Nightfall at Lucian's mansion.
In the spacious room, the soft glow of the lamps did little to dispel the chill and tension in the air. Lucian sat with one leg crossed over the other on the long couch, arms folded, eyes sharp and cold as they locked onto the person standing before him.
Aaron stood opposite, arms folded too, but he couldn't hide the sulky look of a child who had just been scolded—because, in truth, he was being punished.
Before leaving on a business trip, Lucian had made it clear: Do not leave the mansion without permission. If you must go out, you need an escort.
But Aaron had slipped past his watchers to follow Jimson.
For Lucian, that was more than enough to warrant "discipline."
-"So, tell me—what rule did you break?" Lucian asked coldly, his gaze like ice piercing through Aaron.
Aaron lowered his head, stammering:
-"I… I snuck out without permission…"
Lucian tilted his chin slightly, even colder now.
-"What else?"
-"…I followed Jimson without approval… And I didn't train properly…" Aaron's voice grew smaller and smaller, his face visibly pouting, as if trying to tug at Lucian's sympathy.
But tonight, he miscalculated.
-"If you like Jimson that much, why don't you go live with him instead?"
Lucian's voice was freezing, the blow cutting straight into Aaron's heart.
Startled, Aaron shook his head quickly, eyes glistening, his voice turning into a soft plea:
-"Lucian… I didn't mean to… I—"
-"Quiet."
Lucian's one-word command made Aaron fall instantly silent.
He gestured for Aaron to come closer.
Aaron obeyed, and Lucian pulled him into his lap. Without another word, Lucian grabbed the medical kit and began tending to the small wounds scattered across Aaron's body.
Nestling into Lucian's arms, Aaron spoke softly, like a breeze:
-"I was just curious… I wanted to learn more skills…"
He kissed Lucian's cheek, trying to ease the tension.
Lucian didn't respond at first, only paused slightly. He didn't want to admit it, but his heart had already softened somewhat. His voice grew lower:
-"I told you… Don't poke around Jimson Snake."
-"Why not?" Aaron whispered, like a child desperate to understand.
-"He's not good for you." Lucian said as he calmly placed another bandage.
-"But then… why let him train me?" Aaron asked directly, eyes bright with a quiet longing for a sincere answer.
Lucian let out a slow breath and replied carefully:
-"Because he's skilled. Skilled enough to toughen you up without breaking who you are. In this world, Jimson is the only one I trust to handle you."
Aaron nodded.
Even though Jimson was mysterious, he didn't seem as cold as he appeared—at least, not to Aaron.
-"So… he's really that good? I don't think he's scary like the others…"
Lucian looked up, his eyes growing serious.
-"He's not bloodthirsty. But if you ever become his enemy, you'll die without even knowing how. You saw it yourself this afternoon, didn't you?"
Finishing the last bandage, Lucian gently lifted Aaron's chin and kissed his cheek, then his eyes.
-"I don't want to see you cry. Don't cry again. And never go out alone. The world isn't as gentle as you think. If no one had been there to protect you today, do you think you'd still be alive?"
Aaron looked up at Lucian, eyes filled with honesty and trust:
-"I understand… I promise, it won't happen again."
Lucian seemed satisfied. He kissed Aaron's forehead, then lifted him and gently laid him onto the bed.
-"Sleep. It's late."
Aaron giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucian's neck to pull him closer, whispering:
-"Hold me tight, or I'll sneak out again…"
The playful line was light as air, but it struck deep into Lucian's heart.
He chuckled softly, wrapped his arms tightly around Aaron, gently patting his back, and together they slowly drifted into sleep.
————————————————————
In a vast room painted in cold, steely gray, the heavy curtains were drawn tight, save for a faint sliver of light that reflected off the black leather sofa at its center. The air felt frozen, so still that the ticking of the clock could be heard clearly, each slow beat echoing in the silence.
This was Jimson Snake's domain.
He lounged back on the sofa, one leg resting atop the other, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled neatly to the elbows. The collar was left open, revealing a sliver of his elegant collarbone. His icy gaze flicked over the file Atropa was holding, expression unchanged, yet the air around him pulsed with an overwhelming, arrogant presence.
It was the kind of aura that struck fear—and fascination—into the hearts of others: beauty so sharp it felt like a sweet, poisonous toxin.
Atropa stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as stone, exuding a composed and razor-edged aura.
Unlike ordinary subordinates, Atropa was one of the few who could stand near Jimson without being suffocated by the pressure.
His voice cut through the stillness, calm and measured:
-"Given what just happened, I believe Doll's Eyes will behave for a while."
Jimson gave a faint, mirthless smile, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, head resting lazily against the back of the couch.
-"Mm. But not for long. Doll's Eyes doesn't stay quiet like that. Just watching. Waiting for a mistake."
He raised a hand, brushing his fingers along his chin as if calculating a move in a deadly game.
"Just wait… the game will begin again soon."
The final words slipped out like a breeze, but carried the chill of sharpened steel.
Atropa bowed slightly, respectful as always:
-"Understood, Boss."
Jimson gave a slight wave of the hand—nothing more needed to be said.
Atropa understood immediately.
He turned and exited, the door closing behind him with a sound so soft it vanished into the silence, leaving the mysterious master alone once more.
The room fell into absolute stillness.
Jimson exhaled slowly.
Then, in a low voice, he murmured—like a solemn declaration:
-"We'll meet soon… Doll's Eyes."
He slowly tugged off the glove on his left hand, finger by finger, peeling back the sleek black fabric.
In the dim light, his bare hand emerged—smooth, pale, delicate, untouched by the world.
But what truly captivated was this: a tattoo, etched onto the back of that very hand.
Jimson gazed at it with an expression that softened briefly, as if staring into a long-lost memory.
But it lasted only a second.
That fleeting gentleness faded, replaced once again by the ever-present cold.
That hand—no one had ever seen it clearly.
Jimson always wore gloves in public. No exceptions.
No subordinate, no enemy had ever laid eyes on that tattoo and lived to tell the tale.
Don't be curious. Don't try to guess.
Because the price… is death.
A slow, creeping death by the purest toxin—
The kind Jimson Snake carried like breath itself.
He slid the glove back on, each finger fitted with quiet precision. Then leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes.
Silent.
Proud.
Lethal.
Like a venomous bloom flourishing in the dark, awaiting the prey that would come to him.
———————————————————
Today was another training session between Jimson and Aaron, but there was one key difference—Lucian was present.
He didn't participate. He simply stood in a corner, arms folded, cold eyes never leaving Aaron.
It was as if he wanted to see just how far the one he loved had come.
Jimson, of course, didn't care. Whether Lucian was there or not made no difference to him—he remained as cold and ruthless as always, perhaps even more brutal than usual.
-"Aaa—"
Aaron was kicked hard, his small frame crashing onto the cement floor with a sharp thud.
Lucian narrowed his eyes, his expression subtly shifting.
-"Get up."
Jimson's voice cut through the air like a blade—detached, yet commanding.
"Drop that weakness. There's no room for gentleness in this world. Hurry up."
Lucian spoke coldly:
-"Jimson."
Just one word, but it was a warning.
There was a flicker of pain in his eyes, as if he wanted to take the blows on Aaron's behalf.
-"Lucian…"
Aaron pushed himself up, turned his head, and gave a light smile.
"I'm fine. This is just the warm-up. Come on, let's keep going."
-"Don't give me orders."
Jimson turned to Lucian, eyes as cold as ice.
"You may be a King out there, but in here, I'm the one who decides. I train my way—not to satisfy anyone's emotions."
Each word was firm, etched in stone—a sharp reminder of the boundary between them.
Lucian didn't respond. He stood still, deep eyes full of thought.
He understood—Jimson wasn't joking.
And he wasn't wrong.
Jimson's training—harsh as it was—got results.
Aaron lunged forward again.
But this time, his eyes had changed.
Determination burned bright. His speed was faster, his strikes stronger.
Jimson only dodged—never attacking back—remaining calm and arrogant.
-"Lucian," Jimson spoke again, voice frigid,
"the biggest mistake of those who stand above others is letting emotions cloud their judgment. One moment of distraction—can cost a life. If you want Aaron to become a beautiful flower with venom, he has to be forged in fire."
-"I know."
Lucian answered shortly, still cold—but there was a faint softness in his gaze when he looked at Aaron.
A hint of pride he couldn't hide.
Gunshots rang out—three in a row.
Each one landed just shy of the bullseye, leaving marks nearly perfect.
Not direct hits yet, but enough to make Jimson glance over, quietly impressed by the progress.
-"You really do love poison."
Jimson said flatly, eyeing Aaron.
"Training like a madman just because of one promise… But remember: if your reflex is even a second too slow, no matter how good your aim is, it's meaningless."
Aaron laughed—tired, yet proud.
-"Then you better be ready. I'm almost there."
Jimson smirked faintly, gave a wave, and turned his back, walking away with his usual arrogant poise.
-"That's enough for today. Go home."
Lucian didn't take his eyes off Jimson's back until it disappeared from view.
Then he turned to Aaron, stepping closer.
His hand gently ruffled Aaron's hair—his voice still cold, but filled with unspoken approval:
-"Well done."
Aaron beamed, eyes shining as he looked up at Lucian:
-"I'm so tired… Let's go home…"
He leaned into Lucian, knowing he would catch him.
And sure enough, Lucian scooped him up with ease, holding him gently.
Leaving behind the scent of gunpowder,
Lucian carried Aaron in his arms—
as if carrying all his hopes with him.
EndofChapter17