Without any hesitation, Richard got up and left the bedroom, heading straight for the study down the hall. The corridor was quiet, the kind of heavy silence that only existed in large estates where people were whispering behind closed doors. Before he even reached the study, the door swung open and a group of men stepped out, their expressions tight and guarded.
The moment he saw them, memories that didn't belong to him slotted neatly into place. Marik. Beverly. Noel. Luther. Micah. In Crimson Manor, those five were the real operators. Aside from his father, they were the ones who kept the organization running.
Marik and Beverly controlled the money, handling the accounts and investments that kept the operation alive. Noel and Luther were responsible for recruitment, scouting and grooming new members. Micah oversaw logistics, making sure weapons, safehouses, and supplies were always in place. Together, they formed the core management of the manor.
When they noticed Richard walking toward them, all five froze for half a second, surprise flickering across their faces.
Their eyes went straight to his hair.
Richard's hairstyle hadn't changed, nor had its length, but the color had. It was no longer the pale gold he'd been born with. It was silver now, a cold metallic shade that caught the light in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
Hair dye was an obvious explanation, but none of them believed he had sneaked out in the middle of the night just to visit a small-town salon. That left only one conclusion.
He had awakened.
Marik, a tall Black man who usually carried himself with calm authority, stepped forward first. His expression softened into something that looked almost fatherly.
"Richard, have you awakened your superpower?" he asked. His tone was gentle, but there was tension beneath it. "What kind of ability did you get? Can you show us?"
If this had been the old Richard, he would have answered immediately and honestly, desperate for approval. But the man standing there now wasn't the same person.
"I'll tell you about my abilities later," Richard said evenly. His voice was steady, lacking the usual hesitation. "When I was resting, I heard you discussing something in the study."
His gaze swept across all five of them.
"Were you talking about rescuing my father?" he continued. "Or about what direction the organization should take next?"
He didn't mention the vote directly at first. Even though he already knew the subject, he wanted to hear it from them.
Marik's expression changed instantly. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by something harder and calculating.
"You heard us?" he asked.
"Not everything," Richard replied calmly. "Just that you were voting on whether to send me away."
He glanced at Luther and the others behind Marik, watching their subtle reactions. Some stiffened. Some avoided eye contact.
Since when had his hearing become this sharp? The original memory didn't include anything like that. It had to be part of the awakening.
Marik frowned, clearly weighing his options. After a few seconds, he exhaled slowly.
"Since you already know, there's no point hiding it," he said. "Yes, we were voting on whether you should leave."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Your father has been captured. If that happened, your identity as a mutant is likely exposed as well."
He expected anger. Shock. Maybe even tears. Instead, Richard simply stood there, composed and unreadable.
Marik pushed on.
"After the vote, we decided it would be safer if you left for a while," he said. "Don't worry. We won't send you out with nothing. You'll get a car and ten thousand dollars."
He corrected himself mid-sentence, dropping from thirty to ten without even blinking.
"We'll bring you back once we're sure you're not being targeted by mutant enforcement agents."
Ten thousand dollars.
Richard almost laughed.
He had briefly considered whether destroying the organization would be too ruthless, given that Crimson Manor had been built by his father from nothing. But hearing this erased any lingering hesitation.
"A car and ten thousand?" he repeated, voice sharpening. "My father was just arrested, and this is how you treat his son?"
His eyes locked onto Marik.
"Don't forget who pulled you in when you had nowhere else to go. It was my father who gave you shelter and purpose. And now you're throwing me out to protect yourselves."
His gaze shifted to the others.
"Doesn't that bother you at all?"
For the first time, Marik truly saw the difference. The old Richard had always been timid, carrying a quiet inferiority complex because he hadn't awakened. This version stood straight, eyes steady, presence solid.
There was no weakness in him anymore.
"We're doing this to ensure the organization survives," Marik said carefully. "If your father were here, he would also—"
"There's no need for speeches," Richard cut in smoothly. "You want me gone? Fine. Give me the car and the money. I'll leave."
The speed of his acceptance caught them off guard.
Marik blinked. Luther exchanged a quick look with Beverly. This wasn't how they had expected the conversation to go.
"Alright," Marik said after a beat. "We'll prepare it now."
A few minutes later, in the parking lot in front of the manor's main building, Richard stood beside an ordinary Ford pickup truck. Marik handed him an envelope containing ten thousand dollars in cash.
Richard opened it, glanced at the stack of bills, then closed it without counting further.
He climbed into the truck without another word. The engine rumbled to life, and he drove off immediately, not even looking back.
Under the watchful eyes of the five managers, the pickup turned the corner and disappeared down the road.
Micah frowned. "He won't call the police, will he?"
"If he does, he'll be the first one in trouble," Marik replied quickly. "His identity is just as compromised."
Luther still looked uneasy. "He seemed different today. Should we have someone follow him?"
"Have someone tail him," Beverly suggested. "If he does something stupid, we can handle it early."
Marik hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Send Ross and Shane. Tell them to keep their distance."
"I'll inform them," Luther said, turning back toward the manor.
More than ten minutes later, Richard drove into the small town closest to Crimson Manor. He didn't waste time wandering. He headed straight for the gas station.
After parking, he walked into the small office and pulled two thousand dollars from the envelope.
"I need two hundred gallons of gasoline," he said.
In the United States, fuel was measured in gallons. One gallon was about 3.78 liters. Bulk purchases weren't common, but they weren't impossible either—especially if the buyer had proper containers.
Richard didn't have any.
That wasn't a problem.
Gas prices hovered around five dollars per gallon. Two thousand dollars more than covered the fuel and the cost of portable storage barrels. Money solved most inconveniences.
The attendant blinked in surprise at the amount but smiled quickly when he saw the cash.
"Sure thing, sir."
Within minutes, more than ten portable gasoline containers were loaded into the bed of the pickup truck. The smell of fuel hung heavy in the air.
Richard closed the tailgate and climbed back into the driver's seat.
He didn't hesitate.
The truck turned around and headed back toward the manor.
You want to take the manor and the organization for yourselves?
I'd rather burn it to the ground than hand it over.
Do you think I'll just swallow this humiliation?
I'm a transmigrator!