"You... You're joking... right...?"
The words barely came out. Weak. Shaky.
They didn't even sound like my own voice.
Duke Ravenhart's eyes locked onto mine.
Cold. Unwavering.
There wasn't a single trace of humor in them.
He wasn't joking.
"Do I look like a man who makes jokes?" His voice was dry. Sharp. Like a blade scraping against stone.
I swallowed hard.
"But... but I... I'm nobody! I'm just... just a street rat! I don't even know how to read! I can't fight, I—"
"Exactly." — He cut me off. — "That's why you're perfect."
Perfect...?
What was he even talking about?
None of this made any sense!
The Duke took one step closer.
My body flinched on instinct, like a cornered animal.
He crouched slightly, meeting my gaze directly. His eyes pierced through me, like they could see right into my very soul.
"You have no past. No surname. No connections. A ghost. A blank slate."
He tilted his chin slightly. "And no one questions a blank slate. It simply... gets written."
I could only stare.
Frozen.
Then he stood straight, adjusted his gloves, and turned his back to me.
"From this day forward... your name is Clint Ravenhart."
I squeezed my hands into fists, trembling.
"And... and if I say no...?" — I asked. My voice came out smaller than I intended.
He stopped.
A thick silence settled.
"No...?"
He slowly glanced back over his shoulder.
Then, a cold chuckle left his lips.
"Refuse?" — He repeated, voice like ice. — "And why would you do that?"
His gaze sharpened, pressing down on me like a crushing weight.
"Do you wish to return... to the filth? To the cold? The hunger? Back to stealing scraps... running for your life... hiding from guards ready to gut you over a loaf of bread?"
His tone was sharp. Unrelenting.
"Is that the freedom you crave? A life where every day could be your last, and the only thing waiting for you... is a nameless corpse rotting in a gutter?"
My breath hitched.
My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing it from the inside.
He turned fully again, eyes cold but perfectly calm.
"Your talent... isn't something you get to choose. It's a fact. And I don't waste facts."
Before I could reply, he snapped his fingers.
"Lorne."
The butler, who'd stood silently until now, bowed slightly.
"Yes, my lord."
"Clean him. Feed him. Dress him." — The Duke said, glancing at me like he was looking at an unfinished sculpture. — "Then... bring him to the main hall. It's time to introduce my heir."
"WHAT?!"
"RIGHT NOW?!"
My heart practically exploded in my chest.
The Duke stepped toward the door.
But before leaving, he tossed one last line over his shoulder:
"Oh. And scrub him well. I don't want anyone thinking I picked some random stray off the streets... even though... that's exactly what I did."
The door shut behind him.
Silence.
For a long moment, my brain just... blanked.
Then the butler — Lorne — sighed, calmly rolling up his sleeves.
"Well then." — His voice was perfectly composed. — "Get up, young master. We have much to do."
"...Young... what?" — I blinked at him.
Lorne met my eyes.
Completely serious.
Without a hint of sarcasm or humor.
"Young master." — He repeated. — "You... are now the heir of House Ravenhart."
My stomach sank.
This is actually happening...
---
The bath... was straight-up torture.
Two maids came in — both looking at me like I was some wild animal someone dragged in.
Hot water. Soap.
Scrub brushes.
Not hands.
Brushes.
"OW! That hurts!" — I yelped, trying to squirm away.
"Stay still. You've got years of filth stuck to you." — One of the maids said, deadpan, as if I were just a dirty window they were polishing.
By the time they were done...
I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
My face...
Pale skin under all the grime.
Straight, jet-black hair falling slightly over my forehead.
Eyes... dark. Sharp.
I... actually looked like a person.
Not a street rat.
They dressed me.
A clean white shirt. A fitted black vest. Polished boots. Pants that were probably worth more than anything I'd ever seen.
When I glanced at the mirror again...
"...Who the hell is that guy?" — I muttered under my breath.
"The young master Ravenhart." — Lorne answered without missing a beat. — "Now\... come. The Duke awaits."
My stomach twisted.
My legs felt like they were made of stone.
But... I walked.
Or maybe... I was dragged by fate itself.
The mansion's halls were massive. Luxurious beyond anything I'd ever imagined.
Golden chandeliers. Fine tapestries. Oil paintings taller than me, depicting generations of the Ravenhart family.
Every step echoed louder than my own thoughts.
Then... the doors opened.
A grand hall.
Black marble floors.
Towering windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.
At the center...
The Duke.
Standing tall. Commanding.
And beside him... three men and a woman.
All dressed in silk and gold.
All looking directly... at me.
And in their eyes...
Disgust.
Anger.
Contempt.
...And beneath it all...
Fear.
The Duke smiled.
That cold, sharp smile that could cut steel.
"From this day forward..." — His voice echoed through the hall. — "This boy is my adopted son. My heir."
Silence.
For three full seconds.
Then—
"WHAT?!"
"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!"
"HE'S... HE'S A FILTHY STREET RAT!"
"MY LORD, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!"
The Duke... only laughed.
Low. Cold.
"Ah... I was expecting exactly this reaction"