Veyron stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging faintly to his skin. He dried his hair calmly, then picked up his phone.
One number.
He dialed.
The call connected almost instantly.
"Veyron?"
Lucien von Blackvale's voice carried mild surprise. "What's wrong? You rarely call. We're having dinner together anyway."
Veyron's tone was flat. Unemotional.
"Father, I want to awaken."
There was a pause.
Then—
Thud.
"What did you just say?"
Lucien shot up from his chair so abruptly that his butler nearly dropped the stack of documents in his hands.
"You want to—awakening?" Lucien repeated, disbelief evident. "Veyron, did something happen? Did someone touch you?"
His voice dropped, turning glacial.
"Tell me who it was."
Veyron frowned faintly.
"No one harmed me."
Lucien clenched his jaw.
For years, he had tried—gently—to involve his son in training. Swordsmanship. Mana circulation. Even simple observation. Veyron had rejected all of it, preferring numbers, contracts, and balance sheets over blades and spells.
Lucien had once tried to push harder.
That had earned him a death glare from Elara Raven-Blackvale.
He never tried again.
"And now," Lucien said slowly, "you suddenly want to awaken?"
"I found motivation," Veyron replied calmly. "If you don't want me to, forget it. I'll handle it later—"
"NO."
Lucien nearly shouted into the phone.
"Wait."
He inhaled sharply, forcing his excitement down.
"I'll arrange everything," he said quickly. "I'll have Stephen prepare the Mana Chamber and secure a suitable Mana Gem. Everything will be ready by tomorrow."
Veyron nodded once, even though his father couldn't see it.
"Good."
The call ended.
Veyron placed the phone aside without another thought.
Next, he rang the bell.
The door opened immediately.
"You called, Young Master?"
Emmy stepped inside. Twenty years old, curly brown hair tied neatly behind her head, slender yet lethal. Though officially his maid, she was also his personal guard—handpicked by Elara herself.
Raised in the shadows of the Raven House.
An assassin before she ever became a servant.
"Prepare the car," Veyron said, pulling a notebook from his drawer. "We're going out in an hour."
"As you command."
Emmy bowed lightly and left, already issuing silent signals to the guards outside.
Once alone, Veyron sat down and opened the notebook.
He began writing.
Names.
Dates.
Locations.
Deaths.
Betrayals.
To anyone else, it would look like meaningless scribbles—childish symbols and erratic lines.
But to him—
It was the future.
"I remember everything," Veyron murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"The next three months… and the next fourteen years."
He wasn't foolish enough to preserve the future just to keep it predictable.
That was never his way.
He thrived in disruption.
If something wasn't under his control—
He would shatter the board until it was.
An hour passed.
Veyron stood, closing the notebook and sliding it back into the drawer. He changed into a plain white T-shirt and black jeans—simple, unassuming.
Deceptive.
Outside, Emmy waited.
"Is everything ready?" Veyron asked.
"Yes, Young Master," Emmy replied, signaling the guards to move. "Where to?"
"Harkins Agency," Veyron said calmly. "I need to make some purchases."
He walked toward the waiting black-and-gold Phantom, its polished surface reflecting his cold, crimson eyes.
The world still thought him a child.
That illusion wouldn't last long.