I woke at dawn. The aches from the beating were gone, thanks to my crude healing. A cold shower from the servant's basin, a meager breakfast of hard bread and thin broth delivered to my room—these were the final rituals of my old life.
Today, I ended it.
The White Family residence was modest for a noble's seat, but to a commoner's eyes, it was a sprawling mansion. My destination was the Baron's office in the left wing. My current home was a closet in the right-wing servants' quarters. The walk across the main hall was a journey between two worlds I never belonged to.
I was halfway across the polished marble floor when I heard the familiar, grating voices.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in. It's the trash. Shouldn't you be scrubbing floors or something, Roy?"
I stopped. Before me stood the perfect picture of legitimate nobility: Kris White, age twelve, with his mother's orange hair and his father's brown eyes. His smirk was as sharp as the practice sword at his hip. He'd awakened with A-rank Potential, the Swordsman class, and the Fire element. The golden heir.
Beside him was his sister, Melinda, age eight. Pretty in a delicate way, with soft brown hair and eyes. B-rank Potential, Basic Mage class, Water element. She looked at me like I was something foul stuck to her slipper.
And behind them, the architect of my misery: Lady Linda White. Daughter of a Boron from the Luke family. Her hatred for me was a cold, permanent thing. I was the living proof of her husband's indiscretion, the commoner-elf bastard who reminded her she couldn't control everything.
"Brother, why are you even speaking to him?" Melinda whined, her nose wrinkled. "Now my whole morning is ruined. I can't believe Father allows this... peasant to share our roof."
Lady Linda's voice was like ice cracking. "You two. Do not lower yourselves. He is not worth your words, let alone your notice. Why he remains here is a mystery I intend to solve." Her gaze swept over me, devoid of all warmth. "You should have left with your whore of a mother."
The old Roy would have flinched. He would have stared at the floor, his heart breaking. I felt only a cold, clean anger. These people were not my family. They were obstacles. Noise.
I met Linda's eyes. "You won't have to solve anything," I said, my voice calm and flat. It surprised them; the old Roy never spoke back. "After today, you will never see my face in this mansion again."
I turned to walk away, leaving them in stunned silence.
"What did you say, you little—?" Kris started, but I didn't stop.
"Good!" Melinda shrieked after me. "This house will finally be clean!"
"Don't just leave the mansion," Kris called, recovering. "Leave the territory! Never show your face in Whitewood again!"
I didn't dignify them with a response. Lady Linda said nothing more, but I could feel her confused, suspicious stare boring into my back until I turned the corner.
Good. Let them be confused.
I reached the heavy oak door of the Baron's office. I didn't knock. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room smelled of old parchment, leather, and a faint, sharp ozone—the scent of honed aura. Baron Boron Mark White sat behind a large, utilitarian desk. He was a man carved from oak and discipline; muscular, with short-cropped brown hair and hard brown eyes. He wore a functional noble's uniform, not ornate silks. This was a man who had earned his title with a sword, not bloodline. The pressure in the room was palpable—the dense, controlled aura of a B+-rank warrior, a step away from A-rank.
He looked up, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something—not warmth, but perhaps a flicker of weary recognition. It vanished, replaced by impatience.
"You," he grunted, setting down his quill. "Roy. I'm surprised to see you here. Don't tell me you've come to whine about Kris again." His voice hardened, and his gaze, full of the weight of his power, settled on me like a physical force. It was meant to make me cower. "If you don't want to be bullied, boy, get strong. The world is simple. The strong rule. The weak bow. That is the first and last lesson."
The old Roy had come here once, tearfully complaining. He had received this exact speech. It had broken him.
I didn't flinch. I met the pressure of his aura with the cold certainty of my second life. "That's not why I'm here."
He leaned back, a faint frown creasing his brow. My lack of fear was… unexpected. "Oh? Then state your business."
"I am leaving this house."
Silence.
He stared at me, his expression unreadable. "Leaving? Because they bullied you?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "If you want to run, then run. As your father, I'll give you some coin to start. But where will you go, Roy? You're weak. You have a C-rank ceiling. You won't survive a week in the world without my name, however tarnished, to hide behind."
His words were meant to be a finality. A reminder of my place.
"This is my decision," I said, my voice still calm, still firm. "And I will not be coming back."
Another stretch of silence. His eyes narrowed, assessing me in a new way. Not as a disappointing son, but as a puzzling stranger in his son's skin.
"...I see." The word was slow. "If that is your decision, I won't stop you. But you came here for a reason. Is this a final plea? A last wish before you go and get yourself killed?" A hint of frustrated anger bled into his tone. "Fine. Speak. I will fulfill a final request. And know this… if you fail out there, these doors are still open to you." He said it like a curse, not a kindness.
Perfect.
I took a single step forward, placing my small hands on the edge of his massive desk. I looked the Baron, the B+-rank warrior, straight in the eye.
"Then, before I leave this house," I said, each word deliberate, "I want three things."