My name is Michael, son of the Duke of the West. Ever since I could remember, I have lived under the weight of expectations. I was told that perfection was the only path to admiration—perfection in everything. I trained my body to be strong, honed my mind to be clever, polished my manners to charm any audience, and even refined my appearance until I could pass for flawless. I told myself that if I could embody perfection, everyone would like me, support me, and respect me.
But perfection is a lonely cage. No matter how much you train, no matter how polite or clever you are, there are always variables you cannot control. And I learned that lesson the moment I saw her.
It was during a banquet at my father's house. The room was filled with nobles, merchants, and dignitaries, their conversations a low hum against the clinking of glasses. I was anxious. The royal family was invited, and I had never been in such close proximity to them before. My heart raced as I tried to remember my posture, my manners, my words—everything that might make a good impression.
And then, she arrived.
She was my age, perhaps just a few months older, but she carried herself like someone centuries ahead of her years. Her hair was the color of freshly fallen snow, falling in waves down her back, and her eyes shone like twin suns. Every step she took seemed to draw the room's attention, and yet she walked as if none of it mattered. I had never seen anyone like her, and in that instant, I knew she would haunt me for the rest of my life. My chest tightened. My world shrank. She was the only thing I could see.
I tried to speak, tried to smile, tried to convince myself that I could act normal, but every instinct in me screamed. I had found her—the one I would love, the one I could never forget.
But then I saw him.
A boy, the same age as me, standing close to her, observing her with an unreadable expression. His hair was black as onyx, his eyes a deep violet, and there was a mysterious aura around him, something that made it impossible to ignore. He didn't have the elegance of a prince, the nobility of bloodlines, or even the wealth that so many around me possessed. And yet, he commanded attention without even trying.
A surge of jealousy consumed me. Who was this boy? Why was he allowed near her? I quickly deduced that he was no prince from a distant kingdom—he had none of the trappings of power. He was a commoner, with no family name to protect, no inheritance to boast, no army to back him up. A nobody. And yet, there he was, standing by her side, close enough to speak, close enough to make her smile.
I felt a rage I had never known before. It was unfair. How could someone so ordinary be at her side? He was not worthy of a glance, yet she paid attention to him. My heart thundered in my chest. My hands clenched involuntarily. Every lesson in etiquette, every hour spent in training, every act of perfection I had achieved suddenly felt meaningless.
I challenged him.
Not physically at first, but in every way I knew how. I made my intentions clear: he would never approach her again, never stand at her side, never hope to draw her attention. I would not allow him to exist near the one I loved.
And then came the fight.
It should have been simple. He was just a commoner. I had trained for years in swordsmanship, magic, and strategy. I was ready, confident, perfect—or at least, as close to perfect as anyone could be. And yet… I lost.
I could not comprehend it. How could I, who had poured years of sweat and discipline into every skill I possessed, lose to a boy with no title, no backing, no pedigree? But in that moment, I understood something crucial.
He was strong. Not just in skill, not just in magic, not just in swordsmanship—but in a way that transcended titles and wealth. He had talent, natural power, and… presence. He had a spark that even I, the ever-practical and calculated Michael, could not ignore. He was extraordinary, and for the first time in my life, I realized that lineage and charm were not enough to guarantee success, respect, or attention.
Was I going to give up just because I lost? No. That was never an option. I could not let the one person I loved slip away, not because of a defeat, not because of a title, not because of a momentary failure. If I gave up, everything I had trained for—every late night spent in the library studying magic, every hour spent in the training yard perfecting my swordsmanship, every moment spent trying to be the ideal son, the ideal noble—would be wasted. Every sacrifice, every hardship, all for nothing.
And yet, that was not the real reason I could not give up.
The truth was simpler, more profound, and far more terrifying.
It was her.
The girl with the snow-white hair and sunlit eyes—the one who had captured my heart the instant I saw her—was worth every effort, every defeat, every moment of struggle. She was not just a fleeting infatuation or a shallow crush; she was the center of my world. She was the reason I trained, the reason I competed, the reason I lived.
She was my heart, my future, and everything I would fight for.
And he—the commoner who had defeated me—was now my rival, my measure, my obstacle. I could not stand idly by while he existed at her side. I could not let him have even a fraction of the attention she gave. If I wanted to win, if I wanted to protect my future with her, I would need to surpass him. Every moment, every battle, every lesson would be aimed at one goal: to be the one she could trust, the one she could love, the one she could never forget.
No matter the odds, no matter the setbacks, I would not fail.
I had lost once, but I would not lose again.
For her. For the girl who was my present, my future, and the one I would love for the rest of my life.
And so, with a clenched fist and a heart set ablaze, I made a silent vow to myself: I would surpass him. I would become stronger. I would claim her favor. And I would never, ever let a commoner stand in the way of what was meant to be mine.
The banquet faded from memory, but her face, her eyes, her very existence remained etched into my soul. Every step I took, every swing of my sword, every spell I mastered, would be for her. And nothing—not time, not fate, not destiny—would stand in my way.