"Give me a reason why I shouldn't beat the crap out of you?" the boy taunted, cracking his knuckles as he towered over a smaller student standing in front of him, fingers trembling around his soda as he stared at the stain on the boy's shirt.

It was an accident. The other boy wasn't looking when he bumped into him, but the moment it spilled, everyone in the courtyard stared. Now they were surrounding them, expecting something. Maybe they were waiting for a confrontation. A fight. The majority wanted a beating.

"For heaven's sake, just beat him up already," one of the spectators suggested.

Beads of sweat trailed down his chin. He looked around, and everyone was grinning in excitement. There was no way he could escape. In a school where eighty percent were wolves, he was the remaining twenty percent. He was the sheep.

Sheep here were mocked.

Beaten.

Eaten alive.

"P-please forgive me," he stammered, and everyone else rolled their eyes, mocking him.

The circle got smaller, and the boy felt as if the air was getting taken away from him. His chest tightened, and the laughter got louder. This was the end. The world was going to eat him whole before he could utter anything else.

"Serves you right."

Everything was in slow motion. The boy with the soda stain lifted his hand. He stretched out his arm, ready to throw a punch. The other closed his eyes to await the impact, but when he opened them again, there was nothing.

The crowd stepped away. There was another student now, grabbing the collar of the boy who was about to punch him.

"Pathetic," he said, his voice calm yet commanding. "If you think watching an unfair fight like this is entertaining, then you might as well watch each other. Because there is nothing more entertaining than watching a bunch of sheep act like wolves."

No one dared answer back. They didn't make a sound, either. They knew who that person was, and they especially knew who his family was. Talking back now would be suicide.

"He already apologized," he continued with a serious expression. He then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it toward the guy with the soda stain on his shirt. "Use your useless hands to clean yourself up," he finished.

The boy gritted his teeth and refused the handkerchief. He glared at the smaller student but said nothing else. This was a battle he wasn't going to win, even if he tried.

"Now leave. All of you," the student commanded, and the crowd scattered like ants. The spectacle was over before it had gotten worse, and there was no one else to thank but him.

"Thank you," the frightened boy said as he looked back at his savior.

The unnamed boy placed his hands in his pockets and studied him, checking for any serious injuries. When he didn't see any scratches on him, he didn't say a word and started walking away.

"T-Thank you, President!" he shouted, eyes watery.

Without looking back, the president gave his final piece of advice. "Stand up for yourself next time," he said. "Because when sheep get eaten...it's never the wolves' fault." Then he disappeared as if nothing had happened.

Maximilian Leigh Sinclaire, the 16-year-old student council president of Westberg Academy, was a freshman feared by his schoolmates because of his family name, which was a reason he despised greatly.

"You're nothing without that surname of yours."

"The only impressive thing about you is that you're a Sinclaire."

Those words were a broken record. Max had heard them a hundred times, and he had grown tired, both from the baseless claims and the surname he had no choice but to carry.

Being the heir to the most powerful family in the world was a burden that not everyone could carry. Privilege was a curse more than a blessing. But no one would believe him because Max carried it better than anyone. Their jealousy always overpowered sympathy.

"Good afternoon, President Sinclaire," a student greeted him, but Max walked past and ignored him. He took a long, deep breath as he walked down the hallway of the freshman building of their school.

The hallway, which one could cross in less than a minute, felt longer because of how the students stared and whispered at each other as he passed. The talk about what had happened in the courtyard must have already reached their ears, feeding their never-ending craving for drama and entertainment.

When Max reached the outside of the building, he saw a familiar man standing in front of a parked car. "Good afternoon, Master Leigh," greeted the man wearing a butler uniform as he opened the car door for him.

Max didn't respond to the greeting and walked toward the car in silence. But as Max was about to step inside, the man holding the door open for him spoke. "We'll be heading to a dinner meeting today, Master."

Max stopped in an instant. He was silent for a second before pulling himself away from the car and walking off with no hesitation. "Tell that old man that I am not interested in eating, speaking, or even seeing him today, so you may head to that dinner meeting on your own. I'll go home myself," Max stubbornly declared.

The butler had expected the reaction, so he chased after Max and grabbed his arm to stop him. "Master, please wait," he begged, worried he'd get in trouble if he left without him.

"Let go of me."

"Listen to me first."

Max pulled his arm away aggressively and glared at the man who dared to touch him like that. "Fine, Étienne, speak. But if I do not like what comes out of that mouth of yours, then you can kiss your job goodbye," he threatened, but the man named Étienne didn't even show an ounce of worry. He was confident that he'd keep his job after this conversation was over.

"It wasn't your father who requested the dinner meeting. It was your uncle, Janus Sinclaire," Étienne revealed, and the surprise on Max's face secured his victory.

"Janus?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's a name that I have not heard in such a long time," Max said as excitement started to appear in the blank expression that had been plastered on his face since that morning.

"You should have told me sooner." Max slammed his bag at Étienne's chest, and Étienne was lucky enough to catch it before it could fall. "If it's him, then there's no reason to decline. Hurry now, let's not keep him waiting," he said as he entered the car without force.

Étienne stared at his master in disbelief as he made his way back to the car, pretending like he hadn't been a wrong statement away from being jobless.

* * *

"Sir Janus is already inside. Please follow me," a receptionist informed Max and Étienne as they entered the restaurant that the uncle had chosen himself.

It was exclusive and high-end, definitely in line with Janus's taste.

The two followed the receptionist to a private room. There, they met the man whom Max had not seen for almost eight years.

"I knew you'd come," the man said with a bright smile when he saw Max enter the room. "It's been unimaginably long. How have you been, my dear nephew?" He walked toward Max and opened his arms wide, inviting him for a hug.

Max didn't ignore the invitation and hugged his uncle back. "It's nice to see you again, Uncle," he said honestly.

Janus Sinclaire, known for his allure and charms, was his nieces' and nephews' favorite uncle. His relatives hid their wives. Neighbors purposely opened their windows so he'd catch glimpses. He was desirable yet unreachable—unwed, noncommittal, and completely dangerous.

Those very traits were all Janus Sinclaire needed to create the most prestigious and renowned institute in the world: J.S. High, a school built for the most powerful and influential heirs.

"I forgot how...strange...your tastes were," Max commented, pointing at the red velvet suit his uncle was wearing with complete confidence.

Janus grinned and corrected him before sitting back down. "Not strange, just unique."

Max didn't argue and took a seat as well, while Étienne stood beside the door in silence.

"You're a young man now. Time passed so quickly that I can barely remember what you looked like," Janus shared.

"I was seven when I accompanied my father to meet you. You, on the other hand, haven't changed a bit," Max replied.

Janus chuckled as he lifted his glass of red wine from the table. He took a sip and asked Max how he had been. Max gave him a generic reply—"I've been good"—then threw in a few of his middle school achievements so the conversation wouldn't shift to his love life, a topic that uncles and aunts seemed to be obsessed with.

While Janus was impressed by his young nephew's accomplishments, the food arrived, and the two began eating. It didn't take long for the table to be cleared, and the reason Janus had called for Max was finally brought up.

"You haven't shown yourself to me for years, which made me realize that what you're about to say must be important enough for you to request a meeting with me personally," Max said.

Janus dabbed his mouth with a napkin before looking back at his curious nephew. "I wanted to negotiate with you."

Negotiate. It only took that one word for Max to get hooked.

Janus sat up straighter, his hands resting on the table, fingers intertwined. "Have you heard of J.S. High?"

"J.S. High? Of course I have. Not only is it a prestigious, worldwide-known school, but it's also where Marcus studies. However, the general public knows very little about it. It's a school that only the exceptional are allowed to attend," Max replied.

Janus pursed his lips, contemplating whether or not he should share more. After a brief internal debate, he brushed the thought away and shrugged. "Well, I think that's good enough."

Max raised an eyebrow. It was obvious this negotiation was going to be interesting.

Janus took a folded letter out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. As the president of J.S. High, I am personally inviting you to enroll in my school. Students can only get in through an invitation, so you should know that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you," he said, pushing the letter closer to his nephew.

Max didn't look surprised. He had already expected this outcome the moment Janus mentioned J.S. High, but he had been hoping he was wrong.

"Looks like this is where our negotiation ends," Max said. He was about to stand, but Janus leaned closer and grabbed his arm before he could. Max looked down at his uncle's hand, then back at his face, annoyance growing at the fact that he had already been grabbed by two people in one day.

"Don't be rude now, my nephew. I did not force you to come here, which means you agreed to listen to what I have to say. Now sit down and listen till the end," Janus insisted, his grip tightening.

Max pulled his arm away and sat back down in defeat. In his mind, he thought, You really are a Sinclaire. No other man would dare speak to an heir as powerful as him, except one who shared his blood.

"You do know I've been purposely avoiding anything related to your school," Max said, unsure if Janus was aware.

The president chuckled, his reaction saying otherwise. "It's because of your brother Marcus. I know."

"Then you know that the general public doesn't know we're siblings. I don't want people to find out. Marcus doesn't deserve the same crap I've been getting from them," Max explained.

Janus nodded in understanding. "That's why you should just enroll," he said with a smile.

Max's annoyance deepened. He tried to calm himself so he wouldn't raise his voice at his uncle after all these years. "Did you not hear what I just said? Marcus—"

"—asked me to enroll you," Janus finished for him.

Max froze. "Did you just—"

"It's the truth."

Max slumped back in his seat. He couldn't say anything, but all he could think was that his brother was, without a doubt, a complete idiot.

"Listen, Max. J.S. High houses the best male students, not just in the country, but in the entire world. What others don't know is that when you put all these students together, trouble will no doubt arise. Everyone wants to be on top, and that's where everything starts falling apart," Janus explained.

"And what does that have to do with the fact that my brother wants me to enroll in the same school as him?" Max asked, massaging his temple.

Instead of answering, Janus tapped his finger on the letter. "What happens in the castle stays in the castle," he recited.

Max narrowed his eyes and picked up the letter. "What's in here?"

Janus said nothing, hoping the contents would be enough.

Max unfolded it, expecting a long explanation of why he should enroll. But when he did, only a few words were written: Crème de la Crème

Max placed the letter back on the table and crossed his arms. His silence demanded an explanation.

"Crème de la Crème. That's the group that holds the top twelve most powerful heirs in the world. And I'm pretty sure you're familiar with them. Isn't that right, Max?"

Max couldn't stop staring at the words. Crème de la Crème, an idiom meaning "the best of the best", was a title given to heirs by the richest and most influential men in the world. No one knew where it originated, but heirs were chosen young and branded with a hot iron bearing the fleur-de-lis.

No one had ever completed a full list of twelve, but those chosen were predicted to succeed in life, hence their place in such a prestigious group.

"Why are you telling me this?" Max asked, eyes still fixed on the paper.

"Four of those heirs are in my school," Janus revealed.

Max's heart nearly dropped. He snapped his head up, wide-eyed. "What did you just say?"

"I'm not lying. There's no point if I do. But the reason I'm telling you this is that I want you, Maximilian Leigh Sinclaire, to be the fifth."

Max shook his head, confused. "I don't understand. Why would Marcus want me to enroll because of that reason?"

Janus hesitated, debating with himself again. But he knew he had to say something to secure this negotiation.

"One of the heirs in that prestigious group...is ruling my school."

The spark of interest in Max's eyes reignited.

"I cannot give you the details now, but believe me when I say your brother and I are in desperate need of assistance," Janus said, grabbing Max's hand without hesitation.

Max stared at him and pulled his hand away. "You said this was a negotiation, remember? Then what's in it for me? What benefits will I get if I agree?"

This time, Janus realized just how much of a Sinclaire Max truly was. He was business-oriented through and through.

"You hate how people treat you, am I correct?" Janus asked.

The spark of interest inside Max grew into a wildfire.

"Enroll in my school," Janus promised, standing tall once more, "and everything about you, and how people treat you, will entirely change."

Max looked down at the paper. Then he looked back at his uncle, grinned, and extended his hand.

"Fine. Congratulations, Sir Janus. You just successfully persuaded the most powerful heir in the world."