As Freya stepped out of the school, no one moved to intercept her. Everyone knew that regardless of what was said, she wouldn't listen to a stubborn streak that had firmly cemented her reputation among both students and faculty as the "Problem Child."
She walked on with an expression of profound boredom, seemingly indifferent to the world around her. Her path took her along a sidewalk paved in alternating black and white bricks, lined with decorative planters. Cars hummed back and forth on the street, making it look very much like the world of 2030 was supposed to.
The only anomaly was the massive tower looming directly ahead of her. Her home was situated so close to the spire that it practically shared a border with one of its main gates. Because of this unique proximity, the land in this district commanded an exorbitant price.
Living this close to the tower was only possible thanks to her older brother, a high level Welder whose success ensured the family was wealthy. This was the reason she could attend such an elite private school and maintain her nonchalant attitude. However, despite her family's wealth, she preferred to earn her own money through her own labor. That was why, after skipping class, she didn't head straight home but stopped at a roadside cafe instead.
She had been working there for some time; the owner was a friend of her brother, which had made securing the job effortless.
"I'm here..." Freya said in her usual calm, almost sluggish drawl.
"Oh! Hey there, kiddo. You're early today. Skip class again?"
The owner spoke with a voice vibrating with energy. He was a towering, muscular man with a bald head and a rugged beard. A long scar traced down his left arm, stretching from his shoulder to the gap between his middle and ring fingers. That scar was the reason he had traded his life as a Welder for this cafe.
After a brief greeting, Freya went to the back, changed into her uniform, and took her place behind the counter. The owner hadn't hired her just out of a favor to her brother; it was because she was strikingly beautiful and possessed an effortless charisma. Her long blonde hair, refined features, and those cathedral stained glass eyes made her the perfect mascot for the shop, drawing in a constant stream of customers.
In short: Freya was a once in a decade genius, stunningly beautiful, and incredibly rich.
She was the polar opposite of Knight, a gloomy youth devoid of talent and nearly penniless, who sat watching her from the street. He wasn't a stalker lurking in the shadows; he had simply happened upon her by chance.
Knight sat on a roadside bench across from the cafe, a small paper bag resting beside him. Inside was a single bun he had bought at a discount because it was nearing its expiration date. That was his lunch.
He hadn't intended to sit there, but his legs had carried him to the spot after two hours of aimless wandering. Nowhere else in this district offered a free place to rest. Everything had a price, including the air inside the malls that masqueraded as "public spaces."
Knight was sixteen but looked several years older, a sharp contrast to the nineteen year old Freya whose beauty surpassed her age. His black hair was short and unkempt, and dark circles had begun to hollow out his eyes from chronic insomnia. The slight cracks on his lips suggested dehydration, and his white sneakers which had actually been white a year ago were now "a color that was simply not black."
He chewed his bread slowly, casting a gaze full of pain toward the tower before standing up, stuffing the rest of the bun into his mouth, and walking away.
He followed a familiar route before turning into a narrow alleyway tucked between walls near the tower. This area was a haven for black market traders, the homeless, and criminals. It was his unavoidable home, simply because he had nowhere else to go.
Knight passed a large cage draped in red cloth. He didn't know what was imprisoned inside, and he didn't want to. The mere thought sent a chill down his spine; he knew better than to be curious.
Shortly after, Knight stopped at a blacksmith shop not far from the cage. This was where he worked to scrape together a living.
The reason a blacksmith shop still existed in the year 2030 was simple: modern weapons mass produced in factories were useless against the monsters of the tower. The only things capable of harming them were items obtained from "Boxes" or weapons forged by those who had passed a Box trial and received the "Blacksmith" trait.
Knight was neither. He was just an assistant who managed the furnace and prepared the materials.
"I'm here, Boss," Knight said, his voice raspy but loud enough to rouse the old man sleeping on the floor. One of the man's hands still gripped a hammer, and a grease stained cloth lay across his face.
"Hmm... Oh, you're early today," the boss muttered, sounding half asleep.
"What do you mean 'early,' old man? It's almost two in the afternoon. Did you work through the night again?" Knight asked as he began stoking the furnace.
"Well, those circus people wanted chains to restrain Level 4 monsters. I told them a low level smith like me couldn't forge anything that strong, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. I had to pull an all nighter for them," the old man grumbled, stretching his stiff limbs before tossing a piece of onyx iron into the furnace, which was already beginning to glow with heat.
"I just hope those links can actually hold that beast," the old man sighed, his voice thick with exhaustion. He didn't complain much more before waving Knight away.
"Go see for yourself what kind of spectacle they're putting on. Watch it for me too. I've got a mountain of work left. That's the life of a low rank blacksmith for you."
As the old man's voice faded, Knight walked out of the shop just as the performance was about to commence.
The red cloth was ripped away, revealing a Level 4 monster: a Goliath. It was a simian type creature more specifically, a gorilla but on a terrifying scale, standing nearly three meters tall. Coarse white fur covered its massive frame, and an iron helmet had been bolted onto its head to restrict its vision.
The chains the old man had forged bound its massive limbs. A jagged scar ran across its torso, likely the result of a greatsword strike from the battle where it had been captured alive.
"Honored guests! Welcome to the Midivar Circus! Today, I present to you... the Goliath!!!"
The ringleader made his announcement in a booming voice, dressed in crimson from head to toe like a macabre clown.
"Today's main event: The Survival of the Slaves against the Goliath!!!"
The ringleader shouted before yanking a blue cloth off another cage. Inside were people of all ages and genders, but they all shared the same hollow eyes and skeletal, emaciated frames.
'Absolutely revolting. And I thought they were going to show us how they subdued it.'
Disgusted by what he heard, Knight looked at the circus troupe with pure loathing and turned to walk away.