Al had already arrived at the construction site where his former bedroom was being leveled to the ground.

At this point, only two workers could be seen laboring there, busy with their tasks.

"Weren't there supposed to be three of you here?" Al asked, his tone casual yet sharp enough to make his presence immediately known.

The two men turned around, and unlike their usual demeanor, they seemed oddly uneasy in front of Al. It was a stark contrast to the attitude they had displayed before, back when the issue about the coffee had taken place.

"Ah… well… the other one went to meet with Sir Mudi," one of them replied, trying to sound normal while continuing his construction work. But the stiffness in his movements betrayed the tension he felt.

Al narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable. Something about their behavior was off.

"Are you two all right?" he asked, curiosity mixed with suspicion in his voice.

The pair immediately fell into silence, as if they didn't know how to answer him. The air grew heavier for a brief moment—until footsteps could be heard approaching from behind.

Three figures appeared. Leading them was Sir Mudi, the head of the construction team, still carrying himself with the same air of authority he had displayed earlier. Beside him was another worker, and the third was the man who had earlier been sent for minor medical treatment.

Al slowly turned his head toward them. His gaze swept over the three, calmly but firmly. Mudi, as expected, looked composed and dignified, but the other two appeared rather strange. They kept their heads lowered, shoulders stiff, and their tension was almost palpable.

Particularly the worker who was wrapped in bandages—his face twitched as his teeth ground together, but he quickly shifted his eyes away, refusing to meet Al's gaze. His body bore numerous scrapes and bruises, though nothing seemed life-threatening.

The sight left Al with a quiet sense of satisfaction. The very man who had dared to irritate him earlier this morning was now standing there, clearly suffering. Still, there was a faint trace of irony in Al's mind as well, because he knew all those injuries were the direct result of his actions.

Fortunately, I put a light protective spell on him before I smashed him hard into that shadowy figure, Al thought, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Yet even with that small measure of reassurance, there was something undeniably strange about the collective behavior of these five men. Their odd glances, their tense silence, the way they avoided looking him in the eye—all of it created an uncomfortable atmosphere.

What's with these people…? Al muttered inwardly, his thoughts clouded with suspicion.

"Hm?" he hummed softly, his curiosity growing.

The five men immediately lined up in front of him, with Mudi stepping slightly ahead of the others as their representative.

"We sincerely apologize for our behavior earlier… Young Master," Mudi said, his voice carrying both respect and caution. The other four echoed his words in clumsy unison, even the injured one whose body trembled not only from pain but also from fear.

Unlike the others, however, the bandaged worker stepped forward with shaky legs. Forcing himself lower, he bent at the waist until his bow was deeper than anyone else's.

"P-please forgive me, Young Master. It's my fault. I really didn't know… I didn't realize. I'm begging you, forgive me," he stammered desperately, his entire body shaking as though every nerve in him was screaming with terror.

Mudi quickly followed and added his own plea, his tone filled with urgency. He asked Al not to dwell on the earlier conflict, not to let this mistake destroy their livelihoods.

Just moments earlier, one of the three workers demolishing Al's old room had overheard the heated argument between Al and his family. Driven by curiosity, he had crept closer to eavesdrop. What he heard from Edward nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Edward had referred to Al as his son. That meant the arrogant young man they had thought was a servant pretending to be someone important… was in truth a genuine member of the Virellano family.

Shocked, the worker had rushed to inform Mudi. Though annoyed at being disturbed during work, Mudi's expression changed entirely when he heard the news. Apologizing to Al immediately became the top priority.

He even went out of his way to fetch the injured man, hoping to smooth things over before matters escalated. After all, had they actually harmed Al during the earlier altercation, what consequences would await them? The very thought was terrifying.

And so, here they were now—trembling, bowing, and begging for Al's forgiveness.

Al observed their behavior silently. He did not speak, only studied them with calm, unblinking eyes. That quiet pause alone was enough to keep all five men from daring to raise their heads.

Seeing people apologize when they've done wrong should be satisfying, Al mused.

But if that apology comes only from fear of my status and the power they believe I hold… isn't it meaningless? It feels strange, almost hollow.

He sighed quietly, a subtle release of his inner thoughts.

It's natural, even human, to show respect to those who hold greater power. But that doesn't mean you have to trample on those beneath you, he reflected with mild disappointment.

Taking a step forward, Al reached down and helped Mudi lift his bowed body. The other workers, startled by the gesture, quickly straightened up as well, their eyes wide in disbelief.

If I accept their submission like this, what difference would there be between me and those brown-robed zealots who demand humanity to bow solely out of fear? Al thought coldly.

The workers glanced at each other nervously, still unsure whether Al would lash out or let them go. His movements suggested it wasn't the latter, but the tension in their chests refused to ease.

Al stepped back a little and asked calmly, "You're afraid I'll get angry, aren't you?"

The blunt question made sweat bead on their foreheads. They didn't know Al's temperament well enough, and no matter how they answered, the risk of offending him seemed unavoidable.

Mudi opened his mouth, but no sound came. He froze, caught between truth and caution.

Al, however, continued on his own, "Relax. I won't hold this against you." His tone was casual, but his eyes glimmered with something sharper. "But if your apology exists only because you're scared of me, then don't waste my time. You are not even worthy of my anger. Because my anger..."

He paused, his expression hardening. The sudden shift in his aura made all five men flinch, a cold dread crawling over their skin.

"…is not something any of you could ever imagine," he finished, his lips curving into a sly, dangerous smile.

For reasons they could not explain, his words did not sound like an empty bluff. Even though he was only seventeen, the chill in his voice carried weight far heavier than his years. Their throats went dry, and instinctively, they swallowed hard.

"Forgive us, Young Master. Forgive us," they repeated together, voices trembling, their minds clouded with fear of what their fate might be.

Al decided to break the suffocating tension. He had no interest in wasting time dealing with such trivial matters.

"Hahaha… just look at your faces." His laughter rang out, crisp and teasing, carrying a hint of mockery at how pale they all looked.

"I suppose the name Virellano must be far too overwhelming for you to handle. Relax… I'm not the type who likes to throw my family's name around just to solve problems." His tone shifted into something more casual, and that simple change was enough to ease some of the fear pressing down on the five men before him.

And so, they fell into silence.

"Forget it. All you really need to do is learn how to treat people as fellow humans, regardless of their background. Whether they come from a powerful, prestigious family, or from a family you look down on as nothing but insignificant. Because…" Al's words trailed off as he stepped past them, heading toward the ruins of his former room, now leveled into little more than a pile of rubble.

The five of them turned, watching him carefully.

Al crouched down, reaching out to touch a chunk of broken stone. His fingers lingered there before he continued, his voice quieter but heavier with meaning.

"…because there are those in this world who are hated by everyone, despised even by the world itself—yet all they truly wish for is to live in peace with mankind, without exception."

Those words pulled at his own memories, of people who lived in shadows, wearing false identities, never able to stand openly under the sun as who they are.

His hand tightened around the stone, and in that simple action his greater purpose surfaced in his mind—his mission, his people, the goals he had yet to achieve. With a faint crack, the stone crumbled to dust within his grip, scattering into nothing.

The workers standing there could only exchange puzzled looks. They didn't fully understand what the young man was trying to say, but instinctively, they bowed their heads, murmuring apologies and words of gratitude for the unexpectedly calming speech. At the very least, his words had steered them away from what could have turned into a far larger problem.

When Al turned back toward them, his expression was calmer, almost reassuring.

"Oh, right. What's your actual job with this building? Are you only supposed to demolish it?" he asked casually.

Mudi stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, Young Master. We were ordered to flatten the area completely. Later, this space will be used to construct a warehouse."

"A warehouse?" Al raised his brow.

"More like a storage facility," Mudi explained. "A place to keep tools and equipment for the gardeners and groundskeepers."

Al fell silent for a moment. His gaze swept across the wide expanse of land. During the three months he had lived here, the area had always felt suffocating, smothered by the presence of David's hidden guards who kept him under constant watch. Fortunately, this morning, most of those shadow guards were nowhere to be seen around the Virellano estate.

Looking again, Al realized the space was far larger than it had seemed from within his confinement. Large enough, in fact, to hold dozens of small houses for lower-class families. If the entirety of the Virellano residential compound was measured, the estate's size could easily rival that of a medium-sized village—even though the true core family only numbered ten people.

It wasn't as sprawling as the Ataris, perhaps, but this property felt much more open and indulgent—an enormous amount of land set aside for merely ten main members. The habits of the elite are always so strange, Al thought with quiet disdain.

"That means…" he murmured, an idea sparking in his mind.

Without another word, without even offering a farewell, Al suddenly bolted toward the house. He didn't bother to explain himself, nor did he spare the five workers another glance.

Mudi and his men could only gape in confusion, though at least the situation had been defused.

And among them, the bandaged man exhaled in deep relief.

"Phew… my life almost went down the drain just now," he muttered under his breath.

"I already warned you to be careful with your actions," Mudi replied, his tone carrying a trace of reprimand.

The man chuckled awkwardly, unable to argue. He knew he had been reckless.

Mudi's eyes, however, remained fixed on Al's retreating back. The words and warnings the boy had left behind replayed in his mind, and his expression sharpened.

He's far more mature than his age should allow… Just who exactly is this child?

---

Inside the Virellano mansion, Al was already searching through the halls. His goal was clear: he wanted to find his parents' main bedroom.

"Hmmm… which one is the master bedroom…" he muttered, glancing left and right down the grand corridor.

In the main hallway, he crossed paths with Harun, who had just finished giving additional instructions to the servants after the chaos earlier that morning.

"Harun," Al called.

The man turned. Seeing Al approach, he felt that familiar surge of unwillingness in his chest. He still hadn't fully accepted the boy, but Sandra's order lingered in his mind—an order to treat Al with more dignity. Reluctantly, Harun forced himself to act as a proper servant before his young master.

"Yes… what is it, Young Master?" Harun asked, his voice polite and formal.

Al paused for a second, almost taken aback. Something about Harun's behavior felt strange, but he brushed it aside. There were more important things to deal with.

"Harun, where are my father and mother? I need to meet them."

Harun blinked in confusion. They had only just been together earlier, and now Al was searching for them again?

"Master Edward and Madam Sandra have returned to the master bedroom," Harun answered.

"And where exactly is that master bedroom?" Al asked.

"It is on the southern side of the fourth floor, Young Master," Harun replied dutifully. "Near the study you once visited that night."

"Oh, over there. Alright, thank you," Al said quickly, preparing to head in that direction.

But Harun suddenly raised his hand to stop him. "Wait, Young Master. What exactly are you planning to do?"

"I told you already. I want to meet them," Al sighed in irritation.

Harun lowered his head slightly. "My apologies, but entering the southern wing of the fourth floor is not permitted. Not even for the Young Masters themselves," he said stiffly, his tone almost robotic.

Al stared at him, incredulous. "What? Are you telling me it's this difficult to meet my own parents inside my own home?"

"It is... merely protocol, Young Master," Harun replied carefully. "I will contact Master Edward first. If he grants permission, I will then inform you."

Al exhaled heavily, frustration clear in his eyes.

"You can't be serious," he muttered.

Harun nodded firmly.

Running a hand down his face, Al stood there in disbelief, unsure of how to respond.

Still, he chose not to press the matter further. This wasn't something worth creating a bigger fuss over. He forced himself to accept it, though the rule struck him as utterly absurd.

So this is what it means to live in an elite household, he thought bitterly, both annoyed and oddly fascinated. The customs of the high-born were worlds apart from what he had experienced when living among the lower and middle classes—or even the comfortably well-off.

---

It didn't take long for Al to return to his own room.

The moment he stepped inside, he let his body sink onto the bed, reaching for the remote to turn on the air conditioner. A cool breeze slowly filled the room, easing away some of the heat that had already begun to creep in. The clock on the wall showed that it was eight in the morning, and outside, the dry season sun was already blazing, promising a scorching day ahead.

From what Harun had said earlier, none of the family members would be busy with outside activities today, except for David, who still had to go to school despite the incident earlier that morning. That meant, at the very least, there was a chance for Al to meet his parents later around noon.

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the phone Aurielle had given him. As the screen lit up, his eyes wandered over the list of contacts stored there, stopping on the names of his father and mother.

For a brief moment, he considered simply calling them instead of waiting until noon. It would be quicker, more direct. But the thought of doing so instantly brought a wave of discomfort. The hesitation in his chest was far stronger than the impulse. After a short inner struggle, he gave up on the idea entirely.

With a small sigh, he set the phone down beside him and lifted his hand, staring at his palm.

The events of last night, when he had beaten down Jogo and Rudi, still lingered in his body as an unpleasant reminder. His hand was no longer blackened, but the dull ache hadn't completely faded.

And this morning, he had already been forced into another series of short clashes—against David's shadow guards, against Uncle Acok, and even against Vianna.

His thoughts circled back to the same theory that had been haunting him: the matter of Blood Energy. The very concept tugged at the edges of his mind, demanding attention.

And as he pondered the matter, a name rose naturally within his thoughts—someone who might hold the answers, someone who had a direct connection to Blood Energy.

Fani.

---

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