The evening sky burned crimson. Black clouds rolled in, covering the sun like stage curtains closing for the final act.
Beneath them, chaos.
A massive, devastating chaos.
Towering buildings looked fragile, ready to crumble at a touch, and the wide roads were buried under scattered debris.
The ground was cracked and charred, littered with the remnants of explosions, and veiled in smoke that refused to fade.
At that moment, a huge explosion shook the ground.
BOOM!
A plume of smoke burst upward.
Two figures emerged from within.
A burly man shot forward, launching a kick wrapped in blazing red energy toward a young man in a black uniform.
The young man—his black uniform torn and stained with dried blood—blocked it with his arm, his limb wrapped in roaring black energy.
BRAK!
Their energies collided, carving a small crater and blasting smoke outward.
The young man vanished from sight.
The burly man only managed to squint, searching for his target.
Before he could react—an elbow smashed into his face.
DOOM!
The massive man was sent flying, crashing into the rubble and bending the metal beams behind him.
But before the young man could follow up—
A barrage of razor-sharp metal blades shot in from behind, slicing through the air like a meteor shower.
The young man turned around, looking bored as he raised his arm.
A layer of reddish energy formed—like a barrier.
TING! TING! TING!
Hundreds of blades bounced off as if striking an invisible wall, but a few pierced through and scraped his arm. Blood trickled down.
The short-haired black-haired woman controlling the flying weapons smiled faintly.
"Stop resisting and surrender yourself, you cursed human."
But the young man didn't look intimidated. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his eyes still carried a calm, lazy expression.
The woman cast the same spell again. Dozens of razor blades flew toward a single point.
The young man simply smiled. And from who-knows-where… he drew a black sword into his hand.
With fluid, precise movements, he deflected every single projectile—sending a few back at the woman, forcing her to stagger back.
The young man sighed lazily.
"Are you that interested in me that you're begging me to surrender, huh?" he said calmly.
But before the joke could even sink in, a magic circle detonated beside him.
DUAR!
A burst of yellow energy exploded.
The attack was fast—too fast for him to react properly. He still managed to guard, but the impact blasted him far sideways, nearly slamming him into a pile of debris.
He then looked toward the attacker.
There, a blonde-haired mage stood, dozens—no, hundreds—of glowing magic circles forming in the air behind her.
From them, another barrage of energy bolts fired toward the young man.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He dodged and parried many of them with his sword. But he was still hit.
His body was flung once again, smashing through two concrete pillars before crashing hard onto the ground.
Smoke rose from his impact point. His breathing was heavy. Open wounds covered his shoulder and chest.
Yet he still stood up. Slowly. As if this was nothing more than a typical day in his life.
The mage clicked her tongue.
"Truly an anomaly. That attack should've killed an S-rank fighter, yet you're still alive."
"No wonder he's their leader," added the burly man who had returned.
The young man got up, brushing dust off his face, still looking strangely relaxed.
"That really hurt. Cough." he muttered casually.
That one indifferent remark made all three attackers pause—annoyed, yet cautious.
"You're still running your mouth even when your life is on the edge," the flying-weapon woman scoffed.
The young man only smiled.
The mage didn't look surprised at his attitude. To her, that smile would vanish soon enough.
And she was right.
Sirens wailed.
Red-blue lights washed over the ruins. In the distance, convoys of armored vehicles approached.
Helicopters and tactical drones filled the sky.
Hundreds of fully equipped special forces soldiers descended rapidly, forming a massive encirclement.
On their uniforms was a unique symbol and title—
'WORLD MAGIC ASSOCIATION.'
Outside the formation, dozens of black-uniformed individuals—the same uniform as the young man—were already restrained, cuffed, and pinned to the ground by special forces.
A commander shouted:
"His entire group has been secured!"
The young man froze, staring at the captured individuals. His expression darkened this time, black energy flaring around him. But it seemed he was still holding himself back.
"You've really gone overboard!" he growled at the three attackers.
The flying-weapon woman, the blonde mage, and the burly man floated closer toward him.
The mage chuckled widely at him.
"Hahaha. You can't smile anymore now, can you?"
"I doubt there's anything left you can do. Whether it's you or your people—they'll all die," the weapon-woman sneered.
The burly man glared at him with hatred.
"Why bother giving him choices when these cursed humans will be executed anyway?!"
The young man gritted his teeth, staring sharply back—something inside him ready to burst, though he still held it in.
"You people really don't get tired of throwing that 'cursed human' nonsense."
He touched his bloodied chest. Drops of red fell onto the ground.
"In the end, we're humans just like you. I don't get why we're fighting like this." he added.
"Tch… Only you people think of yourselves as humans," the mage spit back.
The young man wanted to reply, but suddenly an overwhelming pressure descended from above.
"This is not a fight. This is purification."
A majestic voice echoed from the sky.
Another figure descended from the heavens.
Golden-white radiance illuminated the entire area. All special forces lowered their heads in respect.
A long white-haired man wearing gleaming golden armor.
"Hell Phoenix. Leader of the Black Faction…" he declared with divine authority.
"…your sins—and your faction's sins—have grown far too great for this world. Today is your judgment day."
The young man—Hell Phoenix—looked at him with a flat expression.
"Oh… you finally came. As usual, always with the cinematic divine entrance," he said.
The majestic man only stared, unmoved by the joke.
He raised his hand.
That one motion made everyone tense instantly.
Helicopter spotlights centered on the young man.
Anti-magic drones locked onto him.
Weapons from every direction aimed straight at him.
No gaps. No escape.
The young man stared blankly at all the threats, then turned toward his captured comrades.
A faint, hollow look filled his eyes.
"This is our fate. The world chose us as its enemies," he whispered.
Yet his comrades somehow looked back at him with hope. As if saying—You can do it. We believe in you.
That look calmed the rage inside him… and reignited his resolve.
A faint click of annoyance escaped the golden-armored man.
"Tch… Spare us your sentiment. Filth like you don't deserve love or compassion," he said.
"Don't think for a second we'd ever acknowledge your existence because of that pathetic little pity act."
The young man lifted his head. That faint, sorrowful look hardened into determination. His relaxed demeanor returned.
"I know," he replied.
"If a pity act could make us accepted… then that family would've been the first to acknowledge me."
"But they didn't. So why would I expect any of you to accept me with something that small?"
A memory flashed across his mind—
Standing before a grand gate with a large plaque labeled Virellano.
A group of people stared at him with hatred and disgust, driving him out of a house that was never willing to accept him in the first place.
Back to the present—
The young man swept his gaze across all of it—the enemies who despised him, his captured comrades, and the ruined city destroyed by this chase.
He took a deep, tired breath.
"Huff… I'm really unlucky. How did a lazy guy like me end up in a mess like this?"
And then—a massive light erupted from every direction.
Taking us back…
to the beginning of all this chaos.
Not in the middle of a war.
Not in front of thousands of enemies.
But…
---
Years ago.
Rain poured heavily that night, drenching most of the vast metropolis known as Makazhar City.
The sound of raindrops pounded against the hospital roof in a chaotic rhythm, as if nature itself was trying to hide a crime in progress.
In a quiet hallway, a man in hospital scrubs moved swiftly.
His face was hidden behind a surgical mask and cap.
In his arms, he carried something wrapped in white cloth—a newborn baby boy, unaware that his life was about to be stolen before it even began.
In the delivery room, another newborn had just cried for the first time.
The mother smiled with relief as a nurse brought her the baby—unaware that the child wasn't her biological son.
No one noticed the switch. Not the doctors. Not the family. It had all been planned.
A few hours later, in front of an old orphanage on the verge of collapse, the man stopped.
He looked down at the baby in his arms—his eyes sharp but clouded with hesitation. His heart thundered. But an order was an order. In a faint whisper, he said,
"I'm sorry, little one... I'm just following orders," he murmured.
His lips trembling—whether from the cold or from guilt, no one could tell. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain soaking his body.
"But I can't... I can't kill you. Leaving you here... is my atonement. Don't blame me."
Overcome by guilt, he gently placed the baby at the door, rang the bell, and disappeared into the shadows—swallowed by the mist and the distant wail of sirens.
Soon after, a middle-aged woman opened the door to find a crying baby shivering in the cold.
She picked him up—the blanket was soaked, and a small piece of paper, smudged from the rain, was barely legible. On it, a single word: Al.
She looked around but found no one. Without a word, she brought the child inside.
And behind that door, a harsh life filled with secrets awaited the baby.
That night, no one knew...
That the abandoned child would one day become someone of unimaginable significance.
---
Seventeen years after that night he was taken…
A young man sat leaning against a tree. Behind him stood a large, white building—worn but still sturdy. An orphanage. In his hand, a piece of paper showed the results of a DNA test.
In his other hand, a black phone was pressed to his ear. He was on a call with someone.
"All the data you requested has been sent, Master," said the voice on the other end.
"However, the information about them isn't much different from what's already public. Their private records are heavily guarded and encrypted."
The voice pause for a moment before adding,
"That might make this mission a little troublesome."
"That's fine," the young man replied calmly. "What you've given is already helpful. I'll figure out the rest myself."
"Yes, Master," the voice answered, a hint of hesitation lingering in her tone.
"But... are you sure you want to do this? If not, I can assign another member to take your place and assume your identity. Living that kind of life... might not suit someone like you."
The young man was silent for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh.
"Haah... you're probably right," he muttered with a faint, lazy tone. "Whether they end up pampering me or arguing with me, a drama-filled family life really doesn't suit a lazy guy like me."
He paused, eyes lowering to the papers beside him. "But in the end, they're my real family. With or without this mission, I have to go. So relax—it'll be fine."
The voice on the other end went quiet for a few seconds before replying,
"Understood, Master. I just hope this will open a greater path for us to be accepted in this world."
The young man nodded slightly.
"Yeah. I'll make it happen. Trust me."
"Yes, Master."
And with that, the call ended.
The young man let out a small yawn and glanced at the DNA report in his hand. His name and family name were printed clearly across the top.
"The Virellano family, huh?" he murmured. "Of all the families we've been monitoring, turns out I'm the biological son of one that wasn't even a target."
"If it were Norvalien or Tamarvich, it would've had a massive impact on our mission... but Virellano?"
Moments later—
DING!
A message notification popped up on his phone.
He smiled faintly as he checked the screen. A note appeared, short and direct:
New Mission:
– Integrate with a super-elite family.
– Be accepted as their child.
– Be accepted as the cursed child of a super-elite family.
– Use the family to strengthen our foothold in the Eastern Indorosia region.
He turned off the phone with a sigh.
I just told her everything would be fine… but honestly, even I'm not sure about that, he thought, rubbing his temple with mild frustration.
"Hmph… Can I really pull this off?" he muttered under his breath, eyes following the dark leaves above, swaying against the overcast sky.
"…I don't know. But in the end, they are my blood. I belong with them. Whatever it is… I'll manage."
Then a few people approached him. Among them was a middle-aged man in a formal, luxurious suit.
"It's time for us to go," the man said.
The young man let out a deep sigh, a mix of disbelief... or perhaps just laziness.
He gave a slight nod and grabbed his backpack, following the man to a luxury car parked not far from the orphanage gate.
Several residents of the orphanage were seen wiping away tears, moved by his departure—he was leaving, only to return.
And so, the car drove away, carrying a young man from the home he had always known... to the home where his bloodline awaited.
---
The bustling city of Makazhar roared with life that day. Rain was falling—not heavy, but steady enough to wet the streets.
The young man sat silently in the back seat of a Mercedes-Benz, his gaze empty as he stared out the bulletproof window.
Rain was falling again today—almost the same as the night his life had begun with a lie. Today, he was returning to the family he'd been separated from for seventeen years.
In his thoughts:
What should I do when I meet my mother and siblings later?
Should I act cheerful for the first impression? …No, no. I wouldn't be able to keep up that kind of image for long.
Maybe I should act dignified and a little arrogant? Ugh… they're my family, not my subordinates.
Or maybe I should just be myself—lazy and uninterested? Would an elite family even accept someone like that?
He could feel himself slipping into another round of overthinking.
Hmm... This is such a pain. Returning to a family I've never even seen before. I guess the words "familiar" and "family" don't always mean the same thing.
He let out a quiet sigh, resting his head against the window.
His reflection appeared faintly in the glass—a seventeen-year-old boy with pale skin, the kind of tone that came from growing up far from luxury.
And yet, he radiated an unusual charm—hard to ignore.
His hair was jet-black and slightly messy, as if he didn't care to use a comb.
His eyes were sharp, black as pearls, calm but observant—like someone quietly studying the world, with no real interest in getting involved. His nose was straight, his chin defined.
Despite his youth, there was a maturity in his expression—like someone who had seen too much, even without living too long.
He was tall and lean. Not with the posture of a soldier, but of someone hardened by survival.
His shoulders were broad for someone his age, and when he stood, his presence drew attention—without even trying.
Yet, his appearance was simple. A plain black hoodie covered a white t-shirt underneath, paired with knee-length black pants that looked like relics from a forgotten year.
Even his shoes weren't expensive—just worn-out white canvas sneakers, ironically mocking the fact that he was now sitting in a billion-rupiah car on his way to a noble's mansion.
He wasn't the kind of guy who wanted attention. But somehow, the world couldn't help but take a second look.
Yes, he was handsome—but that wasn't what held people's gaze. It was something hidden beneath his calm expression.
Something that seemed to whisper: I could destroy your world... but I'm too lazy to bother.
And today, this young man was returning to a place that saw him as a stranger.
Not as a guest.
Not as a servant.
But as their blood.
His name was Al.
A lazy young man... with a story unlike any other.
---
"What are you thinking about, Al?"
The voice came from the middle-aged man sitting beside him in the back seat.
His face was calm but stern, marked by sharp lines of discipline. His hair was neatly combed, with streaks of white showing at the temples.
A man who had just returned into Al's life after seventeen long years. Now, personally picking him up from the orphanage—with the family chauffeur in tow.
His father.
Al turned to look at him.
This man was Edward Virellano—my biological father.
According to the data I received, he was the Head of the Virellano Family and the Chairman of the Virellano Group—
one of the most powerful conglomerates in Indorosia, with business empires stretching across Asia, the Middle East, Europe, and America.
He quietly analyzed the man in his thoughts.
His public persona was firm yet composed—warmer than most elites, who usually reeked of arrogance. A man with the charisma of a politician, living the life of a businessman.
Interesting.
But what kind of man was he... as a father?
Al didn't answer immediately. He simply stared out the window, watching the drizzle dance across the glass. An unfamiliar feeling crept over him. Not fear. Not comfort.
"Nothing, Mr. Ed—I mean… nothing, Father," Al finally replied, his tone soft flat.
"I just feel... awkward. I don't know how to act when I meet Mother and my siblings. And whether any of you will even see me as... family."
His father was momentarily taken aback by the sharpness in his words—unexpected from someone his age. But he leaned back in his seat calmly, showing no visible reaction.
"You'll be fine," Edward said without looking at him. His voice was even, though the corner of his lips lifted faintly. "Everyone at home is waiting. They'll accept you, no matter what."
The line sounded... rehearsed. Light, straightforward, and without weight. To Al, it wasn't the voice of a father longing for his son—it sounded more like a formal statement.
As if the man had just checked off an overdue task: Pick up the long-lost child.
Or perhaps, it was simply the result of awkwardness—of meeting a son he hadn't seen in seventeen years.
"This isn't the time to hesitate," Edward added. "You're part of the family now, Al. You don't have to think about anything else. They'll see you as one of their own."
Al remained silent. He wasn't sure—was his father really trying to comfort him, or just fulfilling a sense of duty as the family head?
Maybe this was simply how he was as a person. Either way... it made sense. It was our first meeting, after all.
Still... somehow, his words of reassurance only made me feel more uncertain, Al thought, suppressing a dry chuckle.
Haah... what a strange feeling.
---
Before long, they arrived at a grand, luxurious residential estate.
Al stepped out of the car without saying a word. The light rain soaked his jacket, but he didn't care.
His eyes fell on a young man standing in front of the mansion—staring at him as if appraising a rare object.
Beside him, a woman with red-rimmed eyes trembled as she held back tears.
Three other girls stood nearby in an oddly formal formation—as if welcoming an honored guest... or a complete stranger.
Seventeen years.
They had continued living their lives...
And now,
He had returned.