On the edge of a towering cliff stood a modern miracle—a two-story mansion that appeared to defy gravity itself, as if it might tumble into the ocean at any moment. Yet it remained steadfast, a testament to both architectural ambition and engineering prowess.
The morning sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, each pane as large as a single-story house. Golden rays danced across the polished marble floors as the sun slowly emerged from the horizon, painting the endless sea in shades of amber and rose. Below, waves crashed against the rocky hillside with rhythmic precision, their soothing melody filling the vast, empty space.
Elric stood motionless before the grand window, his silhouette dark against the brilliant backdrop. In his hand, he held a crystal glass filled with deep red wine. He swirled it gently, watching the liquid catch the light, then brought it to his lips and took a slow sip.
The taste was bitter.
Just like everything else in his life these days.
The sharp ring of his phone shattered the morning silence like a hammer through glass. Elric's jaw tightened as he glanced at the caller ID. His heart sank—that familiar dread washing over him like cold water.
He stood there for three rings, four, five, before reluctantly pressing the answer button.
"How much damage this time?" His voice came out hollow, echoing in the cavernous room.
But contrary to his grim mood, a cheerful voice burst through the speaker, practically bubbling with enthusiasm. "It's eleven billion dollars, boss! You're incredible as ever!"
Elric's knees nearly buckled. The wine glass trembled in his hand as the number reverberated in his skull. Eleven billion. The compliment that followed felt less like praise and more like the entire world was mocking him, laughing at his pathetic attempts.
An unknown anger surged through his chest, hot and suffocating. A year's worth of frustration—every failed plan, every backfired scheme, every perfectly executed strategy that somehow resulted in success instead of failure—came flooding back all at once.
With a primal roar, he hurled the crystal glass across the room.
It shattered against the marble wall, red wine streaking down like blood, glass fragments scattering across the pristine white floor like deadly diamonds.
"Why?" His voice cracked as he pressed his palms against the cold window. "Why is it like this? Why... why is losing money so difficult?"
He slumped against the glass, his breath fogging the surface. His reflection stared back at him—dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, the face of a man defeated by his own success.
It had all started a year ago. One normal day. One incredible encounter that changed everything.
...........
/////One Year Earlier///////
"I'm missing my fries!"
Even in the crowded fast-food restaurant, the shrill accusation cut through the ambient noise like a siren. Conversations died mid-sentence. Burger wrappers stopped crinkling. People looked up from their meals, curious eyes seeking the source of the commotion.
The woman standing at the counter seemed utterly oblivious to the attention—or perhaps she was simply accustomed to being the center of such scenes. She leaned forward aggressively, her manicured finger jabbing toward the young man behind the register.
"How can you be so careless?" she continued, her voice rising with each word. "I want my money back! Now!"
The young man—Elric—maintained his customer service smile, though the edges had begun to fray. He took a slow breath, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on the edge of the counter.
"Madam," he said, forcing his voice to remain professional and calm, "I just saw you eat your fries. In that corner right there." He gestured toward the seating area where she'd been sitting moments before.
The woman's face turned an impressive shade of crimson. "You bastard! Are you calling me a liar?"
Elric's eye twitched involuntarily. The smile finally cracked, replaced by something colder, sharper. "Ma'am, if you can't remember just a moment ago, then I think you need more than a refund. I know a good doctor—would you like a recommendation?"
Time seemed to slow as the woman's face contorted with rage. In one swift motion, she grabbed her paper cup and flung its contents directly at Elric's face.
Cold soda splashed across his face and chest, dripping down his uniform. Ice cubes bounced off the counter and scattered across the floor. For a moment, Elric stood there, frozen, cola dripping from his hair, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
The woman raised the empty cup, preparing to throw it at his face as well.
That's when Elric's fist came down on the counter with a thunderous BANG.
The sound reverberated through the restaurant like a gunshot. The woman's hand froze mid-throw. A sharp pain radiated through her cheek—wait, what? She hadn't even seen him move. Her hand flew to her face, feeling the burning sensation spreading across her skin.
Before she could process what had happened, her feet found the puddle of spilled soda. Her designer heels had no traction on the slick floor. She went down hard, landing awkwardly on her hip with a cry of pain.
The entire restaurant fell into stunned silence.
Everyone stared—some at the woman sprawled on the floor, others at Elric standing behind the counter, his hand still pressed flat against the surface, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage.
"You... you fucking lowlife!" the woman screeched from the floor, her voice now tinged with equal parts fury and pain. "I'm suing your ass! What are you looking at?" She pointed wildly at a man nearby who'd had the misfortune of making eye contact.
"Didn't you see what just happened?" she demanded, struggling to stand while clutching her hip. "He assaulted me! Call the police!"
The man, suddenly finding himself thrust into the spotlight of this drama, made a face that clearly communicated his desire to be anywhere else on Earth. He didn't even bother to be polite about it.
"Bitch, leave me out of this," he said flatly, then grabbed his order and made a hasty exit, leaving the automatic doors to swing shut behind him.
"What happened, Elric?"
A middle-aged man came rushing from the back kitchen—though "middle-aged" was generous. Rick was probably only in his late twenties, but the stress of restaurant management had aged him prematurely. His eyes swept the scene: Elric's soaked uniform, the woman on the floor, the puddle of soda, the scattered ice cubes, the nervous customers.
He understood immediately.
"Elric, go inside," Rick said, his voice firm but not unkind.
"But Rick—" Elric started to protest.
"No 'but Rick' about it. Go inside." Rick pointed his thumb toward the kitchen, his expression brooking no argument. After a moment of tense eye contact, Elric wisely decided to comply.
As he walked away, he could still hear the woman's shrill voice rising behind him, now directed at Rick.
"Ma'am, are you okay?"
"Don't think that being gentle means I won't call the police!"
"Definitely not, ma'am. It's your right to call anyone you like. However, you're disturbing my business, so if you want to lie down, please do it somewhere else."
"You... you...!"
In the relative quiet of the back kitchen, away from the chaos, Elric found some semblance of peace. The familiar sounds surrounded him—the sizzle of grease on the griddle, the beeping of timers, the hum of industrial refrigerators.
"Here you go, Elric."
A young man about Elric's age approached, holding out a burger wrapped in paper. His name tag read "Marcus," and unlike everyone else in the restaurant, he wore a genuine smile—not the forced customer service variety, but the kind born from actual friendship.
"Eat something," Marcus said, sitting down beside him on a storage crate. "Your mood will get better."
Elric took the burger and bit into it aggressively, as if venting all his frustration on the unfortunate sandwich. Grease ran down his fingers, but he didn't care. Each bite was punctuated by the grinding of his teeth.
"What happened today?" Marcus asked, though he didn't really wait for an answer. "Why so angry? Is your aunt's illness worse?"
Elric's face twisted at the mention. Marcus didn't need a verbal response—the expression said it all.
"Don't worry too much," Marcus said quietly, placing a hand on Elric's shoulder. "It'll get better. Things always do."
Elric wanted to believe that. God, how he wanted to believe that.
Twenty minutes passed before the noise outside finally subsided. Elric steeled himself, wiped the remaining cola from his face with a damp towel, and stepped back into the main restaurant.
If anything, the scene had gotten worse.
The woman was still there—still screaming—but now her ire was directed at two police officers who'd arrived on scene. One was significantly overweight, his uniform straining at the buttons. The other was younger, thinner, and looked like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"What do you mean you can't arrest him?" the woman shrieked, gesturing wildly. "He clearly punched me! In front of everyone! Ask them!" She swept her arm toward the customers, most of whom suddenly became very interested in their food.
"Please, ma'am," the heavier officer said with the patience of a saint, "we've already reviewed the security footage. As we've explained, it was clearly self-defense. We cannot arrest him."
"How can you compare that?" She pointed at her swollen cheek, which had indeed puffed up considerably. "I just threw a paper cup! And look at my face! In what angle is that fair?"
The officer glanced at her cheek, which now made her look somewhat like a chipmunk storing nuts for winter. He hesitated for just a moment before replying in his most professional voice, "Ma'am, the manager has already asked you to leave. This is private property. If you don't leave now, we'll have to arrest you."
The woman huffed, nearly stomping her foot in indignation. "Don't think this is over! I'm definitely suing your ass!"
She stormed out, still muttering threats, her uneven gait a testament to her earlier fall.
Rick let out a long, exhausted sigh. "This job is fucking awful."
"Officers, thanks for your work," Rick said, approaching them with a bag of food he'd prepared. "Here, take this."
"No problem," the heavy-set officer said with a laugh, accepting the offering gratefully. "You won't believe how many similar cases we get on a daily basis. These entitled people just want to create trouble for everyone."
His eyes landed on Elric, who'd been standing quietly to the side. "Anyway, is this the hero of the show?"
"Yeah," Rick said with a dry chuckle. "He's got a bit of an anger problem."
"Hah!" The officer clapped Rick on the shoulder. "Don't blame the kid, man. If I had to deal with these people every day, I wouldn't make it a week before kicking someone's ass."
He turned to Elric, his expression softening. "Anyway, kid—don't go punching people, however annoying they are. Take care of yourself, alright?"
Elric nodded silently as the two officers collected their notes and left.
Once the door closed behind them, Rick pulled off his apron and tossed it onto the counter. "Okay, we're closing early today." He looked at Elric, his expression unreadable. "And you—take a walk with me."
Elric's stomach dropped. Those words, in that tone, never meant anything good.
But he nodded anyway, pulling off his own ruined uniform shirt and grabbing a spare from his locker.