Morning came without mercy.
The sun burned on the skin, birds chirped like they were mocking the lazy, and Al's biological clock—as usual—forced him to wake up… in total misery.
It was Monday.
The cursed day for anyone who worships long sleep.
The day that follows Sunday feels like time itself has committed betrayal.
Al, who had been sleeping rather uncomfortably inside his dimensional room, slowly opened his eyes. His body still felt sore from the 'night of judgment' he had just gone through.
He stared at the grand, intricately designed ceiling above him—quietly, for quite a while—until his mind began to regain its rhythm.
And the first thing that resurfaced in his memory was the incident from last night, which only added another layer of irritation to what was already a miserable Monday.
But what still bothered him the most… was how his father's slap could pierce through his magical barrier.
"Could it be that the bond between parent and child can actually nullify negative magical effects? Is this some kind of divine rule, set by the being people call God? Does that mean my parents hold absolute authority over me?And how long does that effect even last… is it because I'm still seventeen?" he muttered drowsily.
Letting out a long yawn, he sat up and stretched his neck a little.
"I guess I should test it again when I turn eighteen… just a few more months to go," he murmured, shaking his head to cast away the troublesome thoughts.
Then, he raised his right hand in front of his abdomen, his forearm facing upward.
With just a bit of concentration, magical energy began to circulate throughout his arm, both inside and outside his flesh. It felt as though his body and soul were synchronizing, resonating together as one.
Before long, a golden-crimson light shimmered and enveloped his arm. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He was, at the very least, satisfied with what he could sense—the undeniable increase in the energy now flowing through him.
"The early stage of the Grandmaster Level," he murmured with a trace of joy. "The sensation isn't too different, but it feels so much steadier. Truly stable."
But that fleeting sense of contentment did not last. Just moments later, streaks of pitch-black energy intertwined with the golden-crimson glow. A troubling sign that there was still an unstable, untamed power lurking deep within him.
"Arghh... that unstable energy is still trying to devour my stable energy. My journey's still far from over," he complained under his breath.
Al could not help but feel a tinge of disappointment. Still, as far as he was concerned, this much was already acceptable, even satisfying. After all, what truly mattered was not the type of energy one possessed, but rather who was in control.
Or perhaps, more accurately—who would consume whom. Would he eventually be devoured by that instability, or would he be the one to dominate it completely?
With a casual flick of his hand, the swirling energy dispersed, fading into nothingness.
He then got up from the bed with sluggish movements, left his dimensional space, and returned to the small building that could barely be called his room—if a place that looked more like a storage shed even deserved to be called one.
"Huff... mornings are such a pain," Al groaned.
He stretched his body lazily and began doing a few light warm-ups to loosen his muscles.
"Oh, right! If I could fully master the art of imagery, would it be possible to command them to move my body for me? That way, I could simply rest while they handled everything in my stead."
The notion was nothing more than a wild theory drifting in his head.
Yet the moment he imagined his Id taking control of his body, the image of himself—no, of that version of him—unleashing destruction upon the world sent a shiver down his spine.
On the other hand, if it were his Superego that took the reins, it would no doubt become excessively benevolent, tolerating even blatant acts of injustice.
The possibilities unsettled him, leaving him chilled and uneasy.
He could only hope, in the depths of his heart, that such a scenario would never come to pass.
"Ugh… no, no. They can't control me." he muttered, slightly panicked by the direction of his own thoughts.
He then walked to the door, opened it slowly...
And instantly squinted—not because of the sunlight, but because of the reflection of the sunlight from someone's bald head.
"Uwahhh… what the—?!"
he yelped, instinctively raising both hands to block the sudden burst of light.
Someone was standing tall at the doorway—back facing Al—his posture rigid, like a military statue carved from stone.
Broad shoulders. Towering height. Even from behind, that figure exuded the kind of presence that could make lesser men wet their pants.
Al narrowed his eyes.
"…Dedy?"
The bald man turned slowly, his harsh expression unchanged, but...
He saluted.
Right hand clenched into a fist and pressed against his left chest. Firm. Respectful. Full of reverence.
Al blinked.
Several times.
"…Did you mistake me for someone else?" he muttered lazily.
Dedy shook his head, then bowed.
"Good morning, Young Master Al," said Dedy in a deep voice that could crack glass on a bad day.
Al just stared. "...What are you doing here?"
"I am monitoring the area around the house," Dedy answered firmly, still standing like he was guarding a palace.
"This building is two hundred meters from the main house. Why are you monitoring here?" Al asked, slightly annoyed.
"I must monitor every inch of the Virellano residential area, Young Master."
"Hmph… That's not your job, is it?"
"I-it is part of my duty, Young Master," Dedy stammered.
"Were you told to watch me?"
"Of course not, Young Master."
"Huh… whatever." Al waved him off lazily. "But I don't really like being watched, so keep a reasonable distance. Because if I start feeling uncomfortable… I might do something you won't like. Hehe."
Hearing that, Dedy's body stiffened.
Sweat started forming on his brow—despite the sun, it hadn't been there until now. Swallowing hard, Dedy responded obediently:
"U-understood, Young Master Al."
Al smiled faintly after teasing Dedy. Ever since he started living in this house, that man—this cold-blooded, granite-muscled human—had shown him a kind of respect that felt… genuine.
It made Al strangely comfortable about opening up.
Or perhaps… the man had a hidden agenda.
Even the ordinary servants never really treated Al like part of the family—let alone as their young master. They usually looked away, left him alone, and half-heartedly carried out any task involving him.
Like the wind, his presence could be felt… but never seen.
But this time—
Dedy, the elite bodyguard of the Virellano family, was standing at his door, greeting him as if he were a knight paying respect to his prince.
Al rubbed his face, thinking,
You were the executioner of my punishment last night… and now you're acting all gentle with me? Weird. He thought
But I guess that's not so bad. Because one day, you'll understand why I chose you. And you'll never regret it.
As Al stepped outside, the man moved aside, standing like a true guard. His bald head still reflected the morning sun like a blinding mirror.
Al squinted again. "Dedy…"
"Yes, Young Master?"
"I think you'd look more handsome with a hat."
No response. Dedy remained like a statue—but the corner of his lips slightly twitched, as if struggling to suppress a smile.
Al sighed lazily and walked down the small steps.
His mind still clouded with questions.
By the way. Is this part of a new plan? Is this a hidden punishment? Why is Dedy acting strange today? Or is it just because of my threat last night?
There was no definite answer, and he was too lazy to pry further.
He walked past Dedy and headed to the bathhouse, which was separate from his room.
As always, he still lived like a house prisoner… though now it felt like this prisoner was under excessive surveillance.
But Al didn't know—this time, Dedy had voluntarily appointed himself as Al's personal subordinate.
On his way to the bathroom, Al caught the sharp glances of the household staff. Maybe it was the fallout from last night's slander. It was the opposite of how Dedy had behaved earlier.
Dedy—unlike the other servants and bodyguards—was someone who, for whatever reason, remained deeply loyal to the family. Beyond that, from the beginning he had tried to treat Al with respect and see him as a person.
The other workers weren't just indifferent to Al; their stares were piercing. It felt like social punishment directed at a criminal. They had been heavily influenced by David and the others who rejected Al.
So that was how they looked at him: with disgust. The image of Al as a sexual predator and a wild, barbaric child had only grown in their eyes—even though it was rooted in manipulation.
---
Meanwhile, inside the Main House...
David stood behind the curtain of his bedroom window, peeking into the small yard where Al had just stepped out.
The satisfaction he felt last night seeing Al punished now felt meaningless, as things had become a bit more complicated this morning.
His eyes narrowed.
There—
Dedy. Standing a few meters behind Al, watching him.
Clearly not his usual behavior. Dedy was different from the other bodyguards—more respectful—but he wasn't the watchful type; he was an executor. That was why he'd been seen more like a legend than a mere house guard.
But now he was acting oddly. Lingering in public areas, surveying and guarding, and appearing friendlier toward Al—when normally he was stiff.
David furrowed his brows. "Why is he out there?"
Beside him stood a man in all-black attire—David's personal shadow guard.
"Why is Dedy stationed near that orphan boy's room today?" David asked coldly. "Are you still able to monitor him?"
"I... don't know, Young Master. Dedy moved on his own since dawn. I don't yet know the reason. And… it will be difficult to keep watching the boy if Dedy stays near him."
"If you don't know, then find out. Right now.
I'm not losing track of him just because of one shiny bald head."
The guard nodded and disappeared into the wall like a shadow blending into the air.
David stared into the distance. His expression hardened. There was a flicker of worry in his eyes.
Why did Dedy change… Is this Dad's order? Maybe last night's punishment made Dad put extra surveillance on him. Damn. I was so eager to see him suffer, I didn't think about this.
He could only lower his head and rub his forehead at the unexpected situation.
But not long after, a sharp smile flashed across his face.
He chose to bury those thoughts for now—because something big was about to happen today.
---
Al had just left the Virellano estate, heading to school.
A major event awaited him today—one that forced him to get up and leave earlier than usual.
He walked casually along the sidewalk, aiming for the nearest bus stop.
It was all because his status hadn't been made public yet.
And also, because of his own decision regarding that one-year bet.
After all, using a private car—let alone being chauffeured—didn't suit his "normal" identity.
Minimizing any trace of attention or public curiosity was a must for someone like him—A cursed child, one who was, consciously or not, always under the watch of something far greater in this world.
"Or maybe I should just walk instead? It's not that far, and there's a lot to see in the morning streets. I haven't trained much lately either. I guess this could count as a little physical exercise." he murmured, deciding to walk instead of taking the bus or a taxi.
"Like a monk climbing thousands of temple steps, I'll train by walking thousands of steps to school. Hehehe… interesting,"
As he went on, Al observed his surroundings. But something felt different today.
He noticed Dedy—not far behind him.
Keeping his distance. Yet clearly watching.
Like a bodyguard—but not quite.
Like a shadow—but too obvious.
Al glanced back for a moment.
He's really following me? Is he on duty now? Guess Father really did assign him this time, he thought.
He then looked around, hoping to spot the familiar figure of the previous stalker who often trailed him in secret—But today, that presence was gone.
Hmm… right. The usual one's not here anymore. Maybe… replaced? Or scared? Hehe.
---
Hazandeen International High School – School Festival Day
Today was the beginning of April.
The final school term for senior students like Al.
And as tradition goes, Hazandeen International High School officially opened its School Festival week—an annual celebration featuring competitions in sports, arts, and science & technology.
For final-year students, this was their last School Festival.
Including Al.
Although he didn't care about it at all, Rina had forced him to come early last night.
"Be here early! I need your help with prep. No excuses!"
Feeling a bit guilty (and too lazy to argue), Al actually showed up early.
He hadn't even had breakfast.
His stomach growled, his mouth yawned endlessly, but he still stepped into the schoolyard, which was starting to fill up.
The atmosphere today felt like a night market.
Colorful balloons, flags for each class waving proudly, booths being set up, and giant speakers blasting upbeat songs that only made Al want to sleep even more.
Small drones bearing the school's logo flew around, monitoring every corner.
The live footage was streamed directly to the teachers' lounge and the principal's office.
No minor violation went unnoticed.
As he passed through the gate, a headache started creeping in.
Hot, noisy, and… yeah, way too crowded.
"AL!! Change your clothes!" Rina shouted from afar, waving her hand while wearing a school sports jacket.
Al sighed deeply.
…This is why I hate joining events like this.
He made his way toward the locker room at the back of the school.
A quiet, peaceful place—usually free from interruptions.
Usually.
But not today.
As soon as he opened the locker room door—Jogo was already there.
Tall posture, broad shoulders, wrinkled sports uniform doing a poor job of hiding his muscular body.
A senior in the Hazandeen Martial Arts Club—a guy who thought everything could be solved with muscles and loud cheer squads.
Staring at Al with a sharp gaze whose meaning was unclear.
---