It was almost seven in the morning.
A young man lay facedown on his bed, hair a tangled mess like a lion fresh out of the dryer, just about to close his eyes after staying up all night.
Seeing that it was still fifteen minutes before seven, Al sighed in relief. Still enough time for a quick nap. Even though school started at noon, he still had to leave early—to avoid the nagging of his sisters and parents.
But just as he was about to shut his eyes, a knock echoed on the door.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Young Master, your breakfast."
Al groaned softly.
"Huahh... I was just about to sleep…"
But as the scent of warm milk and toasted bread reached his nose, his eyes fluttered open—like a zombie suddenly revived by the smell of food.
He opened the door with energy, moved quickly, grabbed the breakfast tray, and closed the door without a word.
"Thank you," he muttered.
The servant was shocked. In an instant, the food on the tray vanished, leaving only an empty tray in her hands. His eyes widened, confused about what had just happened. Then, stammering slightly, he delivered a message to Al,
"Y-Young Master, please get ready… Master Edward is waiting for you at the front."
Inside, Al sat at his desk, spoon in hand, chewing… and then slowly slumped forward.
Asleep.
---
In the front lounge, Edward recalled yesterday's events and asked,
"David, why didn't he ride in your car yesterday?"
David replied,
"Al took too long yesterday, Father. I was in a hurry, so I left first."
Edward nodded as if that made sense.
"And why didn't you pick him up after school?"
"Sorry, Father. I didn't know which school he attends, so…"
"Ah…" Edward muttered, feeling a bit guilty. He himself didn't know where Al went to school.
He glanced at his watch, then frowned upon realizing Al still hadn't shown up.
"Where is that boy?" he asked, irritated.
Everyone simply shook their heads silently. No one knew where Al was.
"Servant," he called, staring at the servant who was assigned to wake Al earlier. "Didn't I tell you to wake him? Where is he?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. The Young Master was already awake when I brought his breakfast," the servant said, bowing respectfully.
David then stepped forward, taking the initiative.
"Father, I'll go check his room."
His tone sounded full of responsibility, though there was a subtle hint of self-display.
"Fine, tell him to come here at once! Doesn't he have school? Why is that boy always so troublesome!" Edward barked in frustration.
David quickly went to Al's room.
Upon arrival, he peeked through the small peephole in the door and saw Al fast asleep—sitting with his head on the table, spoon still in hand.
Seeing this, a wicked idea popped into David's mind. Instead of waking Al, he quietly turned around and walked back.
When he returned to the lounge, David wore a somber expression, holding his cheek—reddened as if he'd been slapped.
His father, upon seeing it, panicked and checked David's cheek.
"What happened to your face, David?" he asked, full of concern. "Did that boy hit you?"
"No, Father, I'm fine. I just... um... accidentally bumped into... mmm... the wall, Father. The wall."
His reply was shaky, as if scrambling for an excuse.
"David, did he hit you? Tell me the truth," Edward asked again.
David remained silent, head bowed, saying nothing.
Seeing David so gloomy made Edward even more furious.
"That boy... Just wait here."
With anger in his voice, Edward stormed off toward Al's room.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The knocking thundered like Thor's hammer on the door.
Al, still asleep with his head on the table and a piece of bread stuck to his cheek, jolted awake. Suddenly, he yelled out,
"Die, you perverted shaman!!!"
He jumped to his feet in a fighting stance, fists clenched, eyes wide… and froze.
Confused.
He looked around his room. The half-eaten bread was still stuck to his left cheek, sticky with drool and strawberry jam. He wiped his face with a hand.
"Oh... a dream."
Just then, a voice even scarier than the perverted shaman in his dream rang out.
"Open this door right now! You lazy, disrespectful brat!"
"Whoa, that's Dad," Al realized.
He quickly peeled the bread off his face, wiped his cheek, and opened the door with the most innocent expression and the politest voice he could mimic from YouTube tutorials.
"Good morning, Father. I'm sorry, I just—"
SMACK!
A slap landed across his cheek like a curse from the heavens.
"Don't you want to go to school?! What kind of child are you?! It's school time and you're sleeping like a bum!"
Al froze. His cheek burned—not from shame, but sheer confusion.
"I'm sorry, Father, I…"
"And you! How dare you hit David! He's innocent, respectful, and well-mannered! What's wrong with you?!"
Al was even more confused.
"I… hit David?"
His brain started working like a movie detective, until finally, he sighed quietly.
Looks like… I've been framed again.
Al lowered his head—not from guilt, but out of respect for his father. And then—
SMACK!
Another slap landed on his right cheek—harder than before, sending his head whipping sideways, nearly crashing into a small cabinet by the door. His eyes snapped open wide.
"…Huh?"
No bruises. No bleeding. But the stinging pain was real.
He blinked in confusion. He had a passive magical barrier capable of deflecting bullets and high-level spells—yet it hadn't activated at all. It was as if… the slap had been destined to bypass his defense.
Al stood stunned—pain and confusion mixing inside him. He turned to look at Edward Virellano, who still stood with fury burning in his eyes.
"Drop that wild behavior if you want to be part of this family! Get dressed and go to school!"
Al remained silent. Not out of fear—but analysis.
Could this… be the effect of blood relation? An attack from a biological parent bypassing my barrier?
A theory stirred in his mind. Blood Magic. A branch of magic long considered trivial because of its lack of control. But if his theory was right, Blood Magic might be one of the few types of magic capable of piercing someone's natural defenses—through emotional and biological roots.
Al simply stared. His gaze blank—not sad, not angry, just… empty.
Like someone trying to understand a world that made no sense.
His father turned away, still muttering curses under his breath, and slammed the door as he left.
Silence.
Al touched his cheek.
"It's been a while since I felt pain like this."
He exhaled slowly. Not out of irritation—but because...
So this… is what it feels like to have parents?
He sat down slowly at the edge of the bed. Not traumatized. But not comforted either.
"I guess Dad is the type who shows love through beatings. I don't know... but this hurts. Hopefully, I won't get hit again."
He chuckled softly—a bitter laugh.
Al then finished his breakfast, enduring the sting on his cheeks. He sipped the now-cold milk.
Afterward, Al chose to bathe like a regular human being. No magic. No shortcuts. No auto-drying illusions.
His bathroom? Not a private one like the rest of the family—but the shared washroom behind the house, where the servants usually bathed.
He passed by several servants who looked awkward seeing the Young Master heading there. But Al just grinned and said,
"Relax, I won't dirty the place."