As soon as he entered his room, Al dropped himself onto the bed, still wearing long pants and a thin T-shirt.
His body relaxed—he no longer felt the lingering effect of the earlier nightmare. On top of that, he felt a little pleased after giving David that small jab.
Because he was relaxed, the sleepiness that had vanished earlier returned. His eyes grew heavy, and the fatigue from last night's long patrol came back.
Just as he was about to pull the blanket over himself—
Tringg... Tringg...
His phone rang. Indra's name appeared on the screen.
Al answered it with one hand while still lying down, voice groggy.
"Hello?"
Indra's cheerful voice rang out instantly.
"You're free this morning, right? Come with me to the fish market. I've got some university research to do. Just two hours."
Al clicked his tongue. "Nah. I didn't get enough sleep."
Indra chuckled lightly, as if expecting that answer.
"My mom made some cake, you know. For you."
Al opened one eye.
"…Cake?"
"Yup. And cold soda."
In an instant, Al sat up straight, eyes wide open.
"Okay, wait for me."
Click.
Call ended immediately.
On the other end, Indra chuckled and shook his head.
"Lazy brat. Only motivated when there's cake involved. Even though he's already filthy rich, he can still be baited with food so easily. Haha, that kid's weird." Al murmured.
---
8:00 a.m. — the city was getting busy.
Al walked along the sidewalk wearing a black hoodie, hood down.
Underneath, he already had his full HIHS school uniform on, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. His pace was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp as usual.
Beside him, Indra wore a casual navy-blue shirt and brown cargo pants. A digital camera hung from his neck, and a messenger bag full of notebooks was slung over his shoulder.
They arrived at the Makazhar Fish Auction Market, a bustling area filled with the sharp scent of salt and sea. It was noisy, vibrant, and chaotic in that familiar port-city way.
The market was large and unique—besides the main auction zone, there was also a section for regular retail sales.
Their goal was simple: to buy fresh fish for Indra's research on heavy metal contamination in urban ocean fish.
But the mood shifted when they passed a certain corner of the market.
A loud shout rang out.
A uniformed market officer was shoving and scolding an old vendor with a small cart.
"I told you, this place isn't for bottom-feeders like you! If you can't pay rent, get lost!"
The old man pleaded. "But, sir… I already paid like usual. I just—"
The officer kicked over the cart, sending fresh fish scattering across the ground.
The air turned cold. The other vendors looked away, pretending not to see.
Indra stepped forward and raised his voice.
"Hey! That's too much."
His steps were firm. The camera around his neck bounced slightly.
"Small vendors have rights too, sir," he added.
The officer turned, giving Indra a once-over.
"Who are you?"
"A college student? Hmph… Looks like you're just a commoner's kid."
The officer narrowed his eyes.
"You better stay out of this, boy. Before you and your family regret it. This is Norvalien territory, you know?"
Indra paused. He knew it was true. His family's fishery business was affiliated with a company owned by the Norvalien family. But he kept his gaze steady.
"Right is right. Wrong is wrong."
"So you do want trouble."
The officer signaled for two large security guards to come over.
"Teach this kid a lesson. Make sure he doesn't forget it."
Two bulky men approached. Indra braced himself, though clearly he wasn't a fighter.
As the first punch was about to land—
Srettt!
Al caught the man's arm with one hand.
"Haah… Indra, Indra…" he sighed. "You really do love meddling in other people's problems."
With a swift, clean movement, Al twisted the guard's arm and flipped him to the ground. The other guard lunged but was met with a sharp kick to the chest, sending him rolling into a pile of fish crates.
Indra froze.
"Al… since when were you this good at fighting?!"
Al brushed his hands off casually, then ran his fingers through his hair.
"Me? Nah. That wasn't fighting, really. More like… hmm… giving a lesson."
Seeing both his bodyguards taken down so easily by a teenager, the market officer began to panic. This kid could ruin the whole market scene without even breaking a sweat.
But it wouldn't be that easy for Al—because he immediately called for reinforcements.
A dozen large men arrived—market security and a few local thugs. It was as if they were all part of the same scheme.
"You brat! How dare you disturb the peace of this market!"
Several thugs and security guards shouted in unison.
The market officer smirked.
"Told you not to get in our way," he said arrogantly.
Al glanced at them lazily.
Indra couldn't believe what he was seeing. The old man they had helped could only gape in shock. And now, the two kids who had come to his aid were caught up in a big problem.
The old man tried to get up, begging them to make peace.
Indra wanted to step in as well, even though he had no idea what might happen. He didn't believe Al could handle this—even if Al was capable of fighting.
But Al raised a hand slightly, stopping them.
"You don't need to act. It's just a minor problem. I can handle it," he said calmly.
"But Al…" Indra started.
"Psst… don't argue. I've already taken action. Just be ready to call an ambulance for them if needed — that's the best you can do right now, if you pity them, of course," Al said, calm but firm.
Seeing that confidence, Indra could only nod.
"Don't get cocky, kid," one of the security men shouted.
"Arrogant little brat," another added.
And they all readied themselves to take Al down.
Three of them stepped forward—two thugs barehanded, and one market guard wielding a baton.
Al sighed softly, rolling his shoulders as if warming up for something trivial.
The first thug lunged with a wild swing, but Al merely leaned aside, letting the fist cut through empty air. With a flick of his foot, he swept the man's ankle and watched him crash face-first onto the ground.
The baton came next, aimed at his ribs. Al caught it mid-swing, twisted his wrist slightly, and pulled the guard forward before driving an elbow into the man's chest. The guard stumbled back, gasping for air.
The last thug tried to grab Al from behind, but before he could lock his arms, Al bent low and kicked backward—his heel landing perfectly on the man's abdomen. The thug folded and fell, groaning in pain.
"You already know I can take down two of you easily. What's the difference if three of you attack?" Al muttered lazily, dusting off his pants as if he'd just finished stretching rather than fighting.
That effortless display alone made the remaining guards and thugs hesitate.
The teenager before them clearly wasn't just some reckless kid.
Indra was left gaping.
"Whoa, Al… you're seriously something else," he muttered, completely at a loss for words.
The old man beside him could only stare in disbelief.
Almost all the market guards now had their batons raised, while several thugs slid their hands to their waists, touching the hidden weapons—knives, most likely.
They had realized by now—Al wasn't some amateur fighter. He had taken down five large men effortlessly, as casually as swatting flies.
Some of them looked uneasy, while others still believed numbers would win the fight. After all, they still had more than a dozen men left, and they were armed.
The crowd—vendors, shoppers, bystanders—could only watch in stunned silence.
They were skeptical that Al could possibly win against that many opponents. Even if he had skill, it still looked impossible.
And as usual, Al's face stayed perfectly calm—almost bored. As if all this was nothing more than a bit of morning exercise for his lazy body that often went numb from oversleeping.
"Are you done?" Al asked, his tone almost tired, as if waiting for them was more annoying than fighting them.
The provocation worked. Their adrenaline surged, and this time seven of them charged in at once—five thugs with hidden knives and two market guards wielding batons.
"Don't underestimate us, kid!" one of them shouted.
Despite being thugs and market guards, they weren't just muscle. Their movements showed coordination—they circled, searching for an opening.
But the boy had none. Two of the thugs were already down before the others could react.
The remaining three drew their knives, while the two guards rushed from opposite sides.
Al braced himself—
But then—
"Stop!!!"
A loud voice echoed from the distance.
Their movements froze instantly, everyone turning toward the source of the voice—including Al, though he still managed to throw one last lazy punch that sent another thug sprawling to the ground.
From a distance, two figures approached—a mature woman and a girl who looked no older than fifteen.
Their uniforms were neat and elegant, clearly belonging to housemaids from a prestigious family.
"What on earth are you people doing, causing this mess?" the older maid scolded sharply, while the younger one followed quietly behind her.
The market officer hurried over to the two women, quickly explaining the situation from his perspective.
The market guards began carrying away their injured comrades, and the thugs soon followed, helping their fallen members limp away from the scene.
Al, however, simply stared, looking confused.
"Who are they? Don't tell me they're from the Norvalien household?" he asked.
Indra shook his head uncertainly, though something about them did feel familiar.
The old man suddenly spoke up, his voice low but firm.
"You're right… that's the head maid of the Norvalien family. And the young one beside her is probably just a regular servant."
"Ah… no wonder she looked a bit familiar," Indra said.
Al nodded slightly, resting a hand on his chin.
"Hmph… does that mean things are about to get worse?" he asked lazily.
Idham and the old man exchanged awkward glances, unsure how to respond—but both silently agreed it wasn't looking good.
Al turned his eyes toward the two women, studying them more closely.
But for some reason, his vision pulsed for a second—an odd flicker of discomfort.
Just then, the head maid, followed by the younger one and the market officer, started walking toward Al and Indra.
Al couldn't help but wonder if this was about to turn into a bigger problem.
But luckily—
"Young man," the head maid said, addressing Indra, "I recognize you. You're the son of one of the Norvalien family's major business partners, aren't you?"
Indra blinked, surprised she knew him, then nodded lightly.
"Yeah, that's right."
The woman gave a small nod, her tone calm and composed.
"In that case, I suggest we end this matter here. I have no interest in seeing internal conflict between the Norvalien family's associates."
Indra felt a wave of relief wash over him—it sounded like things could end peacefully after all.
He was about to reply when the maid's expression suddenly turned cold, her gaze sharp and heavy.
"However, don't relax just yet," she said.
"I'm ending it here, yes—but the final decision lies with the Patriarch."
Her eyes shifted toward Al, her tone firm and dismissive, as if she had no interest in dragging this out.
"You've disrupted Norvalien business, and your friend here assaulted our workers. Consider this a simple warning—but be prepared to face the consequences."
Without waiting for a response, she turned away.
"Let's go, Eva," she said curtly.
The young maid followed behind her quietly.
Indra stood there, tense. The threat still hung in the air, even if the situation seemed resolved for now.
Al, meanwhile, didn't bother worrying about the intimidation. His gaze lingered on the two figures as they left, that faint sting in his eyes still bothering him.
He eventually sighed it off.
Probably just fatigue from last night, he thought.
And with that, his final thought drifted lazily—
I think all head butlers are the same—stiff and uptight. Just like Harun in the Virellano household. And… of course, Sebastian too.
The market officer also quickly moved to help his injured men up and began retreating.
Before leaving, he shot them a cold glare.
"You're lucky the head maid stepped in to save you. But… you've made a mistake. I doubt the Norvalien family will let this slide!"
He then turned and left, leaving behind the stench of fear and threat.
---
Indra walked over to help the old man gather the scattered fish.
Al remained still, eyes locked in the direction the officer had gone.
"…Norvalien?"
His eyes narrowed. In his thoughts:
Bullied by Rudi at school, now threatened by his family. Seems like my fate with them isn't all that pleasant.
As they helped the old man return the fish to his woven basket, Al broke the silence.
"Indra… aren't you scared? I mean, your family might get dragged into trouble if the Norvaliens retaliate."
Indra glanced sideways. His eyes held some anxiety, but no regret.
He let out a slow breath.
"I don't know, Al… Of course I don't want my family to get hurt. But still… I can't just stand by and watch someone be treated like that."
Al said nothing—just gave a faint smile. They stood up together.
The old man looked at them, eyes glassy with emotion.
"Thank you, young men… But… listen. If you can still leave this city, leave."
Al and Indra turned to him.
"Why, sir?"
The old man lowered his head. His voice was heavy.
"The Norvalien family… they're too big to fight. In this city, only two names can oppose them—Virellano and Tamarvich."
Al and Indra exchanged looks. No clear response. Just a quiet nod.
"Thank you for the warning, sir. But don't worry… We're not the type to go down that easily," Indra said with a smile.
They said their goodbyes and walked out of the market.
---
On the way out…
"What about you, Al… aren't you scared?" Indra asked.
"Hmph... silly me. Of course the Virellano family will help you if they're targeting you." he added.
"I don't know." Al replied calmly.
"But actually, I'm scared." he added.
"You are?" Indra wondered.
Al nodded.
"Yup. I'm scared the soda's not cold anymore," he said with a hint of joke.
Indra stared at him, half annoyed.
Al grinned.
Indra burst out laughing. "You lazy brat."
And that's how Al helped Indra finish his goal for the day—and earned his reward in the form of cake and soda at Indra's house.
---
Outside Indra's home, after Al enjoyed Indra's mom's homemade cake and a cold soda, he put his shoes back on, ready to head to school.
Al watched Indra's Mother stand up to see him off, with Indra standing behind her doing who-knows-what.
A strange unease crept into Al's chest for a moment. Still, he forced himself calm —
Everything will be fine for them and for me. Be calm. Whatever threat comes for you, I won't let it happen. he thought, as if that family were a pillar of priceless value to him.
With that resolve, he said his goodbyes.
"Auntie, thanks for the cake and soda. Your cooking's still the best in the world."
"Of course it is," Indra's mother said with a bashful smile.
"Come by again, okay? I'll make you a new kind of cake next time."
"Definitely, Auntie. I'll be going now."
Al lingered a moment longer as he bade them farewell. That odd feeling was still there, but he pushed it away.
Negative thoughts always lead to negative outcomes. Everything will be okay. he told himself.
With a wave, he excused himself and briskly walked down the narrow alley toward the main road.
---
Meanwhile, at the Norvalien Estate
In a luxurious baroque-style living room, Rudi Norvalien had just arrived home from school. His uniform was still neat, shoes polished.
In front of him, several injured market guards were being treated by the family's private medics.
"What is this?" Rudi asked sharply.
The head market officer, dressed in black with a Norvalien crest on his collar, stepped forward and whispered the explanation.
"A minor incident, Young Master. A few of my men were attacked… by two teenagers."
Rudi raised an eyebrow.
"Teenagers? Who?"
Without a word, the officer showed him CCTV footage from the market. Clear as day: Al, in a black hoodie, flooring several adult security guards like they were flies.
Rudi froze.
"Al? again?" he muttered.
"Wait… I thought he couldn't fight? Yesterday he was just a plaything for that girl."
His eyes narrowed — a mix of anger and curiosity flashed within them.
"So, he can fight? Then that means… he's really the one who beat up those thugs that day?" he muttered, deep in thought.
But he quickly shook his head.
"No, no. Maybe he just knows a bit of martial arts. The experts said those thugs' injuries were far too severe. Impossible for some street fighter like him to cause that," he said, denying his own assumption.
"After all, those market guards were just amateurs with big bodies—enough to scare people and beat up the weak."
He then sighed.
"Hmph... Maybe that brat had a master? And that person was the one who helped him that day… and taught him how to fight?" Rudi murmured again.
"Or maybe… that incident had nothing to do with him at all,"
In the end, he decided not to think too deeply about it. Nothing was certain anyway.
What was certain, however, was that Al knew martial arts — and that made him dangerous if Rudi ever tried to bully him the usual way.
"That damned fly!" he spat.
With that, he decided to meet his father — who was no doubt just as furious about today's incident.
Soon after, Rudi entered his father's large study, the room heavy with the smell of cigars and family business papers.
"Dad. I know who caused the trouble at the market. His name is Al… he's just an orphanage kid."
"Al?" His father spun his large chair to face him.
"Is that the scholarship kid you once mentioned?"
"Yes, Dad." Rudi nodded.
His father fell silent for a moment. He glanced at a file he had just received — a document about the family's fish product distribution.
"You seem excited. Do you intend to execute that kid?" his father asked.
"Of course, Dad." Rudi answered with a firm nod. "If he hadn't been protected by that foundation, I would've crushed him long ago. Now we finally have a reason to execute him."
"You say that, yet you still sent thugs to beat him. Our family almost had trouble with that foundation tied to Alasia Group." his father replied.
"Dad. You know I only asked them to harass the orphanage kid. They took the initiative to go further and even mentioned our family's name." Rudi said.
"If something had happened to that kid back then, huge trouble would've come to us," he added.
His father nodded.
"Fortunately someone handled those stupid thugs. Whoever it was, I suppose I should thank them." Rudi continued.
He was still unable to imagine that Al was the one behind it. He remained completely unaware that the person he wanted to thank was actually Al himself.
"So how do you propose we execute him now? Even though we have a reason, isn't it still risky? What if Alasia insists on taking care of their ward?" his father prodded, sharpening his son's problem-solving.
Rudi touched his chin, thinking.
"You're right, Dad. In the end we can't be too direct. Maybe we can strike without using our name? At least not as clumsy as those thugs." Rudi mulled for a solution.
His father smiled and chuckled softly.
"Haha. You really are my son." He praised, a hint of pride at how quickly Rudi found an angle. "In that case, I think I know someone who can do it."
"Really, Dad?" Rudi asked, enthusiastic.
His father nodded. He picked up a scrap of paper with a name and address written on it and pushed it to Rudi.
"Go see this man. Tell him to handle the orphanage kid. But make sure no one finds out — it would be damaging to our family's image. This man is an expert at making people 'disappear' without a trace."
Rudi took the paper and read the name: Daraka.
"Who is he, Dad? Can he be trusted?"
His father nodded again.
"He's a shaman popular among the elite. Reliable and utterly dependable. From what I hear, if the price is right, there's nothing he can't do."
"Price is right?"
"You'll find out there. Go before other clients beat you to him. He must have thousands of clients."
Rudi nodded and offered a thin smile.
"Alright, Dad. I'll handle it." He left with a cheerful gait, like a kid thrilled to be given candy.
After Rudi left, his father looked at a family photo of three people — Indra and his parents.
"An orphan and this family… Hmph. You're useful under me, but that's exactly the problem. Your growth has been too fast—it's starting to throw the balance of this business off," he murmured calmly.
"Actually, I've been looking for a way to put you back where you belong. And now, I finally have a reason. Heh… blame your son for being too bold to oppose us. Prepare yourselves to suffer the consequences," he added with a grin.
He then crumpled the photo in his hand and tossed it into the trash bin.
---