Morning arrived.
The room was still dim. The tall, curtainless windows failed to block the early sunlight that began to pour into the small space. In the corner of the room—which looked more like an abandoned storage area than a bedroom—a lazy young man nad Al lay sprawled out on a shaggy carpet. His hair was ssy, one cheek pressed against a backpack used as a pillow, and one leg had gone completely numb.
Calm.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
GRAAARR—GRAAARR!!
A thunder-like ringtone echoed from a black phone lying on the floor beside Al. His eyes shot open in shock. He hissed through his teeth.
"...That ringtone."
He picked up the phone, and imdiately, the drowsiness vanished like mist swept away by a storm. That ringtone wasn’t for just anyone. Only the most important people had been assigned that tone—people so underground, even the underworld didn’t recognize them unless they needed to know.
Al didn’t speak right away. He simply placed the phone to his ear while slowly sitting up, wincing as he tried to shake off the pins and needles in his leg. No conversation was heard—only a long, drawn-out monologue from the caller.
He listened. For a very long ti.
Then, finally, he spoke briefly.
"...Alright."
More ti passed. Al kept listening, more focused on massaging the feeling back into his leg than anything else.
Eventually, he let out a small sigh and spoke softly with a slight smile.
"...You too."
Click.
The call ended. Al placed the phone back down on the floor and stared at the stained ceiling for a few seconds before rolling over, stretching out his slowly recovering leg.
"So annoying... and the morning hasn’t even fully arrived," he muttered—half complaint, half surrender.
But the corners of Al’s lips lifted slightly. As if... he was happy.
Of course, no one saw that expression. And maybe no one needed to. The ragged boy lying in that stuffy room—disregarded by his own family—had just been on the phone with soone even his family couldn’t reach.
Al lay back down and stared at the ceiling. He reflected on the events that had happened. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he got here, and already, several people had shown signs of rejection. Both so family mbers and even a few of the staff and guards.
Al had co to understand certain truths over the course of his life—rejection was normal, the pain from rejection was also normal, and it was natural to dislike or feel discomfort when not being liked by people you wish would accept you. Especially in families. Blood or not—many real siblings, even parents, ended up clashing.
His thoughts deepened, and frustration bubbled when two nas ca to mind: Sarah and David. Sarah had made her rejection quite clear—which, at least, was honest. But David? Too manipulative.
If he’s afraid I’ll get rid of him, I might as well help him understand and accept , because I have no intention of doing that. But if he hates because I’m a threat to sothing much bigger—like the inheritance or legacy—that’ll be a real problem. A tiring one. Even if I have the right to it, I actually don’t want any of it. Al thought.
He let out a long sigh and murmured,
"Maybe I can tolerate last night’s behavior... but not if it continues. I hope he doesn’t pull anything worse. I’m too lazy to deal with petty teenage drama."
His train of thought ended with a mix of resignation—and strategic retreat. Al wouldn’t fight back or judge them for not accepting him right away. And it would be weird if a previously harmonious family suddenly fell apart just because he arrived. Still, even if there wasn’t a deep bond between them, blood was blood. They still took him back even after all this ti, and for that, he’d try to return what he could.
"I’ll see how things unfold. If they end up rejecting more... leaving won’t be a choice—it’ll be a necessity. But... hoaaam... for now, what matters most is going back to sleep. Overthinking just... wears out. Hoaammm."
Al pulled his arm over his face to block the morning sunlight, and his breathing slowed again. He really was falling back asleep. Consciousness began to fade once more.
But of course, the world wasn’t about to let that happen.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A hesitant knock tapped three tis on the old wooden door. Not loud—but clear.
Al cracked his drowsy, red eyes open, grabbed a tattered cloth nearby, and flung it at the door with a groggy grumble.
"Mmmgh... who the hell is it this early..." he muttered, half annoyed, half asleep.
Knock. Knock.
This ti, a bit louder.
With great reluctance, Al dragged himself upright and stared at the door with the vengeful gaze of soone deeply betrayed by life. He crawled slowly toward the door like a tired caterpillar on the verge of death.
He reached out and turned the knob with the energy of a defeated soul—then pulled the door inward...
Unfortunately, he forgot one thing.
The door swung inward.
As it opened, Al, still leaning on it from the floor, got pulled backward—slamming into the floor and the wall behind him, half-crushed by the door.
The young male servant standing outside froze. He blinked. The door had opened... but no one was there.
"...Y-Young Master Al?"
He slowly peeked into the room—and found a bizarre sight: a teenage boy lying on the floor, face partially pressed against the wall behind the door, eyes half-open like a creature clinging to life.
"...Oh, you ca in too?" Al mumbled lazily, still not bothering to get up. "Be careful... gravity’s really strong in this room... makes it hard to stand."
The servant stood frozen. Unsure whether to respond... or call a doctor.
"Uh, yes... Sorry. Breakfast is in one hour, Young Master. In the family dining room."
Al weakly raised his hand and pointed at himself.
"? Young? Family?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"...Yes, sir," the servant answered.
"Hmmm..." Al muttered.
Then he let out a long, world-weary sigh, as if he’d lived for 4,000 years.
With painstakingly slow effort, he pushed himself off the floor—like soone returning from another dinsion.
"Alright," Al said. "But I usually eat around noon," he grumbled as he zombie-walked to the corner of the room. "Why do rich people like torturing themselves so early in the day..."
He opened his backpack and looked at the only spare clothes inside—a plain white T-shirt, still new but lazily folded, and a pair of dark joggers that had clearly never seen an iron.
"If I wear this... maybe I won’t look so much like a street kid. Or maybe I should wear a fancy suit for breakfast? Heh... Though technically, all my clothes are expensive," Al muttered, making fun of his situation.
He looked blankly at the servant still standing at the door.
"How do you think I should look?"
The servant panicked.
"F-Forgive , s-sir... I’m just a servant."
Al nodded wisely and began getting ready, yawning wide.
---
One hour later – Virellano Family Dining Room
The main dining table looked grand and luxurious, as always. Each family mber sat with grace, so already dressed in formal attire. The mood was serious and quiet, only broken by occasional clinks of cutlery and light chatter.
Then, footsteps echoed from the hallway. A young man appeared, wearing a wrinkled white T-shirt, lounge pants, and slightly ssy hair.
Al.
With a suspiciously cheerful face and oddly sparkling eyes, he strolled in like it was his own birthday party. Without hesitation, he sat at an empty seat, smiling wide. It was his first family breakfast—he didn’t want to ruin it.
"Good morning, everyone," he greeted brightly.
Every head turned at once to the source of this visual and social anomaly. Several servants instinctively lowered their heads to hide their baffled expressions.
Edward, the father, slowly set down his teacup and sighed.
"Don’t you have school today?" he asked, calm but clearly annoyed. His eyes scanned Al’s entire appearance.
"Yes, I do, Father," Al answered with a big smile and twinkling eyes.
Edward blinked—then his face hardened, anger beginning to rise again.
"Then why aren’t you dressed yet? Doesn’t school start at eight? It’s already past six. The driver leaves at seven! Where even is your school? Stop being a hassle."
Al was about to reply, but—
"He probably goes to so second-rate school," Sarah cut in from the far end of the table, sipping orange juice with a smug look.
Al turned to her. Their eyes t. Again—Sarah. Once more, the tension between them sparked—like a silent declaration of war.
But instead of getting offended, this ti Al just bowed politely with a small smile.
"Sorry... I’ll go change," he said casually, grabbing a slice of toast before standing up.
Everyone was stunned by Al’s behavior. It didn’t resemble that of a rich family mber at all.
"Hurry. After that, head to the front gate. You’ll be riding with David," Edward ordered, returning to his al.
"Yes, Father," Al replied with a bow, then walked off.
But with a small flick of his fingers and a subtle trace of magic—his target: Sarah.
As Sarah sipped her coffee, she suddenly felt a sharp needle-like prick in her neck. She jumped, spilling her drink.
She yelped as the hot coffee splashed on her. Everyone panicked. No one knew what caused her to ss up like that.
Soon after, Al returned to his room and facepald.
"I got so caught up thinking of how to ss with Sarah, I forgot to explain I attend school in the afternoon. Arghh."
He shook his head.
"Well... I think showing up early for once isn’t so bad."
---
Minutes later, Al stepped out of his small building—now dressed in his school uniform: white-grey clothes under an oversized black hoodie, hair roughly combed, shoes gleaming. He munched on the toast, occasionally glancing around.
His eyes scanned the driveway.
Empty.
No car.
No engine sounds.
No one.
He walked to the large luxury garage—it too was empty. And far too quiet.
Tilting his head, Al mumbled,
"...Hmm?"
He walked around the garage corners, hoping to find a backup vehicle or anything. Nothing.
He stepped back out, greeted only by morning air and his own reflection in the glass walls of the quiet mansion.
It didn’t take long for Al to piece it together.
"Oh... they left without ?"
His tone wasn’t angry. Just... confused.
"If they didn’t want to drive , why say they would? Or is this David’s doing?"
He leaned against the wall and finished the last bite of toast. Then took out his phone, checked the map to school, and smiled faintly.
"Taxi? Bus? Mmm... Walking doesn’t sound bad. Morning air’s healthy," he said.
He walked away from the massive garage, leaving his reflection behind—hidden among the white marble pillars and the invisible eyes of the mansion’s CCTV.
Inside a moving car, David watched from a tablet connected to the ho’s security feed.
A sly smile crept onto his lips.
"Enjoy that," he muttered.
Too bad he had no idea what kind of person he was ssing with.
---
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