Aarav sat still on the bed, his fingers slightly curled against the soft sheets as his eyes remained fixed on the door his father had just walked out of. The room felt silent now, but not peaceful—there was a strange weight in the air, like something invisible was watching him. His heart was still beating fast, his mind struggling to catch up with everything that had just happened. Just moments ago, he was lying on a cold floor, being kicked and laughed at… and now, he was here, in a place that didn't feel real at all.
The man in the black suit stepped forward again, his posture straight and controlled, but his eyes carried a careful caution. "Young master… you should rest. The doctor will arrive shortly," he said in a respectful tone, but there was something else hidden beneath it—fear.
Aarav noticed it.
Fear… directed at him.
That didn't make sense.
He slowly looked down at his hands again, turning them slightly as if trying to confirm they were real. They were clean, smooth, and steady—nothing like the weak, bruised hands he remembered. Even his breathing felt stronger, more controlled, like his body didn't belong to the same person anymore.
"W-What… is my name?" he asked quietly, his voice hesitant.
The man paused for a second before replying, "Armaan De Hovie, young master."
Armaan… De Hovie.
The name settled differently. It sounded sharp, expensive… dangerous. Not something ordinary people carried. Something people remembered—and feared.
Aarav no, Armaan—slowly leaned back against the bed, trying to process everything. "And… that man…" he hesitated before continuing, "…he is really my father?"
"Yes," the man replied without delay, "Mr. Victor De Hovie. "Head of the Black Vant Syndicate."
Black Vant Syndicate.
Even without understanding it fully, the name carried weight. It sounded like something that existed in shadows, something that didn't belong in the normal world.
His chest tightened slightly.
"So… I'm his son…" he muttered under his breath.
The man nodded. "You are his only heir."
Only heir.
That word hit harder than anything else.
Aarav had spent his entire life being invisible, unwanted, ignored… and now suddenly, he was someone standing at the top of something powerful enough to make grown men cautious.
It didn't feel real.
Before he could think further, the door opened again, and a man in a white coat walked in quickly, carrying a small case in his hand. "Young master," he said politely as he approached, "please allow me to examine you."
Armaan didn't resist as the doctor began checking his pulse, his eyes, his breathing. Everything felt normal, yet strange at the same time.
After a few moments, the doctor stepped back with a slight frown. "Physically, he is completely fine," he said, glancing at the man in the black suit, "but… there seems to be slight memory disorientation."
The room went silent.
The man in black spoke carefully, "Should we inform the boss?"
The doctor hesitated for a second, then shook his head slightly. "Not yet. It may recover naturally."
Armaan listened quietly, his mind racing.
Memory disorientation…
So they think I lost my memory.
He lowered his gaze slightly, hiding the change in his expression.
Maybe… that's better.
A slow, unfamiliar thought formed in his mind.
If they don't know… then I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not.
But at the same time…
If I don't act right… I might not survive here.
He clenched his fingers slightly.
This wasn't school anymore.
This wasn't bullying.
This was something else entirely.
Something far more dangerous.
The man in the black suit looked at him again. "Young master, would you like us to inform Mr. De Hovie that you have woken up?"
Armaan paused for a moment.
Then slowly, he shook his head.
"…Not yet."
For the first time since waking up, his voice didn't tremble.
And somewhere deep inside him…
that quiet, broken boy…
was starting to change.