One hour later.
Al was already on the fourth floor of the mansion, walking behind Harun, who was leading him toward his father's study.
It was, without a doubt, the most heavily guarded area in the entire house — filled with CCTV cameras, layered security systems, and even emergency countermeasures.
Al quietly observed everything, his brow furrowing slightly. Something felt off. He could sense an unusual energy lingering around the area—No, not just around. It was coming from above.
He looked up at the ceiling, then casually asked,
"Harun, there's another floor above this one, right? What's it like up there? I mean, is it some kind of storage floor for important stuff, or just a private area for my parents?"
Harun turned around with a faint smile.
"You're quite perceptive, Young Master. But if you're talking about the fifth floor… I'm afraid I can't explain any further. You'll understand someday."
"So, I can't even know what's inside my own house?" Al asked again, half-amused.
"It's not like that, Young Master," Harun replied politely.
"It's not just you. None of the other young masters are allowed to access that area either. Even this floor requires special permission. That's Master Edward's rule. So I can only apologize — I can't tell you more than that."
"Ah, I see. Then I suppose there really is something important up there," Al muttered, receiving only a brief nod from Harun in response.
His crimson eyes faintly glimmered as he stared at the ceiling, activating his magical sight to peek beyond it.
But to his surprise, something blocked his vision.
A barrier. A strong one. Hmph… now that I think about it, those shadowy beings watching me outside as well. So this family isn't completely cut off from the magical world, huh? Interesting. He smirked faintly at the thought.
Moments later, they arrived at Edward's study.
The black wooden door opened with a soft creak. Al stepped in slowly, while Harun stayed behind and quietly closed the door.
Inside, the room was filled with warm brown-and-black tones, lined with bookshelves and stacks of organized documents.
His father and mother were already seated at the long table, golden light from the chandelier casting a soft glow over the room — and the family portraits hanging on the wall.
Al walked in confidently, this time surrounded by a faint, pleasant fragrance. Not sharp, but soothing — a scent he deliberately crafted to seem more "presentable."
Though, apparently, he had underestimated his father's sense of smell.
Just as Edward opened his mouth—
"Hmm... What's that smell?!"
Edward suddenly stood up, glaring at Al as if he'd seen a monster.
"Lavender?! You... you used lavender perfume?!"
Al instinctively stopped mid-step.
"Yeah… I was told I smelled like a sewer earlier, so—" Al explained, but was quickly cut off.
"I hate the smell of lavender!" Edward snapped. "It reminds me of... Ugh, why would you wear that scent?"
Al froze mid-step, staring in disbelief.
Seriously? The smell of the sewers, fine. But lavender? Who could've guessed! Ugh… what's wrong with this man? Guess I'll have to learn every single detail about what these people like and hate.
He sighed internally. And replied
"My apologies, Father. But how was I supposed to know you hate the smell of lavender?" he said flatly, his tone clearly laced with mild annoyance toward his overly sensitive father.
Edward and Sandra exchanged glances, then turned to look at Al again.
"Sorry, I forgot," Edward muttered. "But still..."
Sandra, quickly stepped in.
"Let it go, Edward. You're just too sensitive to scents."
Edward grumbled,
"He puts on perfume carelessly. Who knows where he even got it from."
Then he barked at Al, "Take off your shirt. I can't stand the smell."
Hearing that, Sandra remembered the wounds on Al's body and felt a twinge of guilt.
"Just pinch your nose instead," Sandra said to her husband.
"You don't need to take off your shirt, Al," she added, turning to her son.
"Alright, Mother," Al responded.
Sandra breathed a sigh of relief. Edward looked at her, understanding her thoughts.
They exchanged a brief look before Edward finally spoke, covering his nose with a handkerchief.
"We need to talk about something important."
Sandra added,
"It's about an arranged marriage."
Al stared blankly.
"...Arranged marriage?"
Edward nodded and explained,
"With the Valendra family from Vali Island. Years ago, your grandfather and theirs made a pact. If either had children of opposite genders and similar ages, they would be betrothed."
He glanced at Al more closely, then continued.
"They have a daughter one year older than you—Nayala. Nayala Valendra. You might've heard of her. She's a celebrity in the capital, and also a junior to your sister, Sarah."
Sandra continued,
"But back then, you went missing. We thought you were... gone. And then there was David. He and the Valendra girl grew up together. They've liked each other since childhood."
"W-Wait," Al stammered. "Isn't this way too soon to talk about marriage? I just got here yesterday, and I'm still in school."
Edward gave him a sharp look.
"The sooner the better. And don't worry, it's just an engagement for now. Besides, the right to this engagement still belongs to you—because you're our biological son."
Al slowly nodded.
"I see. I understand. But if that's the case, wouldn't it be easier if David just marries her? Since they already like each other? I don't mind, Dad, Mom."
His parents exchanged glances.
"...Hmmm?"
"That's... not what it means."
Sandra took a deep breath.
"Maybe you don't fully understand—marriages in families like ours aren't that simple. They involve honor, reputation, business ties, public image—"
"—and they can lead to scandal if canceled recklessly," Edward added.
"If you truly have no objections, we'll invite the Valendra family to discuss it. But you must be sure."
Al scratched the back of his head. His life didn't fit this rich-people world, and he wondered why wealthy folks made everything so complicated.
I know a thing or two about arranged engagements in rich families… but I didn't expect it to be this formal and systematic.
Seriously, my life really doesn't fit with these rich people's routines. Why do wealthy folks make everything so complicated?
He sighed inwardly, half amused, half annoyed.
Still, this is good information. I might be able to pick up something useful from this whole engagement mechanism for my mission. Good, good.
He nodded lightly.
"Alright, Father, Mother. But wouldn't it be easier if you just called them and told them David will marry that girl. What's her name again—Nadia? Nana...?"
"...Al," his mother said sternly.
"Alright, Mom," Al replied obediently. Whatever his family wanted this time, he'd go along with it—he could tell they were trying to give him a chance to integrate into the family.
"If a meeting needs to happen, I have no problem with that," he said casually.
Sandra and Edward exchanged a look.
They... smiled.
Not out of joy for Al's decision—but because the problem they thought would be complicated was resolved just like that.
They had assumed Al might be enamored by a top celebrity like Nayala and fight to keep the engagement. Thankfully, his decision aligned perfectly with their hidden hopes.
From any angle, that engagement truly suited David far more.
Fortunately, this child isn't too greedy, Edward thought silently.
Let me find someone more suitable for you later, my dear, Sandra murmured in her mind as she watched her son.
I just hope your growth here aligns with the family's expectations. That's what matters most for you right now.
"Good," Edward said curtly. "In that case, we'll arrange the schedule. Now, get out! This lavender smell… it's making my head throb."
Sandra tried to calm her husband, signaling Al to leave quickly.
"Sorry, dear. Your father's just sensitive to fragrances."
Al stood up, nodded weakly, and walked out.
"Alright then. I'll excuse myself, Father, Mother. And… sorry for smelling good."
---
After making sure Al had left, Sandra gave her husband a rather firm tap on the shoulder.
"You're being too harsh," she snapped lightly.
"Hehe, forgive me, honey. You know I can't stand that smell," Edward replied with a guilty chuckle.
"Huff…" Sandra sighed softly.
Meanwhile, Edward grabbed an air freshener from the shelf and sprayed it around, trying to neutralize the lingering lavender scent.
"There. Much better," he said with visible relief.
Sandra looked at him, smiling faintly.
"Do you think that was really okay?" she asked.
Edward paused for a moment, then nodded.
"I'm not sure, honestly. I thought Al would be at least interested after hearing Nayala's name. Good thing he wasn't. Or maybe… he doesn't know her? Strange, considering how popular Nayala is as an actress."
He sat down beside Sandra, his mind still processing Al's reaction.
"Or… maybe he's trying to show he's not some womanizer. Trying to fix his image after what happened yesterday," he added thoughtfully.
Sandra lowered her gaze, then nodded after a brief silence.
"That's possible. Speaking of Al's womanizer image… have you thought about clarifying what really happened yesterday?" she asked quietly.
Edward fell into thought.
"I'm not sure either, honey. You're the one who told me that ever since David heard Al was found, he's been looking rather down—almost gloomy," he said flatly, his eyes shifting toward the large family photo hanging before them.
A picture of the two of them, with their seven children—taken before Al returned.
"And now it's confirmed that David was the one who framed him. I don't understand why he'd do something so reckless. But… if we clarify it, David's name will be tarnished. It'll crush him even more, won't it?" Edward murmured.
As it turned out, they had already confirmed the truth: the incident yesterday was indeed David's doing, not Al's. The maid who helped David had been quietly "put on leave"—or rather, fired—without anyone being told.
Sandra's expression softened into a conflicted frown.
"I think it was fear that drove him. David's always been a good, obedient boy. Maybe he was just afraid Al would take his place," she said gently.
Edward nodded in silence.
After a moment, Sandra continued,
"You know how much we love our children. It's just… our feelings toward Al are still different, since we've only just reunited with him."
She sighed,
"Honestly, I can't help but side with David even though he's wrong. Maybe it's better not to clear things up—people will forget with time, right?" she said, rubbing her tired face.
Edward reached out and patted her shoulder.
"Maybe you're right. Anyway… it's just like you said—David's probably just afraid. That's normal, especially at his age. At least it shows he doesn't want to be separated from his family, even if he handled it poorly. Luckily, that's all he did. And thank goodness we didn't go as far as punishing Al yesterday."
Sandra lowered her hands and looked at Edward.
"I just don't want anyone in this family to be at odds. Whether it's Al, David, or anyone else. But letting this go—if it spares Al from more trouble—then maybe it's the right choice for now. Besides… that boy doesn't seem like the type to crumble over something like this."
Edward chuckled softly.
"True. The kid's mentally tough—probably because of how he grew up outside. He's used to harshness, so things like this barely faze him. Just look at him—rebellious, sarcastic… even I and Aurielle get nervous whenever we have to argue with that kid. Somehow, he always has a comeback."
Sandra couldn't help but laugh a little, remembering the recent exchanges.
"You're right, honey. It's funny to think even Aurielle—of all people—lost an argument to a seventeen-year-old. Only Sarah can really go toe-to-toe with him. They're too alike. Hopefully, those two learn to get along soon."
"That's just how Sarah is, haha. She's too stubborn to listen. Forget Al—even we have a hard time getting through to her sometimes," Edward said with a cheerful tone.
"Quite the opposite of Aurielle… the obedient one. Though I know she's just holding herself back in front of us. She only shows her authority when we're not around. She knows exactly how and when to act," he added with a knowing smile.
Sandra chuckled softly.
"You're right. I wonder how Al's going to handle Oppressor Mode Aurielle."
Their mood lightened as they continued their quiet conversation.
---
Meanwhile, Al was walking slowly down to the first floor, tracing the long corridor lined with paintings. The cold walls and expensive lighting did nothing to make him feel at home. Each step echoed faintly across the white marble floor.
At the end of the corridor, someone appeared—Sarah, his second sister.
Beautiful, but cold. Sharp eyes. Long bangs framing her face. Her posture elegant, yet heavy with emotional pressure.
Her gaze locked onto Al like an eagle spotting a rat trespassing in its territory.
Al frowned slightly.
"Great. Why do I have to run into this annoying woman here? Huff… whatever. Let's just hope there's no drama," he muttered under his breath as he continued walking.
Eventually, he stopped in front of Sarah—he had no choice but to pass her to reach the main door.
"You just came from Dad's study?" Sarah asked, her tone sharp as ever.
Al paused briefly before replying.
"Yeah," he said curtly, unwilling to waste even a drop of energy on small talk. He just wasn't in the mood.
"Hmph. So… they finally talked about that engagement? You know that girl, right? She's my junior. A woman like her is only suitable for David. Don't expect a top celebrity to be with someone like you."
Al just stared at her calmly, too lazy to argue.
I don't even know who that woman is. What was her name again? Nano, Nandar? Wait—that's a guy's name. Ugh, don't tell me I'm being arranged to marry a guy?! Thank goodness David's the one marrying her, he thought.
Seeing Al stay silent, Sarah stepped forward, her tone turning icy.
"Listen carefully. That Valendra girl is only fit for David. Don't think you can steal her just because you have… inheritance rights or whatever."
Al remained quiet, feeling mildly disgusted. He looked at Sarah and gave a small smile.
"Aren't you bored?"
"Huh?" Sarah blinked, confused by the sudden question.
"Ever since I got here, you haven't stopped bothering me. Are you that interested in your sweet little brother? Do you miss the brother who disappeared for a while?" he said, teasing and mocking her.
"What are you saying?! As if I… I just don't want you here. It's better if you leave this house."
"But that's not up to you, right? Instead of wasting your time harassing me, why not just tell Mother and Father? If they ask me to leave, I will," he said firmly.
Sarah fell silent, not knowing how to respond to that. Al had just made it clear he would leave only if his parents told him to. And she knew there was no way Mom and Dad would kick him out just like that.
"Until that day comes," Al continued, "I hope you stop bothering me. It's bad for both our mental health."
"Wh-Who's bothering you…? You think I want to? Just seeing you disgusts me!" Sarah snapped.
"Then stop seeing me." Al said, shook his head.
"Whatever. Well then, excuse me… my dear sister Sarah," he said with a touch of sarcasm.
Then he walked away.
Hearing that, Sarah's face paled. Her lips trembled. She rushed after Al, who had walked some distance.
"What did you say?!"
Al turned around.
"I said, excuse me… my dear sister Sarah," he repeated, dragging her name out more mockingly.
A brief silence followed.
"How dare you call me your sister?!" Sarah snapped.
"Aren't we siblings?" Al replied, feigning innocence.
"I only have one sibling—and that's David!" she shouted sharply.
Al raised an eyebrow, pretending to be confused.
"But don't you have six siblings? There's… Aurielle, Vianna, Clarista, Elena, Lysha… then David. And if you count me… that's seven."
Sarah squinted, her rage briefly turning awkward.
"I-I meant... only one brother—and that's David."
Al froze for a moment. His gaze emptied, as if he'd switched to 'don't care' mode.
"Alright. Alright." He said flatly.
Then he bowed slightly.
"Excuse me."
He turned and walked off calmly, leaving Sarah behind. There was no anger. No emotion. Just a slight tilt of the head and a faint smirk, as if to say:
This woman… is weird.
Behind him, Sarah stood still, glaring at his back in disgust and irritation. But behind the disgust… was a feeling she couldn't explain:
Was he mocking me?
She let out a scream—aimless and angry.
---
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—Vinishi 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."
---