle.

  “…Just food,” she murmured.

  Nothing more.

  She opened the door.

  And stepped into the hallway.

  Anna went to the cafeteria with her head lowered.

  The ground floor hub buzzed softly with late-noon activity.

  She kept her eyes on the queue.

  Just buy the sandwich. Leave. Go back.

  Her fingers tightened around the tray.

  Then she heard it.

  “Hey — isn’t that the disaster?”

  The voice carried easily.

  Sebastian Hargneu.

  One of the loud, confident faces of the French College of Coeurderoy — the kind of guy who had always thrived socially, before and after the abduction.

  He pointed openly.

  Next to him, one of the girls from Anna’s former party covered her mouth — giggling.

  Not embarrassed.

  Amused.

  Anna’s ears rang.

  The word disaster echoed louder than it should have.

  She paid quickly, almost fumbling the currency, grabbed her sandwich, and turned away before anyone could look at her longer.

  Her appetite was gone.

  Her stomach twisted anyway.

  She pushed through the cafeteria doors, the artificial breeze outside brushing her damp hair.

  I shouldn’t have come.

  She felt small. Visible. Wrong.

  She had almost made it halfway back toward the residential wing when someone stepped into her path.

  “Excuse me.”

  She flinched.

  “You’re Anna Eriksen, right?”

  She looked up.

  In front of her stood a fairly tall guy with sharp green eyes. Reserved posture. Observant. The kind of gaze that analyzed rather than judged.

  Beside him stood a girl with dirty blonde hair. Soft features. And a gentle, reassuring smile.

  The faces seemed familiar, they attended the same school.

  The girl spoke first.

  “We’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

  She pointed toward one of the picnic tables just outside the cafeteria.

  The politeness caught Anna off guard.

  They weren’t smirking.

  So she nodded.

  They sat across from her — straight posture, almost like an interview panel.

  The dark-haired boy spoke calmly.

  “I’m Anon. And this is Sonia.”

  A small pause.

  “We’re from the Black Dragon guild. And we’d like you to join us. If you’re interested.”

  Black Dragon.

  Anna blinked.

  The name didn’t mean anything at first.

  It wasn’t one of the big groups people whispered about. Not one of the established student factions.

  Then it clicked.

  The drone.

  She had picked one up weeks ago — a compact scouting device. It saved them once by spotting a flanking mob.

  So that’s them…

  Sonia leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the table.

  “Our guild isn’t widely known yet. But we already have teams progressing on the vanguard floors. Our quarters are expanding quickly — members get accommodation and other benefits.”

  Her voice was warm, but steady.

  “We’d be very interested in your skills.”

  Anna blinked.

  “I only reached Floor 4,” she said quietly. “And… I was struggling.”

  Anon replied.

  “With a proper group, you’d catch up quickly.”

  There was no pity in his tone. Just assessment.

  Sonia gave Anon a sideways look.

  “This might sound a little creepy,” she admitted, smiling awkwardly. “But we kind of… spied on you.”

  She jabbed a thumb toward him.

  “Totally his fault.”

  Anon didn’t deny it.

  “We saw the elite dungeon run.”

  Anna’s chest tightened.

  “We saw what happened,” he added. “You were carrying them. Hard.”

  Silence.

  Her mind connected the dots.

  The drone.

  Of course.

  They hadn’t just been random scouting tools.

  They were gathering data.

  Anon continued, measured and analytical.

  “Your mana efficiency is above average for your level. Your reaction timing during spike damage was consistent. The wipe wasn’t on you.”

  He paused.

  “They weren’t ready for that dungeon.”

  Sonia nodded.

  “You overextended trying to compensate for their mistakes.”

  Anna stared at the table.

  No one had said that before.

  No one had even considered it.

  “You have potential,” Anon said simply. “You just lacked structure.”

  The word structure resonated more than praise.

  Black Dragon.

  She remembered the drone’s clean design. The systematic approach.

  Sonia smiled again — softer this time.

  “You don’t have to answer now. Just… think about it.”

  Anon slid a small metallic token across the table — engraved with a stylized dragon.

  “Our guild quarters are on the left wing, door 508,” he said. “If you’re interested, come by.”

  No pressure.

  Just an option.

  For the first time in days, Anna didn’t feel like a disaster.

  She felt… evaluated.

  And maybe —

  Worth something.

  She wrapped her fingers slowly around the token.

  “I’ll… think about it.”

  Sonia’s smile widened.

  “That’s all we ask.”

  The artificial sky above them shifted toward brighter tones.

  And for the first time since the abduction —

  The world felt slightly less closed.

  Sebastian Hargneu — 21 years old

  Short and stocky, with shaved blond hair and blue eyes, Sebastian carries himself with loud, aggressive confidence. Never particularly imposing in height, he compensates with presence.

  Since entering the Tower, his worst traits have sharpened. He quickly learned that fear travels faster than respect, and he has no hesitation targeting those perceived as weak. Public humiliation, cutting remarks, and social pressure are his weapons of choice.