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 smirked. "I'm just curious—how would you react if one of your members was captured by the World Magic Association? You know the pain of watching someone you care about executed right before your eyes. By now, you should be numb if yet another friend was executed in front of you. Haha... so go on—lose control, 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... not for long,"
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 thought all that talk about resisting your emotions was true—but it's just empty words." Fahruk's laughter echoed as he went on,
"Look at Michae—"
Before Fahruk 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've just been a little bored with my new life. It's been… irritating lately. I suppose you'll do nicely as my outlet tonight," Al said, his smile carrying a dangerous edge.
"If you can…" Fahruk sneered in defiance.
CRACK!!
Al twisted Fahruk'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. 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."
Al shook his head, amused by the irony. The combination of the foul and fragrant smells yesterday had almost knocked his father out.
"That old man must still be traumatized by me."
Al felt a little disappointed by the treatment.
But the moment his nose caught the scent of warm milk and toasted bread, his eyes slowly opened to the delicious sight. His disappointment instantly vanished.
"Well, this will do for now."
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."
Inside, Al sat down, scooped a bite, chewed... and then dropped his head onto the table.
Fast asleep.
---
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, Father. 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, Father, 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,
"Father, 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.
Seeing his son sulking, Edward grew even more furious.
"That brat… Wait here."
He stormed off toward Al's room.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The knocking was thunderous—like Thor's hammer smashing into the door.
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, Dad'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 stood frozen. His cheek burned—not from shame, but from confusion.
"I'm sorry, Father, I…"
"And you! How dare you hit David! He's a respectful, well-mannered boy! What's wrong with you?!"
Al was even more confused.
"I… hit David?"
His mind started working like a detective in a crime film, until finally, he let out a soft sigh.
Looks like I've been framed… again.
Al bowed his head—not out of guilt, but out of respect for his father. Something was bothering him, making it hard to focus on what was happening next. And then—
SLAP!
Another slap landed, this time on his right cheek. Even harder than the last. His head jerked to the side, nearly hitting the small cabinet by the door. Al's eyes widened in shock.
"…Huh?"
No wounds. No bruises. But the throbbing pain was very real.
He was confused. He had a passive magical barrier—strong enough to deflect bullets and high-level spells—but it hadn't reacted at all. It was as if… the slap had been destined to bypass it.
Al blinked, the pain and confusion mixing into one. His eyes instinctively turned to his father, Edward Virellano, still standing there, red with fury.
"Get rid of that wild attitude if you want to be part of this family! Get dressed and go to school!"
Al said nothing. But it wasn't out of fear—he was analyzing.
Could this be… the effect of blood relation? Could an attack from a biological parent bypass barriers?
A theory crept into his mind—Blood Magic. A branch of magic once considered trivial due to its instability. But if his theory was right, Blood Magic might be one of the few forms that could bypass someone's natural defenses—thanks to its emotional and biological roots.
He just stared. His gaze was blank. Not sad, not angry... just empty.
Like someone trying to make sense of a world that was far too absurd.
His father turned away, still muttering under his breath, and slammed the door on his way out.
Silence.
Al touched his cheek.
"It's been a while since I felt pain like this."
He sighed. Not out of frustration—but because…
"This… is what it feels like to have a parent?"
He slowly sat down at the edge of the bed. Not traumatized. But not exactly at peace either.
"I guess Father's the type who hits out of love. Hm... No way. That kind of thing's bullshit in my case. But it does hurt. Hope I don't get into it with him again."
He began wondering how he should act as a son. Tolerating a parent's strict attitude and punishments could be necessary—especially when you're in the wrong. But tolerating unreasonable and unfair punishments? Should one fight back? How much unfair treatment is too much?
Thoughts swirled through his mind, banishing any trace of drowsiness.
He let out a dry laugh. Bitter.
His eyes sharpened.
"And David… I've tolerated you once. Let's play your game—your way."
Al then finished his breakfast while enduring the pain in his cheeks. He sipped the now-cold milk.
"Huff, I forgot to explain my school hours again. And about that stalker. Hope Dad's still out front."
After that, Al chose to bathe like a regular human. No magic. No shortcuts. No illusionary auto-dry.
The bathroom? Not in his room—but out back, where the servants usually cleaned themselves.
He passed several servants who looked awkward seeing the Young Master heading there. But Al just grinned and said:
"Relax. I won't dirty up the bathroom."
---