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 lay lazily beneath a tree, his back resting against the rough trunk while his body sprawled across a long wooden bench covered with a thin blanket and an old pillow.
Beside the bench sat a worn backpack and a small portable speaker connected to his phone, softly playing a slow lullaby.
Behind him stood a large white building.
The orphanage looked old, its walls carrying traces of age and weather, yet parts of it were clearly renovated.
A folded DNA report covered the young man's face completely, shielding his eyes from the gloomy afternoon light.
He wasn't asleep.
Just too lazy to move.
"Haah…" a tired mumble escaped from beneath the paper. "Life was already comfortable like this…"
A strong wind rustled the leaves above him, carrying the damp scent of approaching rain.
"And now I have to go back to that family?"
His fingers twitched slightly. The DNA report shifted a little over his face, revealing only the edge of his lips.
"What a pain…"
He remained there quietly, listening to the fading sounds of children being called back inside the orphanage before the rain arrived.
The atmosphere felt strangely calm despite the storm approaching overhead.
Too calm.
For someone whose life was about to change completely.
The report on his face clearly contained the results of the DNA test—proof connecting him to one of the wealthiest families in Eastern Indorosia.
The Virellano family.
A super-elite household.
A family powerful enough to influence entire regions.
And now, somehow… it was his family.
"Of all families…" he muttered lazily. "Why did it have to be such an annoying one?"
His hand slowly moved toward his chest, holding the phone loosely before letting it drop again beside him.
Honestly, he didn't even feel like reading the full report.
Just thinking about the coming family drama already exhausted him mentally.
Pampered rich siblings. Political conflicts. Power struggles. Expectations.
Troublesome.
Way too troublesome.
For a few moments, silence returned.
His consciousness slowly began to fade, far too bored waiting for the farewell ceremony and his departure home.
Then—
Footsteps approached from the distance.
The young man didn't move.
The footsteps stopped right in front of him.
"…Young Master."
No response.
"…Young Master."
Still nothing.
One of the men awkwardly glanced toward the middle-aged man beside him—a tall figure wearing a luxurious black suit with an overwhelming aura of authority.
The older man looked down at the youth lying beneath the tree.
Then he sighed quietly.
"…Wake him up properly."
"Yes, sir."
One of the attendants carefully crouched down and lightly shook the young man's shoulder.
"…Mn."
Only then did the youth slowly lift the DNA report away from his face.
His half-open eyes lazily stared at the people before him.
Several bodyguards.
Luxury vehicles parked nearby.
And at the center of them all—
A middle-aged man standing with calm dignity.
The middle-aged man studied him silently for a moment before lightly shaking his head, disappointment faintly visible in his eyes.
The young man noticed it immediately.
But he simply stared back calmly, analyzing everything he could from the situation before him.
Then, a faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Well… they're still a major force in this region. Even in this country.
I just hope… these people can become a path for my people.
The laziness in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a trace of seriousness.
I'll make it work somehow.
The young man finally pushed himself up. Dust clung to his black hoodie as he stretched lightly, looking completely unmotivated despite the absurdly grand situation before him.
"…So we're leaving now?"
"Yes," the middle-aged man replied shortly.
The young man glanced once toward the orphanage behind him.
Then back toward the luxury cars waiting nearby.
"…Haah."
Another sigh.
Still, he grabbed his backpack and slowly walked forward.
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.
The young man rested his head against the car window, quietly watching the blurred city lights beyond the rain.
His reflection appeared faintly on the glass.
Seventeen years old.
Black hair slightly messy, as though he never cared enough to fix it properly.
Sharp dark eyes calmly scanned everything around him, yet carried an unmistakable sense of detachment—as if very few things in this world could genuinely interest him.
His appearance was simple.
A black hoodie over a plain white shirt. Worn black pants. Old white sneakers that didn't match the luxury car he was sitting in at all.
And yet somehow, nothing about him felt ordinary.
He was handsome, yes—but that wasn't what drew attention to him.
It was the strange contradiction surrounding him.
Lazy, yet alert.
Calm, yet difficult to approach.
Like someone who could quietly overturn an entire room's atmosphere just by being there… while looking completely unmotivated to do anything at all.
And today, that young man was returning to the family that had lost him seventeen years ago.
His name was Al.
---
"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.
This man was Edward Virellano—his biological father.
According to the information he had received, Edward 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 spread across Asia, the Middle East, Europe, and America.
Edward's public image was firm yet composed—far warmer than most elites, who usually carried themselves with overwhelming arrogance.
He possessed the charisma of a politician while living the life of a businessman.
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 flat and quiet.
"I just feel… awkward. I don't really know if I can integrate into this family or not."
Edward's brows furrowed slightly.
For a moment, he assumed the boy was simply feeling insecure after suddenly being thrown into an unfamiliar environment.
Yet from Edward's perspective, insecurity itself was a flaw—especially for someone who might one day stand within the line of succession of the Virellano Family.
He remained silent briefly before lightly shaking his head.
"You'll be fine," Edward said without looking at him. His voice remained calm, though the corner of his lips lifted faintly. "Everyone at home is waiting. They'll accept you, no matter what."
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 their 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.
The car slowed down as they entered the private estate of the Virellano family. Beyond the ornate black-and-gold iron gates stood a grand house built on vast land.
Tall pillars supported the front terrace, manicured gardens surrounded the main building, and large glass windows reflected the gloomy afternoon sky. Everything looked luxurious—and cold.
Al looked around, visibly impressed by the architecture and the layout of the estate. It wasn't just the main house—there were several auxiliary buildings and facilities scattered throughout.
It feels like a huge countryside estate taken over by one family. Elites really do love their excesses, he mused inwardly.
The massive estate itself wasn't anything unusual—the only strange part was that the family only had nine core members and no branch families at all.
Which meant everyone else living here were simply workers.
He kept looking around, taking in more of the view, until one smaller building across the wide garden especially caught his attention.
Hmph? What's that? Something spiritual? he wondered as he looked at the small building.
Ohoo… I guess even with all this modern progress, spirituality still hasn't lost its place—not even for a family this powerful.
Edward glanced at Al with a sharp look—like someone watching a country boy seeing a mansion for the first time.
Still, for some reason, he found it a little amusing. But he didn't say a word. He simply turned away and checked his watch.
Moments later, the car came to a smooth stop in front of the main building's grand entrance.
Without waiting, his father stepped out of the car. He stood tall, greeted by a butler who bowed deeply. Edward then looked briefly at Al, who was just stepping out.
"Go inside with Harun. Your mother is waiting," Edward said curtly. "I have to head straight to the office."
He got back into the car and drove off—no hug, no smile, not even a word hinting that he looked forward to seeing his son again.
A well-dressed middle-aged man stood beside Al. He was the same man who had greeted Edward moments ago. The man gave Al a polite nod.
"Welcome to the Virellano residence, Young Master Al. My name is Harun," he said respectfully.
This was Harun, the family's head butler. His voice was warm, yet laced with the caution of someone who had lived his life within strict boundaries and protocol.
Al nodded faintly. His eyes followed the car that carried his father away, watching until the sound of the engine faded in the distance.
Inside the car.
Edward glanced slightly at the rearview mirror.
A wave of emotion surged within him at the sight of his lost son truly returning. Still, his stiff demeanor forced him to hold back.
There was an urge to embrace him—but Al was already seventeen.
"Treating him like a child… that doesn't seem possible anymore," he muttered.
His eyes then fell on the empty seat beside him, where Al had just been sitting.
At the edge of the leather cushion, there was a faint trace of moisture—sweat, perhaps… or even drool? Edward could only shake his head helplessly.
"That boy needs to be hardened. His world has changed. He must learn to be an elite. I only hope he can… especially rid himself of those rustic appearances and habits."
Then he reached for the file lying beside him and flipped it open.
But there was nothing—only physical details and a note that Al had been raised in an orphanage. No trace of his life before or after could be found.
Edward recalled his conversation with the orphanage director.
Certain records of the children were deliberately sealed by the government, requiring clearance from the Ministry of Child Protection and its partnered foundation.
"This is strange… why would the government and the foundation interfere to this extent?" he whispered, confused.
"I suppose I'll have to ask Al directly later. For now, I have far too many obligations. Huft…" He let out a resigned sigh and tossed the file aside.
And so the car drove on, leaving behind his silent turmoil.
---
Back at the Virellano residence,
Al stepped into the house with Harun following behind him.
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.