William, the Chairman of the Hunter’s Association, stood at the entrance of the limousine, a subtle smile on his face.
He did not speak, but rely pointed a hand towards the opposite door of the sleek black car.
This simple gesture, captured live on the massive screen inside the banquet hall, sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd.
Outside, almost every caraman, recognizing the unspoken command, imdiately flocked towards that precise spot.
Flashbulbs erupted like a supernova, bathing the entrance in an intense, pulsating light.
From the opened door, a figure erged.
This was Klaus, and his appearance was nothing short of striking.
He had a shock of pure white hair that seed to almost glow against the deepening twilight.
It complented his piercing red eyes, which held an intense, unwavering gaze, calm and assessing even amidst the dia frenzy.
He was dressed in an ensemble that spoke power. A dark suit, a deep, midnight black, fitted him impeccably, hugging his broad shoulders and lean physique without a single wrinkle.
Over this, he wore a pristine white quilted coat, its broad shoulders accentuated by a large, sumptuously fluffy white fur collar that frad his face, drawing further attention to his striking features.
His left hand, gloved in pristine white, rested casually in his pocket, while his right held a delicate, icy-blue flower, its petals seemingly crafted from pure light.
A subtle yet intricate blue floral tattoo or design was visible on his neck, just below his left ear, echoing the motif of the flower he held, a silent declaration of his affinity.
Pinned to the lapel of his white coat was a matching blue flower, from which cascaded delicate silver chains adorned with small, glimring charms, catching the light with every subtle movent.
Klaus stepped fully out of the car, the roar of the dia reporters intensifying as they surged towards him.
Despite the blinding flashes and the chaotic shouts, his expression remained perfectly calm, utterly unperturbed.
This composure, in the face of such overwhelming attention, was a direct result of his innate ntal fortitude, bolstered by certain traits that allowed him to maintain clarity even under extre pressure.
He processed the sensory overload without a single flicker of discomfort.
The man who had just questioned William, a seasoned reporter with a desperate glint in his eye, now thrust his microphone directly towards Klaus.
"Sir," he shouted over the din, "will you like to introduce yourself on the TV? The world is waiting to know your identity!"
Klaus’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
It wasn’t a warm smile, but one of detachnt.
He chuckled softly, a sound that, despite the chaos, seed to carry a unique resonance.
In a cold, yet strangely addictive tone, he spoke.
"Klaus. Klaus Bennet."
The two words, delivered with authority, cut through the clamour.
"Nice to et you," he added, his voice projecting a subtle, almost imperceptible charm that transcended the physical distance.
His simple greeting, ant as a re formality, sent unexpected ripples across the world.
The innate presence he carried, the sheer force of his being, infused those simple words with a weight that captivated.
Viewers watching the live broadcast felt an inexplicable pull, a strange sense of familiarity and respect from a voice they had never heard before.
Soon, the short clip of him saying "Nice to et you" was destined to go viral on social dia platforms, a phenonon beyond his comprehension or care.
More questions imdiately assaulted him.
"Sir, where were you all these years?"
"Sir, will you attend the Academy?"
"Sir, do you have a girlfriend?" The reporters fired questions rapid-fire, hoping to catch him off guard.
Klaus, however, smoothly ignored all the questions.
He offered no answers, no explanations. His red eyes remained impassive, scanning the chaotic scene with an almost clinical detachnt.
He simply, quietly, followed his grandpa, William, walking with his hands casually in his suit pockets, his posture relaxed yet undeniably powerful.
As he walked towards the mansion entrance, every angle of him seed worthy of being printed and posted again and again.
His tall, lean fra, the elegant drape of his coat, the effortless grace of his movents, it was all captured by the relentless caras.
And it did happen, thousands of images, screenshots from the live broadcast, would soon flood the internet.
The dia was already in an uproar as Klaus declared his na, Klaus Bennet.
The na itself carried imnse historical weight. The Bennet family had a long, storied legacy of controlling the Hunter’s Association, of standing at the apex of power.
His declaration was a reassertion of that lineage, a na that had been absent from public eyes for too long.
Inside the banquet hall, the reactions were profound.
All the guests who had previously been glued to the large screen, watching the live broadcast, now snapped their attention to the grand entrance where William and Klaus had just made their appearance.
A hush fell over the room, even deeper than before.
Lord Blackwood, ever the gracious host, stepped forward.
"Long ti no see, Lord William," he said, his voice carrying a practiced cordiality.
Even though the Hunter’s Association and the various Legacy Families constantly competed and often opposed each other behind the scenes, on the surface, everyone followed a pretense of peace and mutual respect at such public gatherings.
It was a delicate balance of diplomacy.
Lord Blackwood then turned his gaze to Klaus, assessing the young man with a critical eye. He extended a hand. "Nice to et you, young man."
Klaus simply nodded, a brief, acknowledging gesture, and then shook Lord Blackwood’s hand.
His grip was firm, but not overtly powerful.
He knew he had to go through all the formalities, unfortunately. This was part of his debut, part of establishing his presence in this ’new world’ William had spoken of about earlier.
He might as well show so grace, he thought.
His internal world remained calm, undisturbed by the attention he was getting.
He simply went through the motions, observing, calculating, but not truly engaging on an emotional level.
Unfortunately, Klaus had started to garner hatred almost as soon as he had fully entered the hall.
The young male scions, particularly those who had been angling for attention and status, were consud by jealousy.
Klaus had stolen the spotlight effortlessly, drawing an unprecedented amount of attention.
Many of these young n were also debuting for the first ti, eager to make their mark, but Klaus had eclipsed them entirely.
Moreover, due to his striking looks and undeniable charisma, almost every young girl inside the hall was blushing, their eyes fixed on him.
"Tch. Show off," Jas Ravenstein voiced his displeasure, surprisingly loud.
His voice carried distinctly across the relatively quiet hall, even reaching the ears of the Paragons present. He lacked the deanour of his father,
his frustration was boiling over thinking about Klaus getting all the attention he deserved.
There was a long-standing, unspoken tactical understanding among the Paragons that the young generation should be allowed to seek out their own shortcomings,
and familial interferences should be minimal in case of such clashes between two scions.
This was a way to maintain the delicate balance of power and the existing status quo among the powerful families.
It had beco a common understanding and an etiquette for their children.
But the confrontation everyone was expecting did not co.
Jas’s outright provocation was t with complete ignorance from Klaus.
He did not turn, did not acknowledge the insult, did not even betray a flicker of irritation.
His red eyes simply scanned the vast hall, as if searching for sothing entirely unrelated.
He simply went towards the food section, his movent fluid and unhurried.
Klaus was, at his core, a foodie.
The official greetings were done. Now, he was free to roam around, to observe, and more importantly, to taste the delicacies.
Unfortunately, an insect had made so noise, he noted internally dismissing Jas’s outburst.
He had conveniently ignored it, deeming it beneath his attention.
This almost automatic dismissal of trivial provocations was thanks to his ’Buddha Incarnate’ state, which allowed him to maintain an almost ditative calm even in potentially irritating situations.
It wasn’t that he didn’t register the insult, he simply chose not to react, prioritizing his current objective that was finding good food.
Klaus went directly towards the wine section, his senses discerning the subtle aromas.
He picked up a glass of a rich, ruby-red grape wine, swirling it gently before taking a sip, his expression one of calm assessnt.
Everyone saw the utter ignorance and lack of attention from Klaus, and the now gritting Jas, who had seemingly comnted into thin air, his face was now contorted with fury.
Klaus simply minded his own business, entirely focused on the wine, seemingly oblivious to the social drama unfolding around him.
In a short distance from him, stood the trio of Julie, Elara, and Arthur.
Arthur was sweating, not from the temperature of the hall, but from the palpable expressions on the faces of the two ladies.
Elara was making the sa expression he had made monts earlier on seeing Julie, one of wide-eyed fascination, bordering on awe.
Her gaze was entirely fixed on Klaus, an expression of undeniable admiration on her face.
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