Veyron returned to the estate shortly before dusk.
After changing into more comfortable clothes, he spent the remaining hours organizing business-related documents—investment summaries, trade routes, and internal ledgers. In his previous life, he had always preferred strategy over brute force. Training had felt tedious, inefficient. He believed power could be bought, manipulated, or borrowed.
That belief had cost him dearly.
Still, even then, he had understood one truth—weakness had no place in a world ruled by strength. That was why he had planned to awaken at fifteen, just before entering the World Academy.
This time, he would not wait.
Night fell.
Soon after, Lucien von Blackvale and Elara Raven-Blackvale returned home. Dinner was prepared in the grand hall—a table far larger than necessary for a family of four, but customary among elite families who often entertained guests without notice.
Lucien was visibly pleased, barely containing his excitement at Veyron's sudden motivation.
Elara, however, noticed immediately.
As they ate, she watched her son carefully before finally speaking.
"Veyron," she said softly, "I heard you want to awaken early. Did your father pressure you?"
Her gaze shifted sharply toward Lucien.
"If that's the case, don't worry. I'll make sure he never brings it up again."
Lucien nearly choked on his food.
"Elara—cough—what?!"
Veyron calmly sliced his steak.
"No one forced me," he said evenly. "I decided it myself."
He paused briefly, then added,
"And it wouldn't reflect well on the Blackvale name if its heir was known as indolent, would it?"
Lucien cleared his throat, grateful for the intervention.
Elara studied Veyron's face—searching for hesitation, doubt, or discomfort.
Finding none, she sighed quietly.
"If this is your choice, I won't stop you," she said. "But you're awakening later than some others. You may feel behind. Don't let that weigh on you."
Lucien nodded.
"Regardless of the result," he said firmly, "remember who you are. No one has the right to look down on the Blackvale heir."
Veyron stood as he finished his meal.
"You don't need to worry," he said calmly. "Do you really think I'm the type to feel inferior?"
As he turned to leave, something rare happened.
A faint smile surfaced—brief, unintentional.
The doors closed behind him.
Silence followed.
Elara froze.
"…Lucien."
"Yes?"
"He smiled."
Lucien blinked, then stared at the doorway.
"I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me," he said slowly. "When was the last time we saw that?"
Neither of them remembered.
Veyron had always worn the same indifferent expression—regardless of praise, reprimand, or danger.
Elara's lips curved upward, her eyes bright.
"Make sure his awakening goes perfectly," she said firmly. "Get him the best resources available."
She turned to Lucien, her voice leaving no room for argument.
"I don't care about the cost."
Lucien smiled.
"After that?" he said. "I wouldn't dare be stingy."
He reached for the communicator on the table.
"Stephen," he said, already dialing. "Prepare everything. Spare no expense."
The head butler answered at once.
Stephen, a man in his fifties who had watched Lucien grow from boy to patriarch, was taken aback by the excitement in his lord's voice.
He hadn't heard it like this in over fifteen years.
Not since Lucien married Elara.
Not since their children were born.
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