CLING. CLING.
The sound of weapons clashing rang out in the night sky above a massive bridge in the city of Makazhar.
Two figures dressed in black, wearing hoods and masks like they were cosplaying, faced off against a robed man. One of the black-clad fighters was taller and lean but still muscular, while the other was shorter, stockier, and built like a slightly smaller version of the Hulk.
Their opponent looked human in shape, with proportionate build, yellow eyes radiating an unsettling aura, white hair, and a brown robe. Flames burned in both of his hands.
Elemental Magic – Fire Type: Fireball.
WOSSHHH!
"Dodge," said the taller figure in black.
Both fighters evaded the fireball, but the robed man had already appeared behind the taller one. His arm elongated, morphing into a sharp, pitch-black spear engulfed in flames.
Skill: Miretal Fhop.
The spear-like arm lunged toward the taller figure—
Skill: Double Shield.
BRAKK!
The attack slammed into a golden double-layered shield conjured by the shorter fighter. The first layer shattered, but the second held firm.
"Damn it," the robed man muttered.
Before he could recover, the taller fighter appeared behind him, his hand wrapped in silver energy sharp as a blade. He struck swiftly—
SLASSHHH!
BUFFF!
A small explosion burst out, but the strike only hit a burning wooden block. The robed man now stood at the far end of the bridge.
"Hahaha, you two are impressive. I almost died," he said, crushing a broken talisman in his hand—likely used for teleportation or a light substitution technique.
The black-clad duo stayed in a guarded stance. Their opponent was no ordinary foe.
"I don't understand why you choose to live with the weak instead of uniting our strength to rule this world. In the end, our goals are the same," the robed man said.
"Our goals may align, but following your path will only destroy the world," the taller fighter replied.
"What do you know?" the robed man scoffed. "The world will be destroyed anyway—but for them, that's a price worth paying to create a world that accepts people like us."
"Then we can't walk the same path," the shorter fighter responded firmly.
"I didn't know you could talk so well, Michaelis... haha," the robed man said, bowing slightly and looking at the shorter man with a playful glint in his eyes.
"Have you forgotten who cast you out, who abandoned you, who pushed you until you became one of those cursed by the world?"
Hearing that, Michaelis' body trembled, his pupils fading as his consciousness began to waver.
"Stop it, Fahruk," the taller fighter—Sebastian—warned. "You know what happens if you push people like us too far!"
"They go berserk, right?" Fahruk chuckled. "Why should I care? Didn't he just say we're on different paths? That means you understand, don't you, Sebastian?"
"Don't tell me you're planning to use that to break us—push our emotions until we lose control," said the taller black-clad man, Sebastian.
Fahruk sneered, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.
"My plan? I just wanted to see if you lot could survive the Magic Association once you went berserk. After all… berserk won't kill you, right? But the Magic Association might. Hahaha."
"You—!" Sebastian snapped, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Haha. What's wrong with that? We're enemies, aren't we? I'm just curious… how would you react if one of your own got caught by the world's Magic Association? Would that precious 'emotional control' of yours still hold?"
He leapt slightly closer, eyes glinting with malice.
"And you, Sebastian… I think you understand far too well how painful it is to watch someone you care about executed right before your eyes. So by now, seeing another friend of yours executed in front of you… shouldn't that make you immune? Or maybe...? Hahaha. So go on, rage, Michaelis, Sebastian…"
"You! Where did you hear all this?" Sebastian demanded.
This time, it wasn't just Michaelis who was shaken by Fahruk's provocations—Sebastian was beginning to waver as well. Yet both of them still clung to their awareness, holding on with sheer willpower.
"Ohoho, I guess your training's not bad. You really can control your emotions." Fahruk said casually, his eyes carrying a strange glint. "But... for how long? Hehe."
He then conjured a small flame at his fingertip.
"Michaelis... you know fire, don't you? You must remember..."
"Fahruk, stop!" Sebastian cut him off.
Sebastian moved to attack, but beside him Michaelis' eyes turned crimson, tears spilling freely down his face.
"Hahaha..." Michaelis' laughter broke out, for reasons unknown even to himself. He clutched his head in both hands.
"I-I..." he whispered hoarsely, tears streaming, vision blurring, as thick black energy began to envelop his body.
"Michaelis, snap out of it!" Sebastian tried to steady him, shaking his shoulders, but there was no response. The black energy only grew denser.
"D-Damn it..." Sebastian cursed, glaring at Fahruk, who was laughing in satisfaction.
"Hahaha… look at you two. I actually thought your little talk about controlling your emotions was true. Turns out, it's nothing but empty words." Fahruk's laughter boomed, sharp and mocking.
"In the end… you're no different from us. You're destined to become enemies of humanity," he added.
Fahruk's laughter echoed as he went on, fanning the flames of tension.
"Look at Michae—"
But, before he could finish—
DUARRR!!
A sudden burst of energy slammed into him, shattering parts of the deserted bridge. Thick smoke billowed from the explosion, swallowing the scene.
While still trying to bring Michaelis back to his senses, Sebastian froze at the sight before him.
As the smoke thinned, the robed man was revealed—his cloak torn in several places, exposing patches of pale skin. His neck was gripped tightly, his body lifted off the ground by someone—
Al.
"Sorry I'm late. Tonight's patrol was more troublesome than expected," Al said, appearing from seemingly nowhere. He looked at the man in his grasp.
That man was a upper stage of Master level in the magician category. A figure Al was quite familiar with after years of navigating the supernatural world
"So it's you, Fahruk. I didn't expect we'd be meeting tonight," Al said casually, shaking his head.
"Tch… I didn't think you'd involve yourself in something like this," Fahruk replied.
Even though Al wore a mask and hood, it seemed the two of them recognized each other—whether from knowing his true identity or from having fought before.
"I'm just a little bored with my new life… things have been rather irritating lately. Seems like you might be the perfect outlet for my frustrations tonight," Al said, a smile curling across his face—one that was far too cold, far too frightening.
"After all… psychos like you are better off as punching bags for me than running free in the world."
"Huh?! Only if you can! haha." Fahruk spat defiantly.
And without wasting another word,
CRACKKK!!
Al twisted his hand violently, aiming to snap the man's neck.
But—
BWOOSSHH!!
A small blast erupted, gray smoke flooding Al's vision. Yet his grip did not loosen.
When the haze cleared, only a charred black piece of wood remained in his hand.
Al glanced at it, then toward the far side of the bridge—Fahruk stood there, clutching his neck in pain.
"Ukhh… you're all really fond of going for the throat," Fahruk said bitterly between coughs. "But my life isn't in your hands. Haha…"
"Are you sure about that?" Al asked coldly.
He moved forward to strike, but—
"Master," Sebastian called out, struggling to restrain Michaelis, who was acting… strange. Sebastian himself was showing worrying signs of instability.
Al looked between them, then back to Fahruk. His priority for tonight was clear.
"Hahaha… looks like the fight ends here," Fahruk said. From his tattered cloak, he pulled out a small stone—its surface marbled in black and white. "Farewell, gentlemen."
The stone emitted a faint black-and-white glow, opening a swirling black rift beside him. It pulled his body in, as if swallowing him whole.
"You think you can escape?" Al growled.
He hurled the piece of wood in his hand toward Fahruk, but the man vanished before it could hit.
"Damn it," Al cursed.
He turned toward Michaelis, whose right eye now glowed a fierce red, tears streaming freely from both eyes.
"You still have to train harder, Michaelis," Al said, pressing his palm to Michaelis' forehead. "Endure it. This will hurt."
SKRIWWWRR!!
A surge of golden-blue electricity crackled from Al's hand, shocking Michaelis.
"Arrrggghhh!" Michaelis screamed under the assault.
It went on for quite some time… until Michaelis finally collapsed unconscious. His body seemed unharmed—only his soul had taken the blow.
Al looked at his palm; it was darkened, as if burned. Whatever he had done carried a heavy cost.
"Good work," he said to Sebastian, who was sitting cross-legged beside him, desperately keeping his emotions in check.
Sebastian rose, exhaling deeply before bowing. "Master, forgive us… we lost control—"
"It's fine. That's a risk for people like us."
Sebastian nodded, though unease still lingered in his chest.
"Calm yourself. Return to Ataris with Michaelis. Rest until you've stabilized," Al instructed.
Sebastian nodded again, hefting Michaelis over his shoulder.
"I know this is a long road…" Al murmured, gazing at the sky that was beginning to pale with dawn.
"I don't know which path is right—trying to integrate like we are now, fighting for tyranny and revolution like they do, or disappearing entirely and admitting we're no longer human."
He then sighed,
"But in the end, we are human. And fighting for who we are… is what matters."
Sebastian glanced at him, the doubt in his heart easing at those words. He felt… steadier.
With a final nod, Sebastian departed, vanishing into the distance, leaving Al alone on the battered bridge.
Al surveyed the damage, weaving a simple spell to mend the worst of it.
"And to start all that… at the very least, I need to succeed in integrating into the place they call 'family,'" he whispered.
---
It was nearly seven in the morning.
Al had returned to his quarters. Collapsing face-first onto his bed, hair a wild mess like a lion fresh out of the rain, he was just about to close his eyes after a long, sleepless night.
Seeing that it was still fifteen minutes before seven, Al let out a sigh of relief. Still enough time for a quick nap. To integrate with the family, at the very least, he had to join the family breakfast. Besides, breakfast was always a plus.
But before he could even shut his eyes—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Young Master."
Al murmured quietly,
"Ughhh, I was just about to sleep…"
He got up and opened the door, finding a male servant holding a breakfast tray.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Your breakfast, sir," the servant replied.
"Huh? Isn't breakfast supposed to be in the dining room?"
"I'm sorry, Young Master, but Master Edward doesn't want you at the table this morning. Because of yesterday's incident."
"Wah… right. I almost forgot—I can't join them for meals temporarily." Al muttered, shaking his head in irony.
The foul stench mixed with yesterday's pleasant aroma had nearly made his father collapse.
Father should still be traumatized enough by that, he thought wryly.
A twinge of disappointment crossed his face;
It meant my food choices would be limited, nothing like the diverse spread at the dining table. Haaah.
But then his nose caught the warm scent of milk and toasted bread. His eyes slowly opened to behold the tempting sight before him.
His disappointment vanished instantly. Though the meal wasn't extravagant, it still looked delicious.
"All right… after all, this is only temporary," he muttered, letting himself indulge.
He moved swiftly, snatched the breakfast tray, and shut the door behind him without another word.
"Thanks," he muttered softly.
The servant stood there stunned. One moment, they were talking—and the next, the tray had vanished, now just an empty one in his hands.
His eyes widened, as if he had just witnessed a magic trick. Still dazed, he called out a message to Al through the closed door, stammering slightly,
"Y-Young Master, please get ready. Master Edward is waiting in front."
"All right!" Al shouted from inside the room.
"I guess Father still doesn't believe my class starts in the afternoon. Huff… after this meal, I'll convince him," he murmured.
But for now, his attention was all on the food.
Al sat down, scooped some food, chewed… and without realizing it, his head slumped onto the table.
Sleepiness overwhelmed him, and before long… he was out cold.
---
A few minutes later in the front lounge, Edward recalled the events of yesterday and asked,
"David, why didn't he ride in your car yesterday?"
David replied,
"Al took too long, Dad. I was in a hurry, so I left first."
Edward nodded, as if that was understandable.
"And why didn't you pick him up after school?"
"Sorry, Dad, but I didn't know which school he attends, so…"
"Ah…" Edward murmured, feeling a tinge of guilt. He hadn't bothered to look into any of the important details about this newly discovered son—not even what school he attended.
He glanced at his watch and frowned when he noticed that Al still hadn't appeared.
"Where is that boy?" he asked, annoyed.
Everyone just shook their heads silently. No one knew where Al was.
"You, servant." He turned to the man he had tasked with waking Al. "Didn't I tell you to wake him? Where is he?"
"My apologies, sir. The Young Master was already awake when I brought him breakfast," the servant answered respectfully.
David stepped forward and took the initiative,
"Dad, I'll go check on him."
His tone was full of responsibility, although there was a slight hint of wanting to show off.
"Fine. Tell him to get down here at once! Doesn't he have school? That boy is such a nuisance!" Edward snapped.
David quickly headed to Al's room.
Once there, he peeked through the tiny hole in the door and saw Al sleeping soundly, seated with his head on the table, spoon still in hand.
Seeing this, a wicked idea popped into his mind. He turned and left without waking Al.
Back in the lounge, David returned with a sullen look, holding his cheek, which was slightly red as if he'd been hit.
His father saw this and immediately panicked, checking his son's cheek.
"What happened to your face, David?" he asked worriedly. "Did that boy hit you?"
"No, Father, I'm fine. I just… um… accidentally bumped into a… mmm… wall. Yeah. A wall," David stammered, obviously scrambling for an excuse.
"David, if he hit you, just say it," his father insisted.
David stayed silent, head down, not saying a word.
Edward felt a bit suspicious. Two days ago, it was clear that David had framed Al, and for now, he wanted some clarity before taking action.
But seeing how sullen David looked began to stir his anger again.
How could David be so foolish as to harm him just to frame Al? He thought.
Still, I knew that while it wasn't entirely clear whether Al was a womanizer or not, there was still a huge chance he was someone who could easily show a violent streak. After all, he was still a boy who had lived outside before.
"That kid… really…" Edward muttered through clenched teeth. "Wait here, David. I'll be back."
With that, he stormed off toward Al's room.
As soon as Edward left, David's lips curled into a faint, sinister smile.
A little gift for you, orphan boy… hehe, he said inwardly.
Once again, Edward was deceived, even though he tried to be careful.
Not long after…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The knocking echoed like Thor's hammer slamming against a door that was, in reality, barely sturdy.
Inside, Al—still asleep with his head on the table and a piece of bread stuck to his cheek—jolted awake and suddenly shouted,
"Die, you perverted shaman!!!"
He leapt up in a fighting stance, fists clenched, eyes wide… then froze.
Confused.
He looked around his room. Half-eaten bread stuck to his left cheek, drool mixing with strawberry jam. He wiped his face with his hand.
"Oh... it was a dream."
Right then, a voice more terrifying than the one in his nightmare rang out—
"Open this door right now! You lazy, insolent brat!"
"Ah, Father's voice," Al thought.
He quickly peeled the bread off his face, wiped his cheek, and opened the door with the most innocent expression and polite voice he could muster from watching YouTube tutorials.
"Good morning, Father. I'm sorry, I just—"
SLAP!
A sharp slap landed on his cheek like a divine curse from above.
"Are you not going to school?! What kind of child sleeps like a vagrant at this hour?!"
Al froze. One side of his face burned, a sharp sting lingering. He couldn't make sense of what had just happened—not his father's anger, not the pain itself—but something felt… off.
Still, his immediate concern was to clarify the reason behind his father's sudden fury.
"Father... why did you slap me? And yesterday I already—" Al began, but his words were cut off.
"And you! How dare you hit David! He's innocent, a polite, well-behaved boy! What's wrong with you, huh?!"
Al's confusion deepened.
"Huh? Me… hitting David? Where on earth did that come from?" he muttered in disbelief.
He lowered his head—not out of guilt, but in thought His mind raced like a detective piecing together a case, until he let out a quiet sigh.
Seems like… I've been framed again.
He wanted to respond, and as he lifted his face. But…
SLAP!
Another strike landed squarely on Al's right cheek. Harder than before, his head jerked to the side, nearly hitting the small cabinet by the door. His eyes widened in shock.
"…Huh?"
There were no visible bruises, no swelling—but the searing sting was real. Confusion clouded his mind as two thoughts collided.
First, his father's anger—once again falling for David's tricks.
Second… the slap had pierced through him. And yet, his passive magical barrier, capable of deflecting bullets and high-level spells, didn't react. It was as if the blow was destined to get through.
Al blinked, pain and bewilderment mixing on his face. Reflexively, he turned to Edward Virellano—his father—still standing, face blazing with anger.
He rose, responding firmly,
"Father. You're punishing me again without clear evidence. How long are you going to let yourself be manipulated by that liar?"
Edward paused, taken aback by the sudden question. As usual, Al's arguments had a way of hitting hard. He thought for a moment, and then it all clicked. Maybe… this really was David's scheme again.
Wait. This boy had a point. Perhaps this really was David's doing again. I haven't even verified the evidence… And David didn't even say he was hit, only that he bumped into something. Am I being played, or am I just too impulsive? Edward thought, feeling a twinge of guilt.
But his authority as the head of the family demanded dominance. Especially hearing Al's words—it still stung.
Seeing his father hesitate, Al stepped slightly forward and pointed at the tall garden lamp.
"Father, stop being foolish! Look—there's the CCTV you upgraded yesterday. Why didn't you check it before punishing me? You had time to walk all the way here, but apparently no time to review the footage first," he said, his tone sharp.
Hearing that argument, guilt deepened in Edward's chest.
He hesitated, unsure how to respond.
He's right. What do I say now? This kid will corner me no matter what. Should I just admit it was a misunderstanding? But after hitting him… His thoughts tangled.
Al wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, smirking slyly at Edward, who had inexplicably lost his earlier resolve and opted for silence.
"Father… I think you just like punishing me. Am I right?"
"How could you say that? Of course not. I punish you only when you're at fault," Edward replied. Finally spoke.
"But if in the end I'm innocent, and you've already punished me with that slap… it really hurts, by the way," Al said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"So maybe… it's only fair if I go ahead and commit the crime you punished me for."
"Huh? What do you mean?" Edward asked, bewildered.
Al leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, strolling casually toward the main house.
"I've been punished for hitting David. So… maybe I should hit him for real, just to justify this punishment. Where is that boy, Father?" he teased.
Edward's eyes widened.
This kid's mind… it's dangerous, he thought, moving quickly to grab Al's hand.
"What are you planning? Don't do anything foolish!" he barked.
Al turned casually, tone light.
"I just want… your justice, Father. Justice."
Edward exhaled, frustration flickering across his face.
"No, I mean… don't resort to violence. That's not right," he said, trying to reason.
Al tilted his head, slightly amused.
"Father… after nearly being punched in the stomach back then, and after you just slapped me… you say violence isn't right?"
Edward tensed, pausing before letting out a slow breath.
"Al… can you stop complicating everything? Can you just… once, not debate me? You always seem to challenge us. Don't you realize—or at least consider—that I am your father?"
"Father… you're the one making it complicated. I wouldn't even argue if no one provoked me," Al said calmly.
"And have you even considered whether you truly see me as your child? Why do you and Mother seem biased toward the others, and so… unreasonable with me?"
Edward massaged his forehead, guilt and pressure mounting. His pride as a father felt tarnished by his own child.
What shaped you to be this stubborn, Al… even toward your own father? Hmm… But he's right. I need to reflect, he thought.
He finally spoke, calmer.
"Al… I admit, I was wrong. This was all a misunderstanding. It has nothing to do with David. Forgive me," he said, patting Al's shoulder in an attempt at warmth, though feeling slightly awkward.
Al stayed silent, unsure how to respond.
Hmph. How should I react…? If it were anyone else, I could act freely—but this is my father…
Seeing Al pause, Edward stepped back slightly and bent forward, showing remorse.
"I've never bowed to anyone except your grandparents and your mother. Consider this… my guilt for failing to protect you seventeen years ago," he said, attempting a bow.
Al's eyes widened. A sudden discomfort stabbed his chest as Edward's movement continued.
Arghh... What is this pain?
Reflexively, he stepped forward to stop him.
"Father, what are you doing? Not that far… you shouldn't bow to me," he said anxiously.
Edward froze, but warmth spread in his chest, a quiet joy from this small gesture.
"Ah… really…" he murmured, unsure how to respond.
Al nodded lightly, still flustered, releasing his father.
"I don't know, Father… but whatever it is, don't go that far. If this is really a misunderstanding, fine, I understand," he said.
In his mind, Al wondered,
What just happened when Father tried to bow… why does my chest hurt? And that slap earlier... Hmph. I need to figure out all these strange phenomena this morning.
Edward simply nodded, and the two held each other's gaze for a moment in silent.
Finally, Edward chose to leave, glancing at the time—it was time for him to depart.
He excused himself and walked back to the lounge.
There, David was already gone. Edward wanted to say something to him, but realized it wasn't necessary. In the end… he could only blame himself.
And so the morning's drama quietly passed between them.
---