"Merely... the second son of a viscount!"

"A useless thing who can't even inherit the title!"

"Get out of here! There's no place for you here!"

"This fool—can't even muster a reaction? Haha..."

A shaky scene.

Mocking shadows.

A toppled bucket.

Shoes stained with filth.

Pain, fury, numbness...

And blood.

Like a nightmare.

Like darkness.

It was supposed to never end.

It was supposed to have become a habit.

Until—

"Why don't you fight back?"

Golden hair shimmering.

Defiant eyes.

Like the sun itself.

"They treat you like this, yet you don't strike back?"

"Because... I'm merely a viscount's second son."

"Viscount? Ah, I see. I understand. Then... if I give you a higher status, will you fight back?"

A higher status?

Of course.

It wasn't that I couldn't beat them, I just...

"Hmm, I get it now. I understand. If that's the case..."

The golden-haired man extended his hand, "Would you like to be my dog?"

"Dog?"

"Yes, a dog.

I'm not particularly bright, my temper's bad, and there are always those people who flatter me on the surface while talking behind my back.

That's why I need a dog—a dog who'll bite whoever I tell it to, a dog who'd never question my orders."

"What's in it for me?"

"What's in it for you?"

The blonde man seemed to grin.

"The reward is, from now on, whoever beats the dog will have to contend with its owner."

"So, do you agree, Emon Biandi?"

...

...

"Another dream of that?"

In a dim, worn-out wooden shack, Emon woke with a start on a wooden bed riddled with holes.

Through the cracks in the wooden walls, rays of sunlight filtered in, exposing the floating dust.

It faintly revealed the misery and haggardness on his unkempt, stubbled face.

"Am I... still clinging to hope for something like that?"

He got up and walked to the wall.

Fixing his eyes on the portrait of the blonde man hanging on the wall, his gaze briefly turned dazed before morphing into an anger so intense it seemed to burn everything in sight.

"No!"

"I've long discarded that kind of thinking!"

"All that remains in me now is hatred!"

"I hate you, Moen Campbell!"

He slammed his fist against the portrait, which was already marred with knife marks and stains.

With a loud bang, the entire shack shuddered.

Dust fell down like rain, engulfing him completely.

He withdrew his hand, stumbling.

"Knock-knock."

A knock sounded from outside.

Emon instantly grew cautious, carefully moving to the side of the door along the wall, listening intently:

"Who is it?"

"Me." The voice was familiar.

Emon breathed a sigh of relief.

He opened the door, revealing a thin, monkey-like face.

"I've done everything you asked me to!"

The moment he saw Emon, Monkey Face excitedly blurted out.

"Done?"

Emon's eyes lit up, "Quick, let me see the result!"

"Here."

Monkey Face produced a square magical device.

He pressed a button, and a projection-like image unfolded before Emon's eyes.

Though the angle and lighting made the image somewhat blurry and unstable, it clearly depicted the scene of a martial arts class.

Emon leaned closer, eagerly watching the unfolding drama.

When he saw Moen being accused and surrounded by a group of people, he gleefully clapped his hands.

"Yes! That's it, tear down his façade, bring him back to his true self! What change? He's still the same arrogant, obnoxious scion he used to be!

Haha, look at his face—it’s as sulky as a child's who's had his candy stolen!"

But as he spoke, his expression grew despondent, his brows sinking as if weighed down by rain, resembling a drenched stray dog.

"No, no, this isn't Moen. This isn't the Moen I know. If it were the old Moen, he would've ordered me to break the legs of anyone daring to talk like this!

He would never tolerate such things. This isn't Moen!"

He grew enraged again and smashed the magical device forcefully against the floor.

"Ah, my projection crystal!"

Monkey Face looked in anguish at the shattered remains scattered on the ground.

That thing was pricey—it had cost him 8,000 Amir after all.

Monkey Face gritted his teeth and glared at Emon:

"Fine, I did what I was supposed to do, now pay up!"

"What do you mean 'done'? Moen Campbell came out of it totally unscathed!"

"I did my best! Do you know how much danger I put myself in stirring up those people's emotions? If I'd gotten caught, I'd be done for! Even the student council president showed up, and I think she saw me!"

"That's your problem!"

"My problem? This whole thing was absurd from the start! Listen, if I weren't drowning in gambling debt right now, I wouldn't have touched something this risky in the first place!

Make Moen Campbell's reputation crumble? Expose his true self? If it were the old Moen, none of this manipulation would even be necessary—his reputation was already abysmal.

But now, everyone says he's like a changed man. Spreading rumors or whispers is one thing, but taking it further? Impossible!

Do you understand? Afterward, he used the power of the duke's heir to make those people give in. I thought they'd end up completely ruined, but all he made them do was apologize!

Just apologize!

Those people were trembling like scared birds, but all Moen Campbell did was make them lower their heads and preach some grand moral lessons before letting them go!

Afterward, each of those people was weeping, practically worshipping Moen Campbell as if in gratitude for his mercy!

So how am I supposed to take things any further?"

"Lies... Lies!"

Emon's face turned red with fury as he shouted:

"The person you're talking about isn't Moen!"

"Are you delusional or something? Moen Campbell or 'Moen your lord' that—make up your mind!"

Monkey Face roared back:

"Anyway, just pay up, or I'll publicize your whereabouts! The student council and others are searching for you, you know!"

"I..."

Emon slumped, defeated. He fumbled through his jacket, finally pulling out a stack of banknotes.

Monkey Face grabbed the stack and counted it, his expression changing instantly.

"Just 30,000? We agreed on 200,000!"

"I... I only have this much."

"A noble's son, and you can't even cough up 200,000?"

"My family thinks I offended Moen Campbell and got abandoned by him, so..."

Emon stammered:

"They cut off my funds."

"Damn!"

Monkey Face grabbed Emon by the collar.

"If you don't have money, go figure something out! You were once—"

But mid-sentence, he froze.

It was only then that he noticed just how pitiful this man—which had once been a notable figure at the academy—had become.

"Screw it."

Monkey Face shoved Emon hard onto the ground, spitting on him.

"Some legendary 'Wolf of Campbell.’ Without Campbell, you're just a stray mutt."

With that, he pocketed the money and left without looking back.

Emon slumped on the floor, head hung low, letting the spit trickle down his face.

Time ticked away, second by second, as Emon sat motionless—a statuesque figure.

At that moment, the light was obscured. A figure cloaked in black appeared before him.

"Emon Biandi."

"Who are you?"

Emon raised his head, able to make out only that the cloaked figure seemed to be a woman hidden under her heavy robes.

"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is that I know you've been wanting revenge on Moen Campbell for abandoning you—but haven't had the courage."

The cloaked figure placed a bottle of magical potion in front of Emon and spoke with a persuasive tone:

"And I... can help you."