Al arrived at the front gate just as the last light of day slipped from the sky. The sun had set too quickly—or maybe he had just delayed coming home for too long. In his rush, he hadn't noticed that his shirt was wrinkled, his pants torn slightly at the knee, and one of his shoes was soaked with gutter water from who-knows-which alley.
At the same time, a black SUV rolled into the driveway. Through the slowly lowering window, Sarah stared at Al—walking with a tired look and a hazy mind. A small smirk curled on her lips—the victorious smile of a sister who'd just found new ammo against her long-time enemy... her own younger brother.
"Perfect," she whispered, stepping out of the car like a celebrity finishing a shoot for a family drama series.
Meanwhile, Al had hurried to his room. His head swirled with one troubling question:
Why had his killing intent gone out of control earlier?
It had been six years since he'd unleashed it. Six years living as a "normal human."
Maybe—just maybe—he was beginning to forget how to control that dark part of himself.
He sat at the edge of the bed, still wearing his dirty clothes. His gaze was blank, his mind elsewhere. Just as he decided to start suppressing his killing aura again, a knock came at the door.
"Come in," he said, not even looking up—expecting a servant with dinner.
It was a servant, but not with food—
Instead, with unpleasant news:
"Master Edward and Madam Sandra request your presence in the family room. Immediately."
Al blinked. "Am I finally allowed to join dinner tonight?"
He quickly changed clothes, making sure there were no obvious stains. His eyes still looked dull, and his hair… well, still a mess. No time to fix it.
As he entered the family room, he was met with the scent of interrogation. His father, Edward, was already seated, face tense, eyes sharp.
"You were in a fight?" Edward asked with no preamble.
Al stayed silent.
Yes, he had.
But even if he hadn't, he knew he would still be scolded. So what was the point of arguing?
Seeing Al's silence, Sarah immediately took the stage.
"Look, he feels guilty! I knew it! His clothes were filthy and he looked like he'd been beat up. There was even a bruise on his cheek," she said dramatically, like reading from a soap opera script.
Al looked up slightly, pointing to his cheek.
"A bruise?" he asked flatly.
"See? There's nothing there."
Sarah shrugged.
"Maybe it's gone now. That was two hours ago."
Edward grunted.
"Enough! You think this is a joke? Fighting in the streets, coming home looking like trash… You think you can carry the family name like it's garbage? Thank goodness you're not public yet."
Sandra chimed in, soft but piercing:
"Son, are you really going to school properly? Or are you wandering around all day? What school do you go to, Al?"
Al slowly lifted his head. His voice calm.
"I'm attending HIHS."
"HIHS? Hazandeen International High School?" Aurielle asked, shocked.
"Yes, Sis. That's the one."
For a moment, the room went silent.
Then—
Laughter.
Cold, mocking laughter from his sisters seated on the other sofa, including Sarah.
"HIHS?" Sarah repeated as if she'd just heard a clown claim he was the president.
"Keep dreaming, Al. That's the most elite school around. There's no way you got in."
Al didn't flinch. His serious face made them waver slightly.
"I really do go there. If you want proof, I can grab my student ID from my room. Just wait a moment," he said, turning to leave.
Edward tapped the table.
"No need. Doesn't matter. Wherever you go, if you can't show improvement in a week, you're staying home. I'll hire a private tutor. You'll do homeschooling."
It sounded like an act of kindness—meant to spare him from public embarrassment in case the ID turned out fake.
Al lowered his head.
"I understand, Father. If that's all, I'll return to my room."
He walked calmly out of the family room.
But inside, a storm brewed—not of anger, but of one bitter truth:
In this house, truth doesn't matter. Only who speaks first… and who gets believed.
---
In a large room filled with award plaques and academic trophies, David lounged in his plush chair. The chandelier above swung slightly, casting strange shadows—
as if the room itself knew that its master's pride was cracking.
"HIHS?" David muttered, tasting the words with bitterness.
"That lazy bastard?"
His brow furrowed. He didn't quite believe it.
But… could it be true?
A voice cut through the silence. Calm and heavy—coming from the shadows.
"Apologies, Master David. But the direction he's taken each day... does lead toward HIHS."
David turned. A tall figure in black uniform, face half-covered, stepped out of the darkness.
"I didn't check there… because it just didn't seem possible he'd be at that school."
David was silent. Then hissed:
"So there are only two possibilities…"
"One, he's lying. Two… he really goes there."
His eyes narrowed.
Both options hurt. But the second was far worse.
WHAM!
Without warning, David kicked the shadow guard straight into the wall. The man hit a wardrobe but stood back up without complaint.
"Tomorrow. Confirm it yourself. Follow him from the house. If he really studies there, report back immediately."
"Yes, sir."
---
In a small, quiet room, Al sat cross-legged on the floor. His face was covered in shadow.
That creature.
He couldn't forget it.
Not human. Not beast. But also… not demon.
"If that's true," he whispered,
"then the human world is in danger."
He opened his dimensional storage via a ring.
From it, he pulled a set of black clothes—his spiritual hunting attire.
Without a sound, he leapt out the window and vanished into the night.
Even the wind didn't have time to call his name.
---
The next morning, on the sidewalk in front of Hazandeen International High School, a man in a black suit stood still.
The shadow guard blended into the crowd, eyes fixed on one person: Al.
Al arrived with his usual lazy steps—looking drowsy. But… he entered the gate using an official student ID.
"Excuse me, sir. That boy… is he really a student here?" the shadow guard asked a security officer.
The security finally nodded.
"Yeah, he is. Smart kid, though a bit... unusual."
The man went silent.
"Thank you."
With a single move, he vanished into the crowd.
The guard stood frozen. Sweat dripped down his temple. As he stared after Al, he muttered under his breath:
"What danger is following that boy? Please stay safe, kid..."
---
Meanwhile, at Makazhar Elite School—the second-best school in East Indorosia—David took a call in the VIP room.
"Master David, I've confirmed it. He's truly a student there. I saw it with my own eyes. The security confirmed it too."
Click.
David stared at his phone—then threw it against the wall.
It shattered.
"No way… no way!" he hissed.
Defeat spread through him.
Al—the lazy bum, the orphan, the reject—
was attending a school higher than his.
David could lose his inheritance. His status.
Worse… his pride.
He steadied his breath, then stood and faced the mirror.
"I thought you had nothing to be proud of, Al…" he whispered.
"In that case... this game officially begins."
---