The sharp smell of medicine and disinfectant filled the air. Beeping machines hummed in rhythm beside me, and the sunlight that slipped through the hospital curtain carried a soft golden glow.
When I first opened my eyes again, I wasn't sure if I had woken from a dream or stepped into another one. My body still felt weak; my leg throbbed with pain whenever I tried to move. Everything looked clean and quiet—so different from the dark orphanage room I'd always known.
Then the door creaked open.
A woman entered, her steps light and graceful. Her silver hair shimmered like soft moonlight, tied neatly at the back of her neck. Her eyes—pale green and gentle—met mine, and for the first time in years, I felt warmth touching my heart.
"Bruce," she said tenderly, her voice soft like a melody. "You're awake."
Behind her walked a tall man with neatly combed dark hair and glasses that glinted faintly under the sunlight. His presence was calm and firm; he was the sort of man whose very silence commanded the room.
He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, smiling faintly. "Doctor said you're healing faster than expected," he said. "You're stronger than you look, young man."
The woman giggled lightly. "Of course he is. He's our son now."
Son.
The word echoed in my chest like a bell ringing from far away. I stared at them without knowing what to say. I had heard the word countless times from other children at the orphanage—but it had never belonged to me.
The woman came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands were warm as she brushed my hair aside, careful not to hurt me. "My name is Elena Valen, and this is my husband, Richard Valen. From today onwards," she paused, her smile trembling gently, "you'll be our son. Our little Bruce."
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
No one had ever said something like that to me before.
My brain, filled with half of Aron Tuner's cold logic and half of Bruce's broken memories, didn't know how to react. The instinct of the orphan—the man made of scars—told me not to believe it. Everything in this world comes with a price.
But when she pulled me into her arms, all those walls fell apart.
Her arms were soft and smelt of lavender and milk. So warm... so real that it hurt. Something deep inside me cracked open, and I felt the burning sting of tears I didn't expect. I tried to hold them back. A man—no, a king—didn't cry. But a child did.
And right now, I was both.
I began to sob quietly against her chest. "M-Mother…" The word came out rough and broken, but she only held me tighter, whispering, "Yes, Bruce. I'm here."
The next few days in the hospital passed in a strange calm. Nurses came and went, checking my leg and changing bandages. The doctor said I was lucky to be alive. "A few more minutes of delay," he said, "and you could've lost your ability to walk entirely."
When Richard heard that, his brows furrowed sharply. He didn't speak much, but the air around him turned heavy. "Elena," he said in a low voice, "did you find the names of those boys?"
She nodded, her gentle face suddenly darkening. "The orphanage director gave me everything. I can't believe they let such cruelty happen there."
At first, I didn't understand what they meant. Then, it hit me—the bullies. The ones who broke my leg, who laughed while I screamed. The tiny room, the smell of blood, the orphan matron turning her face away—it all flashed back in an instant.
Richard and Elena Valen weren't the kind of people to forgive such things.
That afternoon, a black car stopped outside the hospital. Through the window, I saw three men in suits step out, their posture straight and disciplined. They bowed as soon as Richard appeared.
"Is it done?" he asked calmly.
"Yes, sir," one of them replied. "The orphanage has been placed under investigation. The director and three senior staff are in custody. The boys responsible have been turned over to correctional officers. We found evidence of… other abuse as well."
Elena's face turned pale with anger. Her lips trembled as she looked at her husband. "Children lived like that for years," she whispered. "How could they?"
Richard's hand gently rested on her shoulder. "Not anymore."
He glanced toward me suddenly, and his expression softened. He walked over, crouched beside my bed, and spoke in a quiet, steady tone. "Bruce, what happened to you there—it wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve any of it. Understand?"
I nodded hesitantly. His eyes, though firm, were filled with something I had never seen in a man before—protection.
In that moment, I realised he meant it. He wasn't punishing them for appearance or status. He did it because I was their son now.
And that truth, more than any power or wealth, made my chest ache.
A few days later, Elena brought me a new stick—sleek black wood with a silver handle shaped like a lion's head.
"I asked one of our craftsmen to design it for you," she said proudly. "Until your leg gets stronger, this will help you walk. It's not just a stick—it's a symbol. A reminder that even strength can come from pain."
I stared at the polished surface, my reflection curved and small inside it. "You didn't have to…" I muttered softly.
She smiled. "We wanted to."
When she placed it in my hand, the grip felt perfect. Balanced. Elegant. I tested it once, standing slowly. My leg hurt, but not as much as before. Maybe it was because something else hurt even more—a strange warmth spreading through my chest, making me feel alive in a way I hadn't for years.
That evening, when Richard and Elena prepared to take me home, she knelt beside me again. "Bruce," she said softly, "our home might feel big and strange at first. But remember—there's a place in it that belongs only to you. You're part of our family now."
Her hand brushed my cheek, wiping a tear I didn't realise had fallen. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You've already been strong long enough."
For a moment, I wanted to tell her everything—the truth about who I really was, the life of Aron Tuner, the empire I once ruled, and how I had died holding the only person I loved. But looking at her tender face, I stopped myself.
This was Bruce's life now.
My second chance.
"I'll do my best," I whispered instead.
She smiled like sunlight. "That's all we ask."
Later that night, as the car carried us away from the hospital, I looked out the window. The city lights blurred past like streams of stars. Richard sat at the front, quiet, while Elena leaned beside me, softly humming a tune I didn't know.
For a long time, I didn't speak. I just listened to her voice, to the gentle rhythm of the road.
And deep within me, two souls—Aron and Bruce—merged at last into one. The man who had ruled nations and the boy who only wanted love became the same person.
For the first time, I truly understood what it meant to belong.
The orphan who once thought the world was made of storm and shadow finally felt sunlight touch his heart.
And even though a part of me whispered that peace never lasted long, I let myself believe in it. Just for tonight.
Because tonight, I wasn't the Underworld King.
I wasn't the ruthless billionaire.
I was simply Bruce Valen, the boy who had a mother's warmth for the first time in his life.