The lift chimed softly, and the doors opened on the 34th floor. The first thing Aryan saw was Aarav, the First Knight, standing in front of room 3402. He was a statue of quiet vigilance, his black attire blending seamlessly with the polished doors. Aryan's eyes widened in shock. The First Knight, a figure of near-mythical status, was here himself, guarding a single door. The magnitude of the mission hit him with full force.
He walked forward, stopping a respectful distance away before giving a deep, formal bow. "Good morning, First Knight."
Aarav's eyes, visible through the slits in his mask, met Aryan's. He looked him up and down for a moment, his mind silently asking: Veer sent a child to look after him? He simply gave a brief nod in return.
"He is still sleeping," Aarav said, his voice a low, flat monotone. "You can wait on the first floor. The garden is there. I'll inform you when he is up."
Aryan's expression shifted from awe to polite confusion. "Okay, but when will he wake up?"
Aarav's gaze returned to the door of room 3402. A faint, dry hint of sarcasm touched his tone as he replied, "Who knows."
The man woke up at 11:34 AM, the afternoon light bright in the room. He was naked, a deep, healing sleep finally done. He walked into the washroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake off the last remnants of the past. He grabbed a fresh towel, wrapped it around his waist, and walked to the door.
He opened it to find Aarav standing there, a silent statue of vigilance.
"Ask someone to bring breakfast," the man said, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.
Aarav didn't move. "There is someone waiting for you. The Family Head sent him."
"Ah," he said, the sound a mix of laziness and mild annoyance. "Where?"
"First floor."
"Okay," the man said, his hand running through his hair. "Ask someone to bring me some clothes. All I have is this robe and a towel." He looked at Aarav, shrugging slightly.
Aarav's expression didn't change. His voice was a cold, flat command. "What kind of clothes would you like?"
The man's brow furrowed, irritation flashing in his eyes. The coldness was grating. "Any kind will suffice," he said, a touch of anger in his voice. "Just have them be comfortable."
"I will ask someone to bring them," Aarav replied, turning to leave.
As Aarav walked away, the man quickly called out after him, his hand in his hair. "And tell a barber to come too! These damned messy hairs..." He shook his head and shut the door with a quiet click.
He closed the door on Aarav and turned back into the suite. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the city below. The streets were veins of traffic, a constant, living pulse of activity. The buildings stretched for miles, a new kind of horizon he had never known. The world had moved on, and it was vibrant, alive, and utterly oblivious to his existence.
A faint smile touched his lips. He watched the bustling city for a long moment, a quiet observer of a future he had helped build. With a lazy sigh, he turned away from the window and fell back onto the soft bed.
Lying in bed, the man stared at the pristine white ceiling, but his mind had traveled back in time. He remembered the feeling of ambition that once burned in him, the hunger for power and authority that had driven him to create an empire. It had been his purpose, his very reason for being.
But now, it was gone.
"What am I going to do now?" he thought, the question a quiet echo in his mind. The greed, the ambition, the very man he had become... it had all died 150 years ago. He felt like he had been reset, returned to the person he was before he chose that path. A simple, normal engineering student. A lazy teen with the sole thought of doing nothing at all.
He smiled to himself, a genuine warmth spreading through him. How peaceful those days were. Days spent doing nothing but reading novels, binge-watching anime, and getting lost in manhwa.
Those were the good old days, he thought. The days he had truly been at peace.
A knock at the door broke through his reverie. He stood up from the bed, his mind pulled from the nostalgia of peaceful days into the demanding present. He walked to the door and opened it.
Standing there was Aarav, but he was not alone. Beside him was a beautiful woman, elegantly dressed, with a poise that suggested authority. Behind her professional composure, her figure was soft, her body full.
Aarav spoke, his voice as cold and flat as ever. "She is an official member of the organization. She has been tasked with taking care of your daily life, starting today."
"Okay," he said, his voice a simple command. "Enter."
The woman stepped inside, a large, well-stocked bag in her hand. She moved directly to the bathroom, laying out her tools with the practiced precision of a master craftsman. She started with his hair, the messy mop a final remnant of his long sleep. She worked with quiet efficiency, and the strands of hair fell away, revealing a sharper, cleaner look.
After the haircut, she helped him into the tub, the warm water a soothing embrace. She washed away the last traces of the century and a half he had been asleep. It was a silent, intimate service, and he accepted it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
After drying himself off, he stepped out of the bathroom. He looked at the lady, who was carefully laying out clothes from her bag on the bed. There were many different outfits—tailored suits, designer casual wear, and intricate, futuristic-looking garments.
He looked at them all, but none of them appealed to him. They felt too formal, too restrictive, too much like a uniform. At last, his eyes settled on a single item. He pointed to it.
With a final, decisive movement, he selected a simple black t-shirt and a pair of comfortable pants. The clothes felt good against his skin, a simple, unadorned second skin that was more to his liking than any of the elaborate outfits.