In the opulent Vasconcelos residence, silence was a weapon. Mr. Vasconcelos, a man whose rigid posture was as imposing as the mansion around him, sat in a leather armchair, examining the newly arrived guild letter. His brow was furrowed in deep dissatisfaction.
"Isadora! Come here, please," his voice, calm and controlled, echoed through the house, carrying unquestionable authority.
From upstairs, Isadora sighed. The exhaustion of the day seemed to triple under the weight of that call. She walked down the stairs, irritation simmering beneath her skin.
"What is it, Dad?"
Mr. Vasconcelos raised the letter, the white paper looking like a sentence. "Your guild letter arrived. Class D, Rank 3. Would you care to explain this?"
Isadora rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in defiance. "Dad, I did my best. The physical tests are extremely demanding. But I did very well on the intelligence exam."
"Class D, Rank 3 is not good enough, Isadora," he said, his voice sharp. "If it were at least Class D, Rank 1, it would be somewhat acceptable. I expected more from you. We must maintain high standards."
Isadora's eyes narrowed. "Dad, do you think I don't know that? I'll improve and climb the ranks. You don't need to remind me all the time."
He stood up, his shadow swallowing her. "Isadora, it's not just about improving. It's about being the best. You have every resource, every advantage. I do not accept mediocrity. You need to stand out in everything you do."
"I know, Dad," she replied, her voice firm and determined. "I'll show you I can be the best. Just give me time."
"Time is something you don't have much of. Use the resources you have, train harder, do whatever it takes. We cannot accept anything less than excellence."
"I will. You'll see."
"I hope so," he said, finality in his tone. "I don't want to have this conversation again. Now go rest. Tomorrow is a new day for you to start improving."
Isadora turned and climbed the stairs, each step increasing the crushing weight of her father's expectations on her shoulders.
In her room, restlessness consumed her. The walls felt like they were closing in. She needed air.
Silently, she opened the window and jumped, landing with feline grace in the perfectly maintained garden. Without looking back, she hurried away—from that house, that pressure, that name.
Her feet carried her away from the city's glow, toward an abandoned house on the outskirts—a skeleton of wood and forgotten memories. It was her secret refuge. She sat on a dusty step, letting her thoughts flow.
Class D, Rank 3… I can't believe I ended up there. I deserved much more.
A sigh escaped her lips.
That's when she heard it—the sound of branches snapping.
Alert, she looked around and saw a strange young man approaching with a malicious smile. It was Chipilo.
"Well, well, what's a pretty girl doing alone in a place like this?"
Isadora stared at him, her eyes cold as ice. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Relax, I'm just chilling," he smiled, raising his hands. "Saw you here alone and thought maybe you wanted some company. You know, this place can be kind of dangerous."
"I don't need company, especially from someone I don't know. Leave."
"Wow, hostile much?" he laughed. "I just wanted to talk. What brought you to this dump?"
"That's none of your business. I just want to be alone."
Chipilo stepped closer, ignoring her resistance. "Okay, okay. I know it's not my business, but sometimes talking helps. Maybe I can give you a few tips?"
"Tips? What are you talking about?"
"Well, I heard there's a bunch of new people in the guild. Maybe you're one of them. I'm in the guild too—Class D, Rank 13. What about you?"
"That doesn't concern you."
"Alright, alright, sorry," he laughed. "Just trying to be nice."
Isadora sighed, tired. "Fine. Class D, Rank 3. Happy now?"
"Now we're talking!" his smile widened. "See? We've got something in common. We could help each other, climb the ranks together. What do you say?"
Isadora's eyes narrowed further. "And why would you help me? What do you get out of it?"
"Look, I'll be honest," Chipilo said, his tone turning more cunning. "In this world, you've gotta help each other to rise. I help you, you help me. Simple as that. And who knows, maybe we become friends? Powerful friends can be very useful, right?"
Isadora considered it, still suspicious—but intrigued. "Fine. Go on. But if you try anything funny, you'll regret it."
"Relax, princess. I'm just a guy trying to help."
That's when she heard it.
Muffled whispers. Stifled laughter. Close.
"What's that noise? Who else is here?"
"Relax, pretty," Chipilo smiled, trying to cover it up. "Probably just the wind. This place always makes weird noises."
"That doesn't sound like the wind. Who's there?"
Outside, hidden in the shadows, Basoto, Zoupouli, and the others could barely contain themselves.
"We should attack now, before she notices!" Basoto whispered.
"Relax, we need to wait for Chipilo's signal," Natan replied.
"Shhh! You're making too much noise!"
Isadora stood up, suspicion turning into certainty. "I'm serious. Who's there? Show yourselves!"
Realizing the game was over, Chipilo started laughing—a genuine, cruel laugh.
"Alright, alright, princess. Relax. My crew and I just wanted to have a little fun. Hey, guys, you can come out now!"
The gang emerged from the shadows, surrounding Isadora. She readied herself to fight, confusion giving way to cold fury.
"What do you want? Why are you surrounding me?"
"You're pretty naive, you know that?" Chipilo mocked. "We just wanted to see if you're as tough as you say. Looks like you fell for it."
Isadora clenched her fists, energy crackling around her.
"You think you can intimidate me? You're very mistaken."
Chipilo gestured to his crew. "Let's see if you can get out of this, princess. Attack!"
The gang lunged forward—
But Isadora was already moving, ready to turn her frustration and anger into a devastating display of power.