The black SUV, still bearing the faint scent of the thugs Damien had dismantled, rolled to a stop in front of a sleek, minimalist building in the Tribeca district. The engine purred with a quiet power that contrasted sharply with the chaotic rhythm of the streets they had just left.
Damien killed the ignition and turned to look at the two small figures huddled in the backseat. They looked like frightened strays who had accidentally wandered into a wolf's den. The leather seats were too big for them, swallowing their malnourished frames.
"We've arrived," Damien said, his voice softening from the jagged edge it held during the fight. "And don't worry. I will pay for all the expenses. You can eat until you can't move."
The boy and the girl exchanged a glance. It was a look of shared disbelief, the kind that came from years of being disappointed by adults. But their stomachs gave a traitorous grumble, answering for them.
They climbed out of the car, their sneakers scuffing the pavement. The girl tugged on the hem of her oversized, dirty t-shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. She looked up at the sign above the door—Jungsik—and then at the immaculate glass windows revealing a warm, golden interior.
"Is it really okay for us to eat at a restaurant like that?" the boy whispered, stepping closer to Damien. He looked down at his own hands, stained with grime and dried blood from the alley. "I mean... look at us. We really look like beggars. They'll kick us out before we even get water."
Damien waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. The owner of this restaurant and I are friends, alright? Also, they wouldn't judge you because you are with me. In this city, power buys entry, not clothes."
The kid hesitated for a second longer, looking at Damien's confident posture, then nodded with a satisfied expression. If the monster who ripped hearts out said it was okay, then it was okay.
Damien pushed the heavy glass door open. A bell chimed softly, announcing their arrival.
The interior was a sanctuary of calm. Soft jazz played in the background, and the air smelled of roasted sesame oil, fermentation, and expensive perfume. It was empty, save for a few staff members polishing glasses.
"Hello sir, would you—"
A woman in a sharp blazer looked up from the host stand. Her professional mask slipped instantly into a look of genuine recognition.
"Ohh, it's Sir Leone! It's been a while, sir," the hostess, Hayeol, said, bowing deeply.
"It's been a while, Hayeol," Damien nodded, glancing around the empty dining room. "Seems the restaurant is empty right now, huh? That's good then. We need the quiet."
Hayeol straightened up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, most people are busy protesting. Even our Manager joined the protest downtown."
"Why?" Damien asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew the manager; she wasn't the type to march in the streets unless pushed.
Hayeol scratched her cheek nervously. "Well, the Manager also wanted to abolish Guilds already. A week ago, a local branch of the Crutian Guild tried to extort us. They walked in here, demanding thirty percent of our revenue and calling it 'protection fees.' They broke a few tables to make their point."
Damien's eyes darkened. The Crutian Guild again. They were like roaches.
"Luckily," Hayeol continued, her face brightening, "your friend Ricky appeared at that time. He was picking up a takeout order for you, actually. Those thugs... well, they really left in a hurry after being threatened by him. Sir Ricky can be quite scary when he wants to be."
"I see," Damien replied.
'I need to thank Ricky later,' Damien thought, a small smile touching his lips. 'He always plays the fool, but he cleans up the mess when it matters.'
Hayeol smiled, relieved that the grim atmosphere around Damien had lifted slightly. Her eyes drifted to the two children hiding behind Damien's legs. They were peeking out like shy woodland creatures.
"Who are these children, sir?" Hayeol asked gently. "Another group of people you saved? I'm glad you saved innocent people again. You have a habit of picking up strays."
"Yeah," Damien said, his hand resting briefly on the boy's head. "I saved these two from those Crutian Guild goons. The same ones giving you trouble."
Hayeol's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. Then, she smiled with a satisfied expression and nodded firmly.
"Good. Those men deserve whatever happened to them. Come, take a seat, sir. I will give you the best table and the menu."
"Thanks."
Damien led the kids to a corner table with four plush seats. It offered a view of the street but kept them hidden from casual observers. The kids sat down gingerly, afraid to touch the white tablecloth.
"Do you know the owner of this restaurant?" the boy asked, his curiosity finally overcoming his fear.
Damien nodded. "Mhm. A friend of my Father-in-Law. The Manager here and I are close friends and were classmates in college. We used to skip lectures to eat tteokbokki."
"Ohhhhh," the kids said in unison, their eyes gleaming at the information. To them, college and "Father-in-Law" sounded like terms from a fantasy novel.
"Are you also filthy rich, mister?" the girl asked, her eyes wide as she looked at the crystal chandelier.
Damien scratched his head, uncomfortable with the hero worship. "Not really. More like... middle rich. Yes, I have money, but I'm not really that rich like I own a mansion or something, if that's what you think. My money is... blood money, mostly."
The kids nodded, though they didn't quite understand the distinction. To them, having a car and buying food meant you were a king.
Hayeol returned with three leather-bound menus. "Here, sir. Also, I'll wait here while you finish choosing what you want to eat."
Damien opened the menu. He didn't need to look at the prices.
"I want the premium sets," Damien said decisively. "Ten Soy Crabs—the big ones with the roe. Four plates of Yukhoe Raw Beef. And six orders of Galbi, the short ribs."
Hayeol wrote the order down furiously. "Is that all, sir?"
Damien looked at the beverage section. "Hmm. Three bottles of French Bloom Roses—the non-alcoholic sparkling one. And one bottle of Jacques-Frédéric Mugnier for... well, just open it. I might not drink it, but I want to smell it."
Hayeol nodded, then turned her head to the kids. She knelt slightly to be at eye level. "So, did you finally decide what dish you choose on the menu? Or will you share with the big boss?"
The girl looked at her brother, overwhelmed by the choices. She pointed at Damien. "The same as his. Just... can we have our own?"
"Add two Soy Crabs, four Yukhoe Raw Beef, and four Galbi specifically for them," Damien clarified. "And also two French Bloom Roses."
Hayeol's eyebrows shot up. That was an enormous amount of food. "Mhm. Is that all?"
The siblings both nodded their heads in unison.
"The order will arrive shortly, sir. And do you want some water while waiting for the order to arrive?"
"Yeah, give us three. Ice cold."
Hayeol nodded and walked away, her heels clicking softly on the floor.
Damien looked at the kids. They were still staring at the menu, trying to decipher the descriptions.
"Do you want to add something to your order?" Damien asked. "Don't worry if you want to add more. As I said, it's my treat. You can order dessert first if you want."
The siblings shook their heads vigorously.
"That's already enough, mister," the boy said, his voice trembling slightly. "And thank you. Really. Thank you for saving us and bringing us here."
Damien nodded. He turned his gaze to the window. Outside, a police siren wailed in the distance. He thought about the Crutian Guild, about David Norton's eyes, about the rot at the heart of the city.
He looked back at the kids.
"Say," Damien started, his tone serious. "Why did those Hunters want to kidnap both of you? Is it because you have the potential to become Awakened? Did they test you?"
The kids looked at each other, confusion clouding their faces. They shook their heads.
"We really don't know why," the girl replied, her hands fidgeting with the napkin. "But I heard the boss... the one you..." She trailed off, swallowing hard. "I heard him say they were planning on selling us to another country. As slaves for a mining site. Somewhere where the mana radiation is too high for adults."
Damien's jaw tightened.
"I see," he whispered. "Fucking filthy, disgusting Hunters."
The venom in his voice was palpable. It wasn't just anger; it was hatred. Pure, distilled hatred.
The boy looked at Damien, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
"Do you hate Hunters, mister?" the boy asked.
Damien nodded slowly. "Yeah. I hate them more than anything in this world. They're the reason I lost someone dear to me. They're the reason the world is broken."
"I see," the boy replied, nodding solemnly.
The girl leaned forward. "Why, mister? Was this person really dear to you?"
"Sis," the boy hissed, nudging her. "He said the person who died because of the Hunters is dear to him. That means they might be a part of his family or his girlfriend. Don't pry."
The girl's eyes widened in panic. She bowed her head frantically. "So-sorry, mister! It's just that... I didn't understand why you hate Hunters so much when everyone says they are heroes. But if you lost your family... then that must be it. Either you really lost your family to them, or you lost your girlfriend because of them."
Damien sighed. He looked at the girl's terrified face and softened his expression. He waved his hand.
"Don't worry. I'm not angry. I don't blame both of you for not understanding why I hate the Hunters so much. The TV tells you they are gods. The news tells you they save the world."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Long story short... I lost both. I lost my parents to their negligence when I was young. And five years ago... I lost the love of my life because of their cowardice."
"I-I see," the boy replied. He nodded his head, a gesture far too mature for his age.
He understood. He understood how painful it was to lose someone dear. He had watched his mother cough her lungs out in a cold apartment because they couldn't afford a healer. He had watched her die and leave them wandering the streets, defenseless and vulnerable to monsters like the Crutian Guild. Grief was a language they both spoke fluently.
Just then, Hayeol and two waitresses arrived, pushing a cart laden with food. The smell of savory soy sauce, sesame, and grilled meat filled the air.
"Enjoy your meal, sir," Hayeol said, placing the dishes down. The table groaned under the weight of the feast.
The kids opened their mouths in awe. They drooled openly. To them, this wasn't just food; it was a miracle. The bright orange roe of the crabs glistened; the raw beef was a vivid ruby red topped with pear slices; the ribs sizzled on a hot stone.
"Wow," the girl breathed. "Thi-this is so expensive. Thank you so much, Mister!"
Damien smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. "You're welcome. Dig in."
The meal was a blur of clicking chopsticks and happy sighs. For an hour, the kids forgot about the alley, the knives, and the fear. They ate until their bellies were tight as drums.
Damien watched them, sipping his non-alcoholic sparkling rose. He barely touched his own food. Seeing them eat fed him in a way the meat never could.
***
After the plates were cleared, Damien pulled out his wallet. He placed a stack of cash on the table.
"Here."
Hayeol counted it. Her eyes bulged.
"Si-sir! This is too much!" she stammered, holding the thousand dollars. "The total price is only $568. This is nearly double! If the Manager knows this, she will scold us for taking advantage of you!"
"Don't worry," Damien said, standing up and adjusting his coat. "Just say that it's a gift from me. A cleaning fee for bringing street kids into a fine dining establishment. And a donation for the Manager's protest fund."
"Tha-thank you! Thank you so much, Sir!" Hayeol and the waitress bowed their heads repeatedly.
Damien waved his hand. "Goodbye. And send my regards to your Manager, alright?"
He walked out, the cool evening air hitting his face. The kids followed him like ducklings, pulling on the hem of his long coat to keep up.
"Where will we go now, Mister?" the boy asked, anxiety creeping back into his voice now that the meal was over. The reality of the night was setting in. They had nowhere to go.
Damien stopped. He looked back at them, then knelt down on the concrete so he was at eye level.
"To the Welfare Center," Damien said gently. "After all, kids like both of you should not wander the streets. It's too dangerous."
The reaction was immediate and violent.
"N-no!" the girl shrieked, clutching her brother. "Please don't send us there, Mister! Please! We will be good! Just don't send us there, please!"
The boy's face went pale. "We'd rather go back to the alley! Please, mister. Not the Center."
Damien looked at them in confusion. Then, something clicked.
'Ahh,' he thought, a dark realization settling in his gut. 'The Welfare Center must be the reason they wander the streets. It's not a sanctuary; it's a prison. They're probably being mistreated there. Or worse, the Center is feeding kids to the Guilds.'
He gritted his teeth. 'This is the reason why the government is in decline. Because they just neglect their responsibilities. They let wolves guard the sheep.'
Damien sighed. He couldn't send them back to hell.
"Fine," Damien said. "Then where do you want to live? You know I can't send you back to the streets wandering again. The Crutian Guild has other teams. They will find you."
The kids fidgeted. They looked at each other, having a silent conversation, and then looked at Damien with big, hopeful eyes.
'Don't tell me!' Damien thought, panic rising. 'They want to live with me!'
The kids stammered, speaking in weak, pleading voices. "Ca-can we live with you, Mister? Please? Please! We will be good! We will wash the dishes and the laundry! We won't make a sound! Just please don't send us to the Welfare Center or abandon us!"
Damien sighed and touched his temples. He felt a headache coming on.
He knew how absurd it was. His time was limited. He had maybe twenty-four hours left before he marched into the SSS+ Dungeon to die. He couldn't play father. He couldn't leave them alone in his empty apartment.
"Dammit. Fine."
"Really?!" The kids' eyes gleamed with hope, tears welling up.
"Yes," Damien said quickly, cutting off their celebration. "But... you will not live with me."
The hope faltered.
"Rather," Damien continued, "I will give both of you to the people I trust the most."
He stood up, looking toward the distant lights of the Thompson Estate on the hill.
"Don't worry. They're good people. After all, they're my parents-in-law. They have a big house, plenty of food, and hearts that are currently too empty."
The kids tilted their heads in confusion. "Why, mister? Don't you want us living with you?"
Damien sighed again. The weight of his decision pressed down on him.
"It's not that," he whispered, looking away. "It's just... Sigh. I'm dying."
The kids froze.
"My time is limited here," Damien explained, his voice devoid of self-pity, just stating facts. "And I can't take care of you properly if that happens. I have a job to do that I won't come back from. But don't worry... those two will really adopt both of you with open arms. After all, they wanted grandchildren already, which I failed to give them."
Damien stood up with a gloomy expression, then smiled, though bitterly.
"Come. Let's go. Before I change my mind."
The kids followed Damien silently, processing his words, and climbed back into the SUV.
'Sigh,' Damien thought as he started the engine. 'I hope those two will accept these kids. It's the only apology I can give them.'
***
The drive to the Villa was quiet. When Damien pulled up the driveway for the second time that night, the lights were still on.
Damien arrived at the Villa, the kids following him closely, pulling his coat as if he were their lifeline.
He walked into the garden and saw Michael standing there, talking to the old gardener, Mr. Biorgia. Michael looked exhausted, clutching a glass of whiskey.
"Ohh, Damien," Michael said, surprised. "Why have you returned? And..." He squinted at the two small shadows behind Damien. "Who are these kids? Are these your secret children? Did you have a life I didn't know about?"
Damien raised an eyebrow, a vein popping in his forehead. "No, they're not my children. And also, I'm giving them to you. To take care of."
"What?!" Michael spluttered, nearly dropping his glass.
Damien quickly explained what happened—the alley, the Crutian Guild, the trafficking, the meal.
Michael listened, his face hardening as he heard about the Guild. He sighed, rubbing his face. He looked at Sasha, who had come out to the veranda upon hearing the commotion.
Sasha was kneeling in front of the kids, talking to them with a smile—a genuine, warm smile that Michael hadn't seen for five years. The little girl was holding Sasha's hand, babbling about the Soy Crabs.
"So, let me recap," Michael said, keeping his voice low. "You killed thugs who were members of the Crutian Guild while saving those kids. And you want me—the Prime Minister—to adopt them?"
"Mhm," Damien replied.
"Are you fucking insane?!" Michael hissed, touching his temples while sighing at the absurd situation. "Do you know you're giving me so much attention? The media will have a field day. 'Prime Minister Adopts Street Urchins linked to Vigilante Justice.'"
"Don't worry," Damien said casually. "I will wipe out that Guild anyway. Before I go to the dungeon. Consider it a cleaning service. After all, you wanted them gone, right?"
Michael stared at him, then sighed again. He looked at the kids. He looked at Sasha.
The girl saw Michael looking and approached him. She bowed clumsily. "Please don't shout at him, sir! We owe our lives to Mister! And don't worry! We know how to cook, how to do laundry, and doing chores too! We won't be a burden!"
Michael looked down at the girl. She had dirt on her face, but her eyes were bright and fierce. She reminded him of someone. She reminded him of Melissa when she was young and brought home a stray cat, promising to take care of it.
Michael's expression softened. He knelt in front of the girl.
"It's not that I don't want to adopt both of you, but..."
"But?" the girl asked, tilting her head.
"Sigh. You win, Damien," Michael grumbled, standing up. "I will adopt them. And seems Sasha wants them too."
Michael looked at his wife, who was laughing at something the boy was telling her. It was a beautiful sound.
"And seems she really wants them to stay, too. It's been a long time since this house had noise."
Damien smiled, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "Thanks."
Michael sighed, waving his hand. "Just go. You need to do something, right? You have a Guild to burn."
Damien nodded. He turned and began to walk away toward the gate.
"Wait!"
Damien looked back. The kids were running toward him, leaving Sasha's side. They stopped a few feet away, breathless.
"Is this the last time we will see you, Mister?" the boy asked, his voice cracking. "You will visit us, right? You promised!"
Damien looked at them. He wanted to lie. He wanted to say yes. But he couldn't.
"Maybe," Damien said softly. "I really can't be sure. But..."
Damien reached into his pocket. He pulled out two rings. They were simple bands, white gold, slightly tarnished by time. They were the rings his parents had worn. The only things he had left of them.
"Here," Damien said, pressing the rings into their small palms. "I will give this to you. If I really don't visit you anymore... then can you promise me to keep these rings? Treasure them for me?"
The kids looked at the rings, then at Damien. Tears welled up in their eyes.
"Sniff... we promise!" they said in unison, clutching the metal bands like they were diamonds.
"Thanks." Damien smiled, stepping forward to ruffle their hair one last time. "You're good kids. Don't let the world ruin that."
Damien then started to walk away. He raised his hand in a lazy wave, not looking back.
"What's your name, Mister?!" the boy shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet estate. "You never told us your full name!"
Damien didn't look back. He kept walking into the shadows.
"Damien."
His voice carried on the wind.
"Damien Vicenzo Leone."
The boy stood there, clutching the ring so tight it hurt his hand. He watched the red-haired man disappear into the night.
"I will not forget your name, Older Brother Damien!" the boy shouted, tears streaming down his face. "Also... I will hate the Hunters too! As a memento for remembering you! I promise!"
Damien didn't look back, but he smiled hearing that. It was a twisted legacy, but it was his.
He disappeared from their sight.
The kids stood crying in the driveway. Sasha walked over, wrapping her arms around them, shushing them gently.
Michael stood a few paces back. He looked at the empty gate, then up at the dark skies where the stars were hidden by clouds.
'Hah,' Michael thought, wiping a stray tear from his eye. 'I really miss you, my dear daughter. He's coming to you now. Take care of him.'
Then he approached the kids, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, beginning the work of giving them the love and care that they had been seeking.