After four consecutive victories by the Lunaris, more than ninety percent of the people watching from the comfort of their homes had already given up. At this point, they just wanted the tormenting competition to end. They were tired of watching their race being beaten so badly — just a single victory for humanity could at least calm their minds, but deep down, they knew it was impossible.
"Dad, why are our representatives so weak?"
Inside a cozy living room, three splendid-looking family members sat watching the broadcast. The young boy sitting on the floor, right in front of the television, turned to his father with a disappointed look.
The silver-haired man, whose flawless handsomeness carried an aura both powerful and gentle, shifted his gaze to his son and gave a faint smile. "They're not weak, Stormis. They're just… inferior to the Lunaris."
"That's the same thing, Dad. Being weak means being inferior," the boy grumbled, folding his arms.
