The dining hall of the Lian estate was an architectural marvel of cold marble and sharp lines. Tonight, the air was thick with a tension that hadn't been there a few hours ago.
The patriarch, Lian Feng, sat at the head of the table. To his right was the eldest son, Hoseok (renamed Hao-Ran), a man whose charm usually acted as the family's social glue. Beside him was the second son, Jimin (renamed Ji-Min), who possessed a gentle, observant nature.
They were all waiting.
"He's ten minutes late," Hao-Ran remarked, tapping his fountain pen against the tablecloth. "Lian is never late. He's usually sitting here, staring at his plate before we even arrive."
"The maid said he was... different," their mother, Mrs. Lian, whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "He looked at her with such coldness. And he refused the gala. He's never refused an order before."
Just then, the heavy double doors swung open.
Lian walked in. He wasn't wearing the white "doll-like" suit they had laid out for him. Instead, he wore a high-collared black silk shirt and tailored trousers. His hair, usually styled softly over his forehead, was pushed back, revealing the sharp, regal structure of his face.
He didn't look at them. He pulled out his chair—the one at the very end of the long table—and sat down with a grace that felt predatory.
"You're late," Feng said, his voice booming with the authority of a man who controlled a billion-dollar empire.
Lian picked up his linen napkin and unfolded it with slow, deliberate precision. "The clock in my room was slow. I've had it disposed of. I dislike things that don't function perfectly."
The table went silent. The Old Lian would have stuttered an apology. This Lian didn't even look up from his silverware.
"Lian," Ji-Min said softly, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Are you feeling okay? The kidnapping incident... the doctors said you might have some lingering psychological effects. If you're overwhelmed, you can tell us."
Lian finally raised his eyes. The gaze he leveled at Ji-Min was so piercing that the older brother felt a physical chill.
"Overwhelmed?" Lian's voice was smooth, like dark velvet. "No. For the first time in eighteen years, the fog has cleared. I'm not 'sick', Ji-Min. I'm simply awake."
The Crack in the PorcelainBefore Feng could erupt in anger at his son's insolence, the family's head butler, an elderly man named Mr. Song, stepped forward to pour the wine. As he leaned over, his hand suddenly jerked. The wine bottle shattered against the edge of a crystal glass, and the old man slumped, his face turning a terrifying shade of grey-blue.
"Mr. Song!" Mrs. Lian screamed, standing up.
The room descended into chaos. The bodyguards rushed in, and Hao-Ran reached for his phone to call emergency services. The butler was gasping, clutching his chest, his eyes rolling back.
"He's having a heart attack!" Hao-Ran shouted. "Don't touch him, move back!"
In the middle of the panic, Lian remained seated. He watched the butler's struggling form with a clinical, detached intensity.
'Myocardial infarction with a secondary airway obstruction from the wine shard,' the soul of the King analyzed instantly.
Lian stood up. He didn't rush; he glided.
"Move," Lian commanded.
The bodyguards, trained killers who feared nothing, instinctively stepped aside. There was something in Lian's voice that brooked no argument—a frequency of absolute command.
"Lian, stay back!" Feng barked. "You don't know what you're doing!"
Lian ignored him. He knelt beside the butler. The proximity to another human being triggered a wave of nausea—the Haphephobia of the body screaming Danger! Contact!—but the King's mind clamped down on the sensation like a vice.
'Focus,' he told the trembling nerves. 'I am the master of this flesh.'
He didn't touch the butler's skin directly. He pulled a silver fountain pen from Hao-Ran's breast pocket as he passed. With the other hand, he grabbed a steak knife from the table.
"Lian! Stop!" Mrs. Lian shrieked, thinking her son had finally lost his mind.
"If you want him to live, shut up," Lian snapped.
With the precision of a master surgeon, he used the knife to slit the butler's collar. He felt for the pulse point using the back of his fingernail to minimize skin contact. Then, he did something that made everyone in the room gasp in horror.
He performed a rapid cricothyrotomy. He made a tiny, precise incision in the throat and inserted the hollow barrel of the fountain pen to create an airway.
The butler's chest suddenly heaved. A ragged, whistling breath pulled through the pen. The blue tint in his face began to recede.
The AftermathLian stood up, dropping the bloody knife onto a silver platter. He took a silk handkerchief and wiped his hands, his expression as calm as if he had just finished a meal.
The family stood frozen, staring at the boy they thought they knew. This was a child who fainted at the sight of a needle, yet he had just performed an emergency surgical procedure with a steak knife and a pen.
"The paramedics will be here in six minutes," Lian said, checking his watch. "Tell them it was a blockage in the larynx caused by a shard of glass during the fall. His heart is stable for now, but he needs an immediate bypass."
He turned to his father, who was looking at him as if he were a stranger—or a monster.
"How..." Feng stammered. "Where did you learn to do that?"
Lian leaned over the table, his face inches from his father's. The "Extreme Loneliness" that had once defined this body was still there, but now it was a weapon. It was the loneliness of a King who stood on a mountain top, looking down at the ants below.
"In the dark, Father," Lian whispered, so only the family could hear. "You learn many things when you realize no one is coming to save you. You learn to save yourself."
He straightened his black shirt. "I've lost my appetite. Don't bother me for the rest of the night. I have a company to build."
He walked out of the room, leaving his family in a deafening silence.
As the doors closed, Hao-Ran looked at the bloody knife and then at his brother's retreating back. "That... that wasn't Lian."
"No," Ji-Min whispered, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. "That was someone much, much more dangerous."