"01... or more accurately, Adrian."
He turned slowly toward Number (02), who was struggling to gather his broken self from the floor, face masked in blood. In a freezing tone, Igor continued:
"And you, Niko... both of you will soon enter the 'Dark Clan Academy'."
"Of course, you are utter failures with no hope of entering on your own merit. They accept only the Masters of Shadows and the scions of corrupt nobles."
A heavy silence followed.
Then, he continued with a revolting, sallow smile:
"But I shall consider myself your father. I will grant you my name, 'Vanit,' so that you may walk its halls as my legitimate sons. I will send you there once you have gained enough experience in dealing with ordinary humans—once you learn how to mask the animal instinct I have planted within you."
He drove the tip of his staff into the ground and went on:
"The Academy is not merely a place for combat; it is a stage. There, you will learn how to deceive, how to infiltrate the ranks, and how to smile at those you intend to slaughter. Your graduation will be the final lesson under my supervision. Only then will I send you to the 'Kingdom of Light' to begin your true mission."
He leaned toward Niko's ear and whispered in a voice that reached everyone present:
"At the Academy, everyone will treat you as nobles, but to me, you will remain mere drafts I am trying to refine. If either of you falls or is exposed, do not expect me to save you; a father does not protect failing sons."
An absolute silence fell.
It was broken only by the howling of the cold winds whistling through the Citadel's corroded pillars. The word "Father" hung in the suffocating air like a noose—heavy, fraudulent, and poisoned.
Niko's Perspective:
Niko stared at the ground. His hands trembled with a mixture of suppressed rage and primal fear. He spat a clot of blood from his mouth, his thoughts boiling:
"Father?"
"What kind of father drives his staff into his children's wounds?"
"What fragile family is built upon the remains of Number 03?"
He recognized the bitter truth: Igor didn't want sons; he wanted hounds dressed in finery. He felt a surge of bitterness that I had received my "name" for being the strong one, while in Igor's eyes, he was merely a flawed experiment. But he made his choice. He would go to that Academy—not for Igor, but to become strong enough to crush this "Father" and to tear that cold, provocative look from my eyes.
Adrian's Perspective:
I watched the movement of Igor's lips with total stillness. My mind, accustomed to reviewing manuscripts, began to analyze the character's motives:
Igor isn't looking for a family; he's looking for cover. Placing us under his name meant claiming legal and magical ownership of us before the other clans. To him, the Academy was nothing more than a "revision stage" before the final publication in the Kingdom of Light. He wanted us to learn how to be human... because he knew with certainty that exposed monsters are slaughtered quickly.
But monsters who master the art of smiling?
My hatred deepened. I wondered again how someone could be this cunning. I felt the cold mana in my marrow, then quickly looked at Igor. I didn't see a father; I saw a "tyrant" trying to force his narrative upon me.
I raised my head slowly. I locked my black gaze into his sunken eyes and spoke in a voice devoid of any tremor:
"Very well... Father."
I said it with a dead tone, as if I were pronouncing a death sentence. Igor flashed a wide, sallow grin, baring his disgusting teeth as if he had won a decisive round. As for Niko, his features contorted; the word struck his pride like a dagger's twist.