And then came the final grand prize:
The Mansion.
A colossal, multi-million-dollar castle of marble and glass. It wasn't just a house; it was a statement. The kind of place that made visiting guests whisper, "Is this man living in a museum?"
It had fifteen bedrooms, an indoor pool shaped like a dollar sign, cars that could make millionaires cry, and servants who looked like they were hired straight out of a royal magazine.
This dream palace was silently desired by Serene Morris, the White Raven.
She was calm, soft-spoken, and lived with their father, taking care of him as his health began to waver. She made his tea, read his medical prescriptions, and occasionally stopped him from trying to fry eggs with champagne. Or at least pretended to.
Naturally, she believed this would be her share.
Although each daughter had her personal expectations, none of them were completely sure.
But one thing was certain, the three hundred million dollar prize of the will.
Zaro had declared that it would go to the richest of them all, a challenge that instantly turned sisterhood into an Olympic sport.
And then there was the Mystery Box. The secret prize everyone was dying to uncover, rumored to hold something greater than all their inheritances combined.
A few moments later, the Lawyer of Doom arrived. A bald, spectacled man with the patience of a monk and the wardrobe of a penguin. He carried a briefcase, glasses, and that calm, soul-draining smile lawyers wear when they know your life is about to change.
The sisters gathered in the sitting room, tension thick enough to butter toast.
Zaro entered, walking slowly with his cane, looking every bit like the retired lion still proud of his mane. He looked weary but satisfied, an old lion ready to watch his cubs fight over the bones. He knew reading his will while alive was probably the dumbest idea in history, but he was too old to care.
"I just want to see which one of you spoiled brats actually hustles," he thought, chuckling to himself.
He'd over-pampered them with luxury cars, designer lives, private tutors, spa memberships for their pets, and now he wanted to see who could survive without the royal credit card.
When the lawyer finally settled into his chair, the air became electric.
The sisters exchanged side-eyes sharper than daggers.
Aurelia smirked, confident. Cynthia sat upright, ready. Vera crossed her legs, pretending not to care but silently plotting world domination. Serene smiled faintly, already imagining her father's old robe becoming hers.
The tension?
It was glorious.
The kind of energy that made even the curtains nervous.
Then, the lawyer took out the sealed envelope. He tore it open slowly, milking the suspense like a man born for television.
He cleared his throat, and it let out the universal sound of drama. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose ridge, and he pushed them back up with exaggerated seriousness.
And then he began:
"I, Zaro Morris, once the great King of Nethros City, breaker of chains, crimson judge, sealer of shadows, and last of the royal bloodline..."
(At this point, Cynthia whispered, "Did he seriously write his own title list again?")
"... being of sound mind and body, do hereby present my final will…"
The sisters leaned forward.
"My main company, VelvArc Media… I give to Steve Morris."
Silence.
Aurelia blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Then her face froze like a WiFi signal in a thunderstorm.
Her heart dropped faster than a bad stock. Her carefully painted smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure disbelief.
"STEVE WHO?!" she finally exploded.
Her voice echoed through the mansion, rattling the chandeliers.
But the lawyer, unfazed, he'd seen it all before, so, he continued in his monotonous courtroom tone:
"My publishing company, InkNest Press… I also give to Steve Morris."
Cynthia shot up like a launched missile.
"WHAT?! Dad! You can't just... who the hell is Steve Morris?!"
"That's my company!"
Her eyes bulged so wide you could practically see her GPA dropping.
The lawyer didn't even blink.
"My mansion and all within it, I leave for Steve Morris."
Serene froze. Her soul quietly left her body to go check heaven's guest list for this Steve person.
"Steve… and Morris?" she muttered in disbelief. "But… Father doesn't even have a son!"
Vera gasped dramatically. "Wait. Don't tell me Dad's been hiding a secret child!"
Cynthia turned to her. "If Steve's younger than thirty, I'm suing him and God."
The four sisters were now fully losing it.
The lawyer, meanwhile, just continued calmly, the human equivalent of a slow-loading printer.
Now, the four sisters were confused, furious, and dangerously close to spontaneous combustion.
"And lastly… the contents of the Mystery Box and the three hundred million dollars… I give all… to Steve Morris."
And that was it. The bomb. The apocalypse. The end of peace.
Aurelia screamed. Cynthia fainted and got back up just to scream again. Vera started throwing pillows like grenades. Serene clutched her chest, whispering, "This is not happening."
It was chaos.
It was everything Zaro secretly wanted to see.
The lawyer simply closed the parchment, adjusted his tie, and said, "Well, that concludes the will. Any questions?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "Every family has its own fireworks," he murmured.
...
And outside the fictional world, Star's anime fans... yes, the ones watching this whole chaos play out onscreen, were losing their minds.
Social media exploded.
#WhoTheHeckIsSteve trended for three straight days.
People made memes, parodies, and conspiracy reels faster than the show's writers could breathe.
Twitter (or "X") exploded.
Reels flooded in.
"WHO THE HECK IS STEVE MORRIS?!" trended worldwide.
Fan theories popped up faster than popcorn in a microwave.
Some swore Steve was Zaro's hidden son.
Others claimed he was Zaro himself, reincarnated.
One conspiracy even said Steve was the family's butler in disguise.
Back inside the mansion, the chaos only worsened.
Aurelia tried to grab the will from the lawyer's hands. Cynthia chased Vera around the room. Serene sat on the couch, eyes glazed, whispering "I fed him soup! I fed him soup!"
Zaro just sat back, chuckling like an old man watching his favorite comedy rerun.
Just as everyone, both inside the story and the real-world fans, reached maximum brain meltdown. The screen flashed a single phrase in bold, dramatic letters:
TO BE CONTINUED…