Vile Evil Hides Under The Veil

Around two decades ago, in the City of Osan.

A bright and sunny afternoon unfolded.

In the spacious backyard of a suburban house near the city walls, a man in his late 30s was practicing his archery skills. Engaged in target practice with his bow and arrow, he aimed at various targets positioned about 20 meters away.

This gentleman possessed captivating emerald green eyes, stood tall, and boasted an impeccable physique. His shoulder-length black hair, along with a full-grown beard, complemented his appearance. Clad in his usual tunic and pants, he seemed to be unwinding at home.

In his backyard, this man practiced archery without employing mana. With closed eyes, he readied multiple arrows on his bow, pulling the string and smoothly releasing the tension.

Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.

The arrows sliced through the air, landing on the target boards but fell a circle or two away from the bull's eye. Upon inspecting the outcome, he revealed neither joy for hitting the boards nor sorrow for missing the bull's eye. It was apparent that he was pursuing the art of archery without letting any preconceptions cloud his mind.

After a moment of contemplation, he shut his eyes to feel the wind's direction and recollect the sensations from his previous attempt. He acknowledged that, to enhance his archery skills, he needed to draw from his experiences, whether they brought success or failure.

Every experience held value for him; even losses served as significant lessons.

Physically and mentally prepared for his next attempt, he was about to load more arrows onto his bow when he detected footsteps behind him. With a smile, he turned to witness an approximately 10-year-old boy approaching.

The man didn't seem surprised by the boy's arrival; after all, he was his son. Their matching emerald green eyes were a clear indication of their father-son relationship. Apart from their shared eyes, the boy didn't seem to have inherited his father's charm and handsomeness, but at 10 years old, puberty's effects were yet to fully unfold.

The 10-year-old kid displayed a few bruises on his face, notably a bit of swelling and redness around his left eye, indicating a scuffle with other kids his age.

Respecting his father's focus, the boy navigated towards a set of round tables and chairs, choosing one to settle into. Due to his diminutive stature, he struggled a bit to seat himself, but after a few attempts, he managed to perch on the chair.

Meanwhile, the boy began munching on the salad his father had set out for him, all the while observing his father engrossed in his archery practice.

"Father, why are you using a bow? Aren't you a swordsman?"

The curious boy inquired, picking at his fruit as the man fired his arrows once more. Observing the outcomes, the father took a moment before responding to his son's question.

Though not yet a Ranker himself, the boy had a basic understanding about the Rankers' Classes. He was aware that his father was a Close Combat Expert skilled in wielding a single broadsword. So, watching his father practicing archery with a bow in the backyard puzzled him.

"Anfang's Class System limits a person's growth, son," the man explained in a patient tone, unsure of how much his son could grasp at his age. "Though it has its advantages, I've never been fond of it," he concluded, readying the next set of arrows on his bow.

After drawing the string back, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath, the father prepared to release the arrows. But before doing so, he threw a question at his son.

"By the way, do you want to tell me how you got the sore eye? What did you do this time?" the man asked curiously. Swiftly releasing his arrows, this time three out of the five target boards received bull's eye marks.

For a beginner, the man appeared to be making significant progress with each attempt.

"What's the use? You'll only say it's my problem to deal with anyway."

The boy responded casually. Having become accustomed to his father's lessons, he could anticipate his father's reactions to certain situations.

The man smiled and shook his head in response to his son.

"That's true, son. I want you to handle your problems on your own. But that doesn't mean I can't also offer guidance. I can always provide advice for you to consider and do better," the man said, preparing for his next attempt by retrieving multiple arrows from the quiver on his back.

Finishing a bite of fruit, the boy replied.

"Same old. Those jerks I play with beat me again, accusing me of cheating in hide and seek." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Did you cheat, son?" the man asked neutrally.

"Not this time. But they beat me up anyway," the boy responded honestly.

"Why do you play with them if they hurt you so much?"

"Because mother says I'm weird and insists I play with kids my age to understand how others behave," the boy shrugged, signaling that playing with these "friends" was not his choice.

The man's smile faded when the boy mentioned his mother. He began to say something but paused, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself.

Loading his arrows onto the bow, he shot them again. This time, all five target boards were hit in the bull's eye. Satisfied with the outcome, he stored the bow and arrows in his ID Storage.

Approaching the table, the man sat next to his son. He poured fruit juice for both of them, observing his son closely.

"So those kids don't like playing with you, huh?" the man asked.

"Yeah. But I don't like them either. So it's fine," the boy responded while sipping the juice his father had given him.

"Son, perhaps the reason they don't like you is because you don't like them. Why would they play with someone who doesn't like or see them as a friend?

The problem might be you. Sometimes, you act too mature for your age, and it shows," the man said, lightly tousling his son's hair.