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 slowly opened his eyes, his body still sore and aching from the so-called "night of judgment" he had just endured.
The memories of what had transpired the night before resurfaced one after another in his mind, creating an additional layer of irritation on top of the already dreadful burden of a Monday morning. Yet what truly lingered in his thoughts, refusing to let him rest, was a single puzzling question: How could his father's slap so easily break through the magical barrier he had erected?
Was it truly possible that the bond between parent and child could override the effects of magic itself? Could it be some sort of divine decree set forth by the Creator? If that were the case, did it mean that parents held absolute authority over their children? And if so, for how long would such an effect remain valid—was it simply because he was still only seventeen years old?
"I suppose I'll have to test it again once I turn eighteen, just a few months from now," he muttered groggily, his voice still heavy with drowsiness.
He forced himself to stop dwelling on those troublesome thoughts and instead raised his right hand. 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.
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 dragged himself lazily out of bed, from within the small, shabby space that was referred to as his "room"—though in truth, the place was little better than an abandoned storage shed.
"Haaah… waking up early is such a damn nuisance," Al complained aloud. Then a sudden thought struck him. "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.
He 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.
Someone was standing firm at his door, back facing Al, posture stiff like a military statue. Broad shoulders, tall and muscular body—even from behind, this figure looked like someone who could make others wet their pants just by standing there.
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.
"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 after teasing him, and for the first time since living in this house, someone—a cold-blooded man with granite muscles—had shown him genuine respect.
Even the regular servants never treated him like part of the family. They often ignored him or left him alone. Like the wind—his presence felt, but unseen.
But this…
Dedy, the elite bodyguard of the Virellano family, now stood before his room and greeted him like a knight to a prince.
Al wiped his face, thinking:
Did I die last night and wake up in a parallel world… or is this some psychological side effect from being scolded too much in this house?
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.
Is this part of a new plan?
A secret punishment?
Why is Dedy acting so weird today?
Or was it because of my threat last night? Do people really have to be afraid before they show respect?
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.
Unfortunately, Dedy was different from the other servants and bodyguards. It wasn't just indifference—they looked at Al with piercing gazes, as if passing social judgment on a criminal. That's how they saw him: with utter disgust. The image of Al as a sexual predator kept growing stronger in their eyes, even though it all stemmed from 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 different from usual.
Normally, Dedy was the one who avoided even looking at Al for more than five seconds.
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 is Dedy acting different… Is this Father's order?
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.
---
On the Road to School
Al walked leisurely along the stone path leading to the main gate of the Virellano estate.
As usual, without a car, without a driver. Just walking on his own two feet.
His status, which had not yet been officially made public, was the reason why his family still had not provided him with a personal vehicle or a chauffeur the way they had done for his siblings. What they gave him instead was simply a modest allowance—enough for daily taxi fares and pocket money, which in truth was already more than sufficient for someone like him.
Yet it was he himself who deliberately chose to walk. For some reason, he had gradually grown accustomed to making the journey from his residence to the academy on foot. The distance was not particularly far, and along the way there were always many small, interesting things to observe on the streets.
To him, it had also become a form of physical training in its own right. Much like a monk who tempers his spirit by climbing thousands upon thousands of stone steps, Al trained his body by taking thousands of steps every morning on the road to school.
Only one thing was different today.
Dedy.
Far behind him.
Keeping a respectful distance, but obviously watching.
Like a bodyguard—but not.
Like a shadow—but far too visible.
Al glanced back.
He's really following me, he thought.
Then he scanned his surroundings, hoping to spot the familiar presence of the spy who usually watched him silently—
But today, that presence was gone.
Maybe… he really was replaced.
Or maybe he got scared.
---
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.
---