"I definitely have to meet this new guy," Milo said, adjusting his tie as they drove through the city streets. "He's your rival in studies. I bet he's going to win."
Ava shot him a sharp glare. "He's smart, but I'm not going down without a fight." She folded her arms, lips pressed into a thin line.
Milo smirked, leaning back in his seat. "When do you ever go down without a fight? You're a perfect, obsessed maniac. Everything about you—your looks, your study habits, your behavior—must be perfect. And that weird winning complex of yours? You'd definitely lose your mind if he took that position from you."
Ava rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't lose my mind over a position. Come on, I'm bigger than that."
Milo raised an eyebrow. "Girl, denial is a disease. Go get treatment."
Ava didn't answer. She pressed her forehead to the window, watching the blur of city lights pass by.
"Definitely didn't miss your lecture," Milo teased.
"Baby, I know you miss me. I'm the light of the room," he added with a grin as they pulled up to a restaurant. Daisy came running out, breathless, and hopped into the car just as Ava's driver followed behind.
"I'll take my leave now," Ava said, stepping out. "Guess how long it's going to take me to get revenge on that girl?" She hugged Daisy tightly before slipping into her own family car, and the convoy drove off.
The journey to the Hade family estate was short but scenic. The estate sprawled across acres of manicured lawns, trimmed hedges, and fountains that glimmered under the late afternoon sun. A high stone wall surrounded the property, topped with intricate ironwork, and the main gate had a pair of stone lions perched majestically on either side.
Inside, the driveway opened into a semi-circle with a marble fountain at its center. Two sleek sports cars sat parked near the entrance. The mansion itself was a perfect blend of classic and modern architecture—white columns supporting balconies with ornate railings, large windows framed by dark wood, and ivy creeping up some corners, softening the sharp edges.
Servants in crisp uniforms moved quietly along the halls, carrying trays and opening doors. The polished marble floors reflected the sunlight streaming in through the towering windows. Inside, the furniture was luxurious yet understated: velvet couches in deep jewel tones, carved wooden chairs, and golden chandeliers that threw a warm glow across the expansive rooms. Paintings of family ancestors hung on the walls, each one staring down with quiet judgment.
Veronica Hade, their mother, was waiting in the sitting room. She perched on a grand velvet couch, tapping her foot impatiently. As Milo and Daisy entered, she sprang up and hugged Milo tightly.
"My baby boy! Why didn't you come back immediately after landing? I was worried!" she exclaimed, eyes bright with concern. Then her gaze shifted to Daisy, and she froze.
"Who hit you, my precious daughter?" Veronica asked, gently holding Daisy's hand.
Daisy tilted her head, letting out a soft whine. "Mom… I was bullied. It hurts so much." She leaned into her mother's arms, putting on her best innocent act.
Their father, Simon Hade, lowered his newspaper, his eyes narrowing. "And you go running to your mother instead of handling it yourself? This is not how the Hade family behaves," he scolded.
"Just because she has the hade family name doesn't mean she has to deal with it alone," Veronica shot back, hands on her hips. "If the so-called family can't protect her, what's the use of it?"
"Okay, enough," Simon muttered, irritation flickering across his face. "I'm starving, and the moment I come home, you two start fighting."
Veronica rolled her eyes. "The food is ready." She waved a butler over, who nodded and began preparing to serve dinner, leading the children toward the dining room.
The dining room was a vision of opulence. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, covered in pristine white linen. Platters of fresh seafood shimmered under soft lighting, roasts glistened with rich sauces, and bowls of seasonal fruits added vibrant color to the display. Crystal decanters of wine and sparkling juice lined the sideboard, and polished silverware reflected the warm glow of the chandelier. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted herbs filled the room.
Simon gestured to Milo as he took his seat. "So, how was the lesson and seminar?"
Milo nodded enthusiastically. "Great, uncle. The theory lessons in private were intense, and the seminar gave me practical experience. I was able to understand it all fully."
"I can give you a side business to start on your own," Simon said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "See how far you can go."
Milo's eyes sparkled. "Only if you increase my allowance too," he teased.
Simon smacked the table lightly. "I'm being serious!"
Milo chuckled. "That's called bargaining. You can't earn something without giving up something, now can you?" He took a sip from his glass, smiling innocently.
Veronica waved her hand, rolling her eyes. "Enough talk about business. Eat. No more negotiations."
The family settled into a quiet rhythm, the clinking of cutlery and soft conversation filling the room. After dinner, Milo followed his father to the study while Daisy lingered, complaining quietly to their mother.
Asher got off at his usual bus stop just as the streetlights flickered on, their glow reflecting off clean pavements and neatly trimmed trees. The district was one of those rare places—quiet, orderly, expensive enough to feel safe, but not flashy enough to attract attention. Exactly how he liked it.
He walked the short distance to his apartment building, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but alert out of habit. The building was mid-rise, modern, with dark glass panels and soft lighting in the lobby. No nosy neighbors. No unnecessary noise.
Inside his three-bedroom apartment, the air was cool and still. One room was his bedroom, simple and clean. The second stayed empty. The third had long been converted into a study—a wide desk cluttered with books, a powerful computer setup, and diagrams pinned neatly to the wall. The balcony stretched wide and open, reinforced flooring perfect for workouts, the city skyline visible beyond the railing.
He locked the door behind him, kicked off his shoes, and headed straight for the bathroom.
The shower steamed the tension from his shoulders. When he came out, hair damp, dressed in a loose black shirt and joggers, the apartment felt quieter than usual. He went to the kitchen and started on dinner—nothing fancy. Creamy noodles bubbling on the stove, eggs boiling beside them. He cracked open an ice-cold cola and let it hiss softly.
Simple. Enough.
He had just sat down to eat when his phone buzzed.
Unknown Contact
Owl: Part-time job for the gang. Interested?
Asher paused mid-bite, eyes narrowing slightly.
Asher: I'm a student now.
The reply came almost instantly.
Owl: 20 million.
Asher exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair.
Asher: I don't kill anymore. If you want blood, ask someone else from the team
I don't steal. I don't break in. That chapter's closed.
Another message appeared.
Owl: Weapon. New model.
Asher scoffed, stabbing his noodles with more force than necessary.
Asher: Who are you killing this time?
Why is everything with you violent? Did the mental hospital do nothing?
Go ask for a refund.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then—
Owl: It breaks my heart that you judge me by my past.
If you can turn over a new leaf, so can I.
And I'm not talking about weapons.
New engine. I need it to win a bet.
Asher frowned.
Asher: So you want to cheat.
Wait—are you in the city?
Don't tell me I have to travel again just to stay away from your nonsense.
Owl: Talking to you makes me want to swear.
You were never this talkative.
Asher smirked faintly.
Asher: And you were never patient.
I'm just testing your limits.
A pause.
Then—
Owl: You're venting your frustration on me.
I sent an extra 35.
Send me my engine.
The message vanished the moment it was delivered—like it had never existed. No number. No trace.
Asher didn't react. He simply set his phone down and went back to eating.
He was used to ghosts.
The phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't Owl.
School Notification:
You have been selected for the City Competition.
Asher froze.
The room went silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.
He immediately called his teacher. The conversation was short. Confirmed. Real. No mistake.
When the call ended, Asher lowered the phone slowly.
"Tsk , pest."
The curse slipped out under his breath, sharp and quiet.
Who—or what—he was cursing, only he knew.
The next day was a holiday, and by afternoon Prim had already ditched the house for a barbecue with his friends.
The private room they booked was tucked away at the back of the restaurant—wide, enclosed, and fitted with a built‑in grill at the center of a long table. Warm lights glowed above them, reflecting off polished wood and stainless steel surfaces. The air carried the faint scent of charcoal and marinated meat even before the food arrived.
The moment Prim stepped inside, cheers broke out.
"Finally!"
"Took you long enough!"
Prim clicked his tongue, amused, and dropped into his seat just as the waitress returned, setting down trays of raw meat, sauces, vegetables, and side dishes with practiced efficiency. She adjusted the grill, gave a polite nod, and left them to it.
Someone raised a glass.
"Let's celebrate Milo," one of the guys announced loudly. "Safe travels—and his future as CEO. Don't forget us when you're rich."
Milo snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Tsk. What pills are you on? Future CEO? I'm not ready for that kind of headache."
"Sure, sure," the guy laughed, already drinking. "Just joking."
As the grill began to sizzle, Daniel glanced at Milo with interest. "So what did you buy for us this time?"
Milo smiled sweetly. "I bought you the greatest things money can't afford—love, peace, and kindness."
The room went silent.
Every head slowly turned toward him.
Prim stared for a second before shaking his head. "What a stingy bastard. No wonder you're worthy of being my sister's best friend."
Laughter exploded around the table.
Someone turned on music. Another started flipping meat with exaggerated seriousness. Plates were passed around as the barbecue properly got underway, smoke curling upward, the smell rich and tempting.
"Damn," Michael muttered through a mouthful of pork ribs. "This is spicy—but so good. I'm definitely coming back here."
He brushed his hair aside with the back of his hand—then froze.
"…Wait."
Everyone paused.
"My eyes," Michael said slowly, blinking hard. "I can't feel my eyes."
Prim nearly choked on his food trying not to laugh.
Milo lost it completely, sliding off his chair as laughter shook him. "You idiot—"
Michael slapped the table blindly. "Why is it burning?!"
The boys rushed around him in chaos. Someone tried to wipe his face. Someone else made it worse by smearing sauce closer to his eyes.
"Stop touching him!" Daniel snapped. "You're adding more spice!"
"I need water," Michael groaned, standing up with help. "Which idiot orders spicy Korean barbecue and doesn't order drinks? I'm going blind—blind!"
"I'll order water before one of us commits manslaughter," Prim said, pushing his chair back and standing.
Daniel followed him out, already pulling out a cigarette. "I'm going to smoke before this turns into a medical emergency."
The door slid shut behind them, muting the laughter and chaos inside as smoke from the grill lingered in the air.
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