"The baron's son killed someone!"
Mrs. Paris, a shriveled old woman with a witch-like presence, shrieked. The sound scraped against Seth's ears, sharp and grating, like nails on a blackboard. He frowned.
"Look! The devil's come back," she spat. "He returned without a sound, and now a poor soul lies dead. What are you waiting for? Get rid of him—tie him up! Tie up the devil!"
She whipped off the blue checkered cloth covering her basket, snatched something from inside, and hurled it at Seth. Instinctively, he raised his cane and swung. A sharp crack echoed; something wet splattered across his coat. Sticky egg white dripped down, shards of shell clinging to the cane.
Ah. Eggs. So that's what she was carrying.
Behind her, emboldened by her fury, the workers began stepping forward, breathing heavily but hesitating at the last moment. After all, Seth was the baron's son. Baron Byson wasn't just anyone in Enqi Town; he was power itself—someone you didn't cross lightly.
The workers glanced at each other, unsure.
Matthew stepped in front of Seth. "What's wrong with you people? Have you lost your minds? Mr. Seth isn't a murderer!"
"Don't listen to him!" Mrs. Paris jabbed a bony finger at Matthew. "He's the devil's accomplice! The goddess warned us—the devil's servants are foul talkers, polluters, blasphemers! They must be cast out! What are you waiting for? Prove your faith! Seize the polluter. If he resists, you're allowed—no, commanded—to use force, in the name of the goddess!"
The workers hesitated no more. They wouldn't dare raise a hand against Seth, but Matthew was fair game. They surged forward—until a small voice cut through the commotion.
"Stop!"
Karina stood trembling beside Matthew. Her hands shook, but her eyes held firm. She sniffled, took a shaky breath, and shouted, "I can testify! Mr. Seth isn't the killer! He chased the murderer away!"
"Liar!" Mrs. Paris's eyes gleamed with fanaticism as she pointed her claw-like finger at the girl. "Another polluter! Catch her too!"
Seth had seen enough. He stepped forward, ready to put an end to this madness—when two policemen in checkered black-and-white uniforms pushed their way into the alley.
"What's going on here? Move aside—move aside!"
Finally. The police had arrived.
—
That evening, Seth returned home. After the police intervened, he'd been "invited" to the station. He cooperated, answering their questions as best he could.
By the time the butler arrived with the family lawyer, Qilief, Seth was free to leave. Mrs. Paris, meanwhile, had been detained—for slandering a noble. But the police chief had warned they'd likely release her tomorrow. She hadn't caused real harm, after all.
At 13 Boulevard Champagne, Seth stepped inside and found his younger sister Annabelle, freshly back from her ride. She wore a crisp blouse with a lace bow tie, dark breeches, and polished riding boots. She glanced over, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
"My dear brother," she drawled, "just got home and already back from the station? You've been quite… lucky lately."
There it was again. Sisterly concern, dressed up in sarcasm. How did she get this way? Seth sighed, pulling off his top hat with a tired smile.
"Maybe I'm just the protagonist of the times," he joked.
Annabelle rolled her eyes. "Spare me. Stop quoting Emperor Roselle."
"Alright, alright. Your brother's exhausted."
Their mother, Anilu, appeared, graceful as ever. "Seth, go freshen up. Dinner's almost ready."
"Okay, Mom."
Seth gave Annabelle a wink as he passed. She pursed her lips and turned away, pretending she wasn't amused.
Upstairs, he cleaned up and changed clothes. On his way to the dining room, he paused outside his father's study. Voices drifted through the door.
"…He's only eighteen. It's too soon for him to be involved in these matters. You really don't intend to reconsider?"
His mother's voice.
Father Byson chuckled. "Honey, eighteen isn't young. When I was his age, I was already on the battlefield."
"But—"
"That's enough, dear." His tone softened. "He's the eldest son of this family. These are his responsibilities. Besides, Seth has made it clear he wants to change. I promised him a chance—this is that chance. And you know better than anyone… he doesn't have to shoulder this burden. He's choosing it."
"Anilu, be careful!"
"Sorry, love. I just—"
Byson sighed quietly. "I know what worries you. You're afraid he'll follow that path. But, my dear… you saw what happened today. He almost got hurt. You and I both know the world isn't as peaceful or beautiful as it looks. Sooner or later, he has to see it for what it is. He has to face it."
They were talking about him. Worrying about him.
Warmth swelled in Seth's chest. He wasn't sure if it belonged to the body's original owner or himself. But it was real.
He'd never known this kind of warmth in his previous life. Born in a poor family in a remote town, the fourth of seven children, he'd been treated like a burden, a mouth to feed. To his parents, he wasn't a son—he was a worker, a tool. His father had forced him into a factory job while he was still in junior high. Only thanks to a kind schoolteacher had he managed to finish high school at all.
His parents never spoke of his future—only of when he'd start bringing money home.
But here? In this strange new world? In this family? They cared. They argued about his future. They worried. Even with all its dangers, oddities, and mysteries, this world had something he never had before: a home.
And that was enough.
"Master."
Matthew's voice behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. Footsteps echoed in the study. Then the door creaked open. His mother peeked out, eyes wide with surprise.
"Seth? When did you—"
Inside, Byson let out a low laugh. "Looks like he overheard. Come in."
Seth gave a small nod and stepped inside. Anilu told the servant to wait outside, then gently closed the door behind him. Byson rose from his chair, his expression grave. His gaze weighed heavily on Seth, filling the room with quiet pressure.
"Seth, my son," Byson began. "Didn't you tell me you wanted to change? Didn't you ask for a chance to prove yourself?"
He paused.
"Well. I'm giving it to you now. And I'll let you choose your path."
He held up one finger.
"First option: assist me directly. You'll step into my world—politics, commerce, alliances. I'll entrust you with properties to manage. You'll meet people from every circle. Your goal: earn a seat in Backlund's upper house."
Then a second finger.
"Or… become this family's hidden sword. Protect us from the shadows. Strike down our enemies in silence. You'll enter a world of darkness and danger. You'll become… extraordinary."
The last word hung in the air.
Seth's mind buzzed.
Extraordinary?
Did his family know? About the supernatural?