"Hahahaha!"
Laughter erupted from Max's lips—loud, wild, unhinged.
His shoulders shook, his head tilting back as he clutched his stomach.
It wasn't just laughter—
It was the kind that sent chills down spines.
The kind that made people uneasy.
The crowd shifted. Some instinctively took a step back.
To Max—
A peaceful year if he won. A death sentence if he lost.
It was funny.
Not because of the stakes.
But because—
The Young Monarch was no god.
Who did he think he was to impose a sentence on him?
"Hehe, this is really funny."
Max mused, amusement flickering in his eyes.
The blue-haired young man narrowed his gaze. Watching. Studying.
There was no fear in Max—only mockery.
Max wiped the corner of his eye, his grin still in place.
"You expect me to be grateful? To celebrate the fact that if I win, I get to live 'peacefully' for a year, and if I lose, I die?"
His voice dropped, his smirk twisting into something darker.
"What kind of joke is that?"
The laughter faded.
