Ten minutes later, the black wooden door creaked open.
Al stepped in slowly. Inside, his father and mother were already seated at a long table. The warm golden glow from the chandelier lit up a room filled with books and family portraits.
Just as Edward was about to speak...
"Hmm... What's that smell?!"
Edward suddenly stood up, staring at Al as if seeing a monster.
"Lavender?! You're wearing lavender perfume?!"
Al instinctively froze mid-step.
"Yeah… They said I smelled like a sewer earlier, so—" Al began explaining, but was cut off.
"I hate the smell of lavender!" Edward snapped. "It reminds me of… ugh, why would you choose that scent?"
Al paused, thinking:
How would I know Father hates lavender? Bad smells are wrong. Pleasant smells are wrong too. Sigh… so troublesome.
Sandra, Al's mother, quickly stepped in.
"Let it go, Edward. Your nose is just too sensitive."
Edward grumbled.
"He just sprays whatever perfume he finds. Who knows where he got it."
Then turning to Sandra, he barked, "Take off your shirt, Al. I can't stand that smell."
Hearing that, Sandra remembered Al's injuries from before and felt a twinge of guilt.
"Just pinch your nose," she said to her husband.
"No need to take off your shirt, Al," she added, turning to her son.
"Okay, Mom," Al replied.
Sandra let out a sigh of relief. Edward turned his gaze to her, understanding her thoughts.
They shared a brief glance before Edward finally spoke again, holding a cloth over his nose.
"We want to talk to you about something important."
Sandra added gently,
"This is about an engagement."
Al stared blankly.
"...Engagement?"
Edward nodded and explained:
"With the Valendra family from Vali Island. Years ago, your grandfather and theirs made a pact. If one had a child of the opposite gender close in age, they would be engaged. They have a daughter, a year older than you. Her name is Nayana. Nayana Valendra. You might've heard of her—she's an actress in the Capital and a junior of your sister, Sarah."
Sandra continued,
"But back then… you disappeared. We thought you were… gone. And then there was David. David and the Valendra girl grew up together. They've liked each other since they were kids."
Edward looked directly at Al.
"But the right to the engagement still belongs to you. You are our biological son."
Al blinked slowly.
"So... why not just let David marry her, then? If they like each other, I'm fine with that, Father, Mother…"
His parents exchanged glances.
"…Hmmm?"
"That's not quite how it works."
Sandra took a deep breath.
"Maybe you don't understand. In families like ours, engagements aren't simple. They involve honor, prestige, business ties, public image—"
"—and could lead to scandal if cancelled recklessly," Edward added.
"If you truly have no objections, we'll invite the Valendra family to discuss it. But you need to be sure."
Al scratched the back of his head, confused why rich people always made things so complicated.
"Alright, Father, Mother. But wouldn't it be easier to just talk to them directly if David is the one who's going to get engaged to that girl—what's her name again? Nadia...? Nana…?"
"…Al," his mother said firmly.
"Okay, Mother," Al replied obediently.
"If the meeting needs to happen, I don't mind."
Sandra and Edward shared another look.
They smiled.
Not a happy smile from Al's decision—but relief. What they thought would be a difficult issue… resolved itself easily.
Deep inside, Al's decision aligned with their hidden hopes: the engagement was more suitable for David anyway.
And Al? They could always find him a more "appropriate" match later—depending on how useful he became in their business network.
"Good," Edward said simply.
"We'll arrange the meeting soon. Now get out! This lavender scent… it's giving me a headache."
Sandra tried to soothe her husband, signaling Al to leave quickly.
"Sorry, dear. Your father is very sensitive to fragrances."
Al stood up and nodded weakly.
"Alright then. If you'll excuse me, Father, Mother. And… sorry for smelling nice."
---
Al walked slowly down the long corridor filled with paintings. Cold walls and expensive lighting didn't make him feel at home. Each of his steps echoed faintly across the white marble.
At the end of the hallway, someone appeared.
It was Sarah, his second sister.
Her beauty was cool and sharp, with piercing eyes. Long black bangs, flawless skin, and a poised demeanor—but she radiated constant inner pressure.
Her gaze locked on Al like a hawk spotting a rat wandering into a palace.
"You just came from the study?"
"Yeah," Al replied shortly.
"Hmph. So… they finally talked to you about the engagement? You know who she is, right? She's my junior. A woman like her is only suitable for David. Don't think some top actress would want someone like you."
Al just looked at her calmly.
I don't even know who this woman is… Nano? Nandar? Wait, that sounds like a boy's name. Are they trying to marry me off to a guy?! Thank goodness David wants her. he thought.
Sarah stepped closer, her tone icy as frost.
"Listen carefully. The Valendra girl is only fit for David. Don't think you can steal her just because you have… inheritance rights or whatever."
Al remained silent. He looked at Sarah and smiled slightly.
"Sure, Sister Sarah."
That made Sarah blanch slightly. Her lips trembled.
"What did you say?!"
"Sure, Sister Sarah," Al repeated, casually, but emphasizing the Sister just a little more.
Silence hung in the air.
"How dare you call me sister?! I have no brothers other than David!" she snapped.
Al raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion.
"But doesn't Sister Sarah have five younger siblings? Vianna, Clarista, Elena, Lysha… then David… and if I count myself, that's six."
Sarah squinted—her fury momentarily replaced with awkwardness.
"I-I meant… David is my only brother."
Al froze for a moment. His eyes turned blank, uncaring.
Then he bowed politely.
"Very well. I'll return to my room now, Sister. Excuse me."
He turned and walked away, leaving Sarah behind. No anger. No emotion. Just a slight tilt of his head and a faint smile, as if to say: This family is... strange.
Behind him, Sarah stood still, staring at Al's back with disgust and irritation. Yet beneath the revulsion… something else stirred.
Was he mocking me?
She screamed in frustration.
---
Al's room was quiet.
He had just arrived. Exhausted.
Too much drama today.
Too many voices.
Too many... people.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, Al pulled his phone from his backpack. He stared at the black screen.
"Oh right, I turned it off this morning…"
His thumb pressed the power button.
The screen lit up—followed by a familiar ringtone...
That tone. The special one.
The one that signaled a certain person.
His eyes twitched slightly, as if his soul wanted to escape his body.
"God… not now…"
But he knew.
He had to pick up.
If he didn't, she would show up in person.
And… that was far worse.
With the face of a prisoner receiving a life sentence, he pressed the green button.
"H-hi—" Al stuttered.
"How dare they arrange a marriage for you?! Do they want to die?! You've only been there a few days and the fa—"
Click.
The call ended.
Al sighed deeply.
"Wow… how many times have I been yelled at today…"
He stared at the ceiling.
One hand rubbed his face.
Then… he stood up.
With slow, deliberate movements, Al reached toward the black ring on his middle finger.
He channeled magic gently.
The air around him warped.
The small ring emitted a violet-blue light, opening a thin dimensional slit—his personal storage vault.
From within, he pulled out a black outfit.
Crafted from magitek materials: lightweight, flexible, bullet- and magic-resistant.
Its design was simple yet sharp—hooded, face cover, and a hidden emblem on the chest visible only to select eyes.
His secret team's uniform.
Al dressed slowly.
Every move precise.
Controlled.
Silent… like someone who had done this thousands of times.
Gloves secured.
Hood pulled up.
Face mask slipped into place.
Al's face was now completely hidden, save for a pair of black pearl eyes that faintly glowed in the light.
---
The night sky loomed above. A salty sea breeze drifted from afar.
Atop a ship-shaped building—Binishi Tower, an icon of Makazhar University—a lone figure stood on the roof.
A black silhouette.
Still.
Looking down at the city's glowing chaos.
Only a single red glyph glowed on his palm: a secret communication sigil for his subordinates.
His black cloak fluttered gently, blending with the night.
Al slowly lifted his head.
His gaze was sharp…
…even though his face still looked bored.
"Time to move."
---