Isabella Crown—daughter of Christopher Crown, the wealthiest man in the Republic of Arcania.
Her father had spent decades building an empire, but his deepest wish was never wealth. It was children—talented enough to stand toe-to-toe with the Awakened society that dominated the world. Men and women born with power he could never touch.
For years, that wish went unheard.
Until the heavens finally answered.
Christopher was blessed with children—a boy and a girl, both possessing SS-rank talents and potential beyond imagination.
From birth, they were hailed as geniuses.
But Isabella shone brightest.
No one could match her talent with the sword.
Her growth was so monstrous that instructors often outright refused to teach her. "There’s nothing left for me to show you," they’d say, defeated. At thirteen, she could defeat grown E-rank swordsmen in sparring.
At fifteen, she shattered national records for gate-clearing speed. Her [Sword Sovereign] talent made every blade an extension of her will—perfect balance, perfect timing, perfect execution.
Now, inside the Hunter Association:
Isabella looked up at Mala with wide, starry eyes—eyes that had charmed nobles and terrified monsters alike.
Mala sighed, already losing the battle. "Alright... alright. You can clear a C-rank gate."
"Yay!" Isabella squealed in a low voice, launching herself at Mala for a tight hug. "You’re the best!"
Mala smiled despite herself. "But there’s one condition. You have to take a party with you. I’m not letting you go alone like last time."
Isabella puffed out her cheeks. "But I work better alone! Don’t you remember? I set the national record for fastest D-rank gate clear!"
Mala crossed her arms, unmoved. "I’m not giving in this time. You’ll listen to me."
Isabella sighed dramatically. "...Fine. But I choose my party, and you won’t interfere."
"Deal," Mala said, raising her hands. "As long as you listen."
Isabella’s face lit up. She flashed a thumbs-up. "Deal!"
Her platinum hair swayed as she spun, scanning the hall frantically for party members. Her eyes landed on a hooded figure near the reception counter.
She couldn’t see his face clearly.
But he looked like he was also searching for a party.
Without hesitation, she marched over.
"Would you like to join our party?" Isabella asked confidently.
Arthur turned toward the voice.
A slow smile spread across his face.
’Looks like I hit the jackpot after all,’ he thought. ’Does this have something to do with increasing my Luck stat?’
Isabella caught the smile and misinterpreted it completely. Her expression turned smug.
"Looks like you know me, huh," she said, flipping her hair. "You should be grateful. Today, Isabella Crown herself has chosen you as a party member. Most people would kill for this opportunity—"
Arthur cut her off casually. "Will you move a little, lady? You’re blocking my view."
Isabella blinked, still in her flow. "Yes, I’m talking to you. What—"
Realization hit like a brick.
Her brain stalled.
Mala beside her stifled a laugh, then immediately shut up as Isabella whipped around with a death glare.
Isabella’s eyebrow twitched as she turned back to Arthur. "Can you repeat that?"
Arthur sighed like he was talking to a child. "Are you deaf? I said move it. You’re blocking my view, and I can’t see my next targ— I mean, my idol."
Isabella froze.
’Who the hell here is more famous than ME?’
Suddenly, footsteps approached.
Jordan and his crew appeared, the D-rank aura around him sharp and commanding.
Jordan flashed a practiced smile. "Bella. Long time no see."
Isabella’s gaze landed on him and his lackeys. Confusion crossed her face. "Do I know you?"
Jordan’s mouth twitched.
His lackeys bit back laughter—they knew what happened to people who laughed at the wrong moment.
"You may not remember me, Bella," Jordan said smoothly, "but we met a month ago. Your father threw that huge party for his new business venture opening. We talked quite a bit."
It still didn’t ring any bells.
Mala leaned in, whispering discreetly. "Miss, that’s Jordan Zane. Favorite disciple of the Blue Magic Tower Master. Quite talented."
Realization dawned.
"Ohhhh!" Isabella said, her smile strained. "You’re... you’re Jordy, right?"
Jordan’s smile twitched harder.
’This bitch... how dare she treat me like this.’
He maintained composure. "It’s... Jorda—"
Before he could finish—
Arthur stepped in front of Isabella, pointing dramatically. "How dare you belittle him like this!"
Everyone froze.
"Do you even know who stands before you?" Arthur continued, voice rising. "This is my idol! The man who wasn’t born into glory like you—clawed his way to the top through sheer effort! Until he became the favorite disciple of the Blue Magic Tower Master!"
He gestured passionately. "He’s an inspiration to everyone born with F-rank talent like me! How DARE you say you don’t know him!"
Jordan blinked, genuinely touched for a split second.
He looked at the hooded figure.
’Do I really have to kill this guy?’
But he swallowed hard.
’Power always comes first.’
Isabella stood astonished. The guy she’d been recruiting seconds ago was now openly insulting her. And he was just an F-rank nobody.
Her hand drifted toward her sword hilt.
Arthur noticed immediately and smoothly hid behind Jordan. "Save me, sir, please! From this crazy lady!"
Isabella’s mouth twitched.
She took a step forward.
Jordan quickly stepped between them, hands raised. "Miss Isabella, please forgive him for his insolent behavior."
He glanced at Arthur, touched. "He’s just a die-hard fan of mine."
Isabella stopped.
Mala smiled. "Miss, let it go."
Isabella took a deep breath. "Fine."
She glared at Mala. "And don’t smile that much. It makes it obvious you’re enjoying this."
Mala bowed her head. "Sorry, miss. It’s just... first time I’ve seen someone treat you like this."
Jordan seized the moment, looking at Isabella. "If you’re looking for a party, I can join yours. I promise—if you want to clear the gate alone, no one will get in your way."
He paused. "But in return, just give us 50% of whatever loot we get inside the gate."
Suddenly—
Arthur reached up and pulled back his hood.
Raven-black hair fell perfectly across his forehead. Crimson red eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. His face was handsome in a dangerous way—high cheekbones, strong jaw, flawless skin that made him look like a painting come to life.
Silence fell.
Everyone stared for several long seconds.
Mala broke it first, dazed. "Wow... he is such a cutie pie, miss."
Isabella, snapping out of it, muttered low, "He is not that good-looking. Hmph"
As inside her mind, she thought:
’Such a waste of looks on an F-rank nobody.’
Jordan’s smile strained.
’For some reason... I don’t like this fan of mine anymore.’
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A/N:
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