“Lorelei Anderson, 150 points.” Kathleen Morgan’s face lit up with a wide smile as she handed over the math paper to the bright-eyed, elegant girl.

Lorelei took the paper with both hands.

“Keep it up,” Kathleen nodded approvingly. The more she looked at Lorelei, the more satisfied she felt—smart, pretty, and well-mannered. Girls like her were rare these days.

But when Kathleen glanced at the score on the next paper, her smile instantly vanished.

“Cleve Hayes, 38 points.”

Laughter erupted in the classroom.

“38 points?”

“Cleve is a real gem, huh!”

“Bet he pulled us down to last place again.”

“Is that even a question?”

Flushed with embarrassment, Cleve slowly walked up to Kathleen.

She was already fuming just looking at him. She slapped the paper against his face, hard.

“Take this and stand outside!”

He reached out to take the paper, but Kathleen flung it aside.

Cleve bent down, picked it up, and left the classroom without a word.

Standing by the wall, his expression shifted endlessly.

No one liked being humiliated. Especially not at his age.

Then he heard Kathleen’s final remarks.

“Overall, everyone did well. If Cleve hadn’t dragged us down, Class Two might have beaten Class One.”

That hit him in the chest like a dagger.

Eyes burning, he staggered toward the small pond on the campus.

He stood there in silence, fists clenched, chest heaving, wanting to scream.

But he didn’t. Afraid of drawing the guards.

Frustration choked him.

His dad had pulled strings to get him into the advanced class, hoping he could make it into college. But Cleve wasn't gifted, just got laughed at again and again.

He was fed up.

But what could he do?

He slumped onto the grass, lost.

So lost he didn’t notice the vine creeping out of the pond, slowly snaking toward his ankle.

When it got close enough, it shot out like lightning, wrapped around his leg, and yanked him forward.

Snap awake, Cleve clawed at the ground, tearing up dirt and grass, trying to stop himself from being dragged.

It was useless.

Two breaths later, he was in the water.

He choked on a few mouthfuls, slammed his lips shut, eyes wide with panic.

A ghastly figure loomed before him, staring down with a chilling, bloodthirsty look.

Before he could react, it lunged, baring its teeth towards his neck.

Paralyzed with fear, Cleve forgot to struggle.

Just as those jaws were about to sink in, a thunderclap exploded in the water.

“Filthy beast! How dare you!”

With a sharp sound, the shadow wrapping around him shattered.

What just happened?

Cleve’s eyes flew open.

A warm force gently lifted him and placed him back on the grass.Cleve Hayes spotted the robed man right away.

The man’s figure shimmered like mist, hard to make out. He glanced casually at Cleve, then frowned. “Such poor talent? Whatever. Fate brought us together. Kid, open your mouth.”

Cleve didn’t hesitate.

Only a fool wouldn’t realize this guy was some kind of immortal.

Was he about to hand him a divine elixir?

But then came a sharp twist.

The man pulled a fine dagger from out of nowhere, nicked his own fingertip, and a single drop of blood welled up.

“Drink this,” he said.

Cleve hesitated. Did he mean… suck it from his finger? That was kind of disgusting.

Still, knowing this blood had to be extraordinary, Cleve pushed past the disgust. He grabbed the man’s hand and leaned in.

The immortal’s eyes widened. Next thing Cleve knew, a slap landed square on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man snapped.

“You told me to drink it?” Cleve muttered, holding his cheek, still confused.

The man sighed and flicked his finger. The blood drop lifted into the air by itself.

Only then did Cleve realize he’d been dumb.

He quickly opened his mouth and swallowed the floating drop.

As soon as it entered his body, a searing heat exploded inside him.

“What… what’s happening…?!”

“The divine blood is remaking your body. It'll hurt like hell for a while,” the man said. Then he vanished without a trace.

But Cleve wasn’t even thinking about that anymore.

He blacked out from the pain.

…

Cleve didn’t even know how many times he passed out from the agony.

He only remembered vague flashes of being rushed to the hospital.

Everything else blurred together.

“Davy, the doctors have been chasing us for days about Cleve’s bills,” Grace Bennett said to the tired-looking man who’d just brought her a meal.

He looked a lot like Cleve. At her words, Davy paused, then said, “I’ll ask old Kirby again.”

She frowned. “We’ve already borrowed fifty thousand from him… how are we going to ask for more?” Grace’s voice dropped. “Doesn’t your father have some savings?”

“You know how he is,” Davy said with a bitter smile. “If I could get his help, I would’ve.”

“Cleve’s his grandson! He’s really going to let him die?” Grace’s voice rose in frustration.

Davy fell silent.

Grace started crying.

Not because her husband had no way out.

But because, as a mother, she couldn’t save her own son.

If they couldn’t pay soon, the hospital would throw Cleve out.

“Stop crying. Just take care of Cleve. I’ll handle the money,” Davy said, and turned to leave.

But Grace kept sobbing.

Their family used to be doing okay.

Now, after six months in the ICU, that stability was gone.

They had already asked every possible person for help.

Still, Cleve showed no sign of waking.

As Grace wept, she didn’t see the two tears quietly sliding down from the corner of Cleve’s closed eyes.

He’d heard every word they said.

His body might still be changing, but he knew—it was almost done.