Chapter Five: One Year of Restraints
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"Hmm."
Noya muttered in understanding while glancing at the papers in his hands.
"Not bad."
It wasn't as bad as he had expected.
No—it was more accurate to say that the contract was tailored to suit him.
It might be a marriage contract, but it was closer to adoption.
And the conditions inside actually suited him.
Yet he was still hesitant.
It wasn't as if he would make others miserable just for his own sake.
He wasn't that kind of person.
So, he had to refuse.
Do you know why?
Of course, he would tell you.
The person who was supposed to share this contract with him already had his own Omega.
It seemed that the head of his family—his grandfather—rejected that Omega.
Yes, that was the way of the wealthy.
Simply because they were born rich and married into wealth,
they thought they could control their grandchildren and choose their partners.
But Noya wasn't that type.
He simply tossed the papers onto the table.
"No, I don't agree."
The words came out neither cold nor harsh,
just the words of someone experienced,
someone who knew how to evaluate matters.
Not a rejection of feelings,
not mockery,
but simply because the contract's terms did not suit him.
A faint frown appeared on the man's forehead.
Perhaps upset by the refusal—or who knew?
His gestures betrayed an inner debate.
He moved his hands together,
fiddled with the ring that bore his family's crest:
the black falcon.
It was his habit to play with it whenever he was deep in thought.
But—
The other party seemed slightly astonished.
Not by the refusal,
but rather by the unexpected manner of it.
That careful study,
those sharp eyes unafraid of anything,
decisive movements,
steady gestures—
as if he was assessing the entire situation.
For him, Noya was astonishing.
Despite his young age,
how confident he was,
how serious.
He neither coveted nor demanded.
He simply analyzed and decided.
Not rashly, not emotionally—
like a military commander evaluating his troops,
measuring everything in its place.
That was why the man had come himself.
He never allowed his subordinates to handle such matters in his stead.
For he had learned—
no, rather,
he had received some information.
Information he hadn't believed at first.
So, he came to see with his own eyes.
And he was grateful he had.
He would have wasted a talent otherwise.
He didn't know Noya's secrets,
nor his ambitions.
But through his investigations,
he knew—
the young man before him, Noya Neirith,
had plans of his own.
A deep desire beyond human comprehension,
despite the horrors surrounding him.
So instead of despairing,
instead of getting angry,
he studied him.
He observed his expressions as he read,
trying to locate the flaw.
Thus, he spoke.
Not as a businessman,
nor as a father offering his child,
but as a talented man proposing a deal.
A pragmatic tone slipped from his lips,
aimed at identifying the missing pieces,
understanding his way of thinking,
the reason for his refusal despite all the lures placed before him.
He raised his hand,
as though ready to renew the deal,
ready to propose something better.
And in his eyes, a spark ignited—
a spark that lit a fire of determination in his heart.
"Allow me to know the reason."
Noya looked at the man before him,
knowing this would not be easy.
Not because he was incapable,
but because the man was insistent.
Noya answered.
It wasn't a game.
This was a serious discussion
that had to end with a solution satisfactory to both sides.
"In truth, it seems the contract was made for me, but my principles will never allow me to be tied to someone who is in love."
The man was taken aback again, his eyes widening.
He had not expected such an admission,
and so he found himself nodding almost involuntarily.
As was said,
the contract was indeed tailored to him,
taking into account his personal circumstances.
Yet the young man before him had thought of something else entirely.
Noya continued, unaffected by the man's surprise.
"No matter how much I need such a contract, I will never destroy the bond between two people who love each other."
The man spoke with a firm tone,
trying to clarify his point,
precise and strict as suited his position.
"I'd like to remind you that the contract includes a clause allowing them to continue their relationship even after this marriage."
Noya replied again, with no particular inflection:
"Are they both in agreement?"
The man's voice carried a hint of hesitation,
for their consent had not been so easy to obtain.
But he answered:
"Yes."
The answer was clear.
But Noya sensed the hesitation behind it.
He knew things weren't as they appeared.
He tilted his head slightly,
thoughts swirling in his mind.
He picked up the papers again,
uncapped his pen,
held it firmly over the signature line—
but did not sign.
Nor did he seem inclined to.
"Call your son."
Noya said it effortlessly,
as if certain the man before him was indeed the father of the boy mentioned in the contract.
He had studied.
He had understood.
He would not be mistaken.
Only confirmation remained.
The man hesitated but said nothing.
He took his phone and asked when his son would arrive.
The answer: he was already here.
It didn't take long before the young man entered.
Noya watched him.
Like an appraiser evaluating a rare piece,
he examined him closely.
The boy was nearly the same height as him—
that was the only distinct similarity Noya noticed.
He didn't distinguish his features much,
but he seemed elegant, refined—
as befitted the second son of a wealthy family.
His face carried a slight scowl.
Clearly, he disliked the arrangement.
But his family pressured him.
Noya broke the silence—time was running short.
"Young man, do you agree?"
The boy was startled,
his expression darkening.
This confirmed to Noya he was just another spoiled, rich youth.
"Yes, as long as you don't interfere in our lives."
He said it with a touch of gloom and sorrow,
as though he had no real choice.
Noya understood,
but he wasn't offended.
Even as the father looked ready to scold—
unwilling to let mere feelings derail the deal.
Noya extended his empty hand naturally toward the boy.
A gentle gesture,
yet piercing to the heart.
"Call your lover."
The boy stepped back in shock.
He had not expected this.
He was afraid, hesitant,
pained for his beloved.
Noya gestured with his hand,
as if to say he was tired—
and the boy, under his father's piercing stare,
took his phone, dialed his lover,
and handed it over.
As if handing away his life with that phone.
Fragile,
like glass on the verge of shattering.
Ring... Ring...
After a few tones, the other line picked up.
Noya spoke first.
"Hello, are you free right now?"
"Yes. Who's this? And why are you calling from his phone?"
"He must have told you about the contract forced upon him."
"So, without delay—this is Noya Neirith. I want to ask: are you willing to accept this contract?"
The other side fell silent.
Noya didn't rush him.
After a while, he answered—
but the cheerful, gentle tone was gone.
Noya could feel it—
a cursed energy.
A suppressed voice, unable to oppose.
Afraid of losing his beloved if he refused.
So, against his heart, against his will,
he answered.
As though pouring his entire life into the words he hated most,
words that felt like the key to destroying their love.
"It's just one year, isn't it?"
Hearing those broken words,
Noya signed the contract.
He didn't ask further.
His conscience was clear.
The voice came again, firmer now,
as though trying to convince himself it was fine to share his beloved for a time.
"It's not as if you'll actually be together."
Though he spoke,
his tone was unconvincing.
Noya closed his pen and tapped the table.
He spoke with a flat, truth-laden tone—
devoid of courtesy.
"It seems you're mistaken about something."
"Huh? What?!"
Noya gave him no chance to recover from his previous admission.
"You and he—your lives are none of my concern."
"Don't ever feel as if you're sharing the one you love. I have no desire to interfere. He's yours alone."
He sighed lightly, then continued:
"And be more confident in your words if you truly love each other."
"Remember this well: he is yours, and yours only. My gaze on him is no more than that of an adult toward a child. Don't misunderstand."
To soften the atmosphere a bit,
Noya tried to make his words gentler:
"And if he ever wrongs you, tell me. I can scold him in your place."
"Haha."
A soft laugh came through the receiver.
A voice more at ease,
as though a heavy mountain had been lifted from his small heart.
Noya's words were like a warm breeze amid a snowstorm.
"Seems I was worrying for nothing."
"Then be well."
"Yes. Thank you for telling me."
"No need. He's your beloved, after all."
"Goodbye."
"Farewell."
Noya ended the call and handed the phone back to the boy,
whose face was now stained—
whether with embarrassment or something else.
His features had changed so much since Noya had started speaking with his lover
that Noya no longer cared to study them.
He stood, handed the papers back to the man, and extended his hand.
Surprised, the man shook it nonetheless.
He had achieved what he wanted,
and confirmed for himself the truth about Noya—
a truth he hadn't believed at first.
"I hope for a peaceful year, father-in-law."
"And I as well."
The words came, and relief filled him.
His child would not be harmed by this contract.
Yes—he trusted Noya.
Noya didn't linger.
He left the room,
but not without leaving a final word for the boy:
"You'd better call your lover again. He seems to want to talk to you."
— Two Days Later, in the Evening —
Ring... Ring... Ring...
Noya lazily picked up his phone without even checking the caller ID, answering at once:
"Why are you calling?"
"Oh, my dear Neirith, did you already know it was me?"
The voice was clear, pure, untainted—
though hiding much beneath.
"You're the only one who calls like this, Vice-President."
He asked lightly, as though inquiring about a treasure,
yet in a tone sharp with authority.
"Where are you now?"
"On a plane, headed to the capital."
"Oh, my dear, are you preparing to begin?"
A question dripping with curiosity,
softly phrased to avoid complicating matters.
"Well, I've secured a marriage contract for one year."
"How you surprise me, Neirith."
The reply was as if prepared beforehand,
showing not a trace of surprise.
"Anyway, what's the reason for your call?"
Noya knew.
This man was not as he appeared—
a master schemer,
one who hid far more than he revealed.
"I wanted to talk with you."
Straight to the point,
without any useless evasions.
Those tricks never worked on Noya.
"About what?"
"When do you intend to rebuild the Neirith family?"
A calm question,
sharp and serious,
piercing straight to Noya's true aim.
Noya adjusted his seat on the plane,
crossed one leg over the other,
rested his face in his hand.
The faint trace of playfulness vanished from his features.
Now he was serious enough to kill someone.
And it seemed the Vice-President sensed the change in his breathing.
Noya spoke in a voice flat as stone:
"The family… yes. Soon, Vice-President."
He tapped the plane's armrest as his eyes followed the city lights through the window—
lights barely distinguishable in the dark.
"Don't be too hasty. As you know, when the family returns, you and the President will be the first to know."
"As expected of a Neirith."
Silence lingered briefly.
Then the Vice-President spoke in a whisper,
carrying valuable information for Noya:
"I've found the location of the former head of the family, as well as its scattered members."
"You've worked hard, Vice-President."
"And, you should know—
you're not the only one working to restore the family."
He added something else,
as if carefully trying to spark internal strife.
"We anticipated this, didn't we, Vice-President?"
"Of course. As agreed, you have our support to become its leader."
The Vice-President's seeds of doubt were quickly smothered by Noya's truth.
It wasn't as if he could sow discord within the Neirith line.
"Well then, thank you."
"You're welcome. And what about your father?"
Another dull subject,
spoken as though bored by Noya's coldness on the matter.
"Well, I want to relive university life once more."
"I see. You can call me when you want to search for where he's hiding."
Another dead end.
But he didn't give up—
still trying to draw out his precious treasure.
"Goodbye, Vice-President."
"Farewell, Neirith. Let's meet again on a pleasant evening."
A farewell to a distinguished member of a great family
that had once stood beside him in service.
"As soon as I have time, I'll visit you."
Tun... Tun... Tun...
The call ended with those words.
Noya slipped the phone back into his pocket,
leaned once more into the plane seat.
Though appearing relaxed,
his mind churned with the information he had just received.
His eyes grew sharper, glittering with something dangerous.
—Neirith will return to its former glory.—
For now, though, he had to rest a bit before arriving in the capital
to begin life with his new family.
About an hour later, a voice came over the loudspeaker:
"We kindly ask all our guests to fasten their seatbelts. We are about to land. I repeat, we are about to land. Thank you."
When the plane stopped, passengers disembarked and collected their luggage.
Noya was among them.
He stood out in the airport—
wearing wide black trousers,
luxurious boots,
a long loose shirt,
and a brown shoulder bag.
A round hat covered some of his hair,
small rectangular glasses framing his face.
Tall and proud,
he dragged along a sleek black suitcase.
He looked like a celebrity—
his aura and posture unmistakable—
while scrolling through his phone.
In truth, he was tired of waiting.
Someone was supposed to pick him up.
But no one appeared.
So he sent a text message to what could now be called his spouse.
I'm at the airport now. Where's the one picking me up?
The reply came five minutes later:
We just arrived. Which section are you in?
Section One.
He waited a little,
then spotted his spouse arriving with several others,
who looked like bodyguards.
Noya waved his white-gloved hand,
decorated with golden embroidery,
when he saw them coming.
"You surprised me. I thought you'd come by train."
A strange look was directed his way.
"Why would I take the train when the plane is faster?"
"Really, how dull."
The spouse took his luggage, helping him carry it.
He answered with slight regret,
like a child just scolded.
"Yes, yes, sorry for the delay."
Noya gave a light instruction:
"Handle the bags carefully. They contain personal items."
Then added, handing a black key to one of the guards:
"Bring my motorcycle along."
Edryn glanced at Noya—
astonished at how naturally he gave orders,
as if he were the true master.
Even he himself didn't give commands like that.
He could do nothing.
This was the reality now.
So Edryn nodded at the guard,
then left the airport after casting one last, puzzled glance at Noya.
Noya followed them toward the car,
his luggage still within sight.
Minutes later, they reached the large vehicles,
and one guard had already brought his motorcycle.
The guards opened the car doors.
Both Noya and Edryn entered,
and they were driven to the Falconis estate.
Half an hour later, they arrived.
They were greeted by servants in the usual manner.
And once again, Noya spoke—
not in a commanding tone,
not in a pleading one,
but with a balanced voice,
conveying identity
without crossing personal boundaries.
"Leave the bags as they are. Don't open them."
"When you finish parking the motorcycle, return the keys."
Noya entered beside Edryn.
Waiting for them already was the Falconis family—
not the entire clan,
but the household:
his spouse's parents and siblings.
In truth, he had two brothers and a sister,
though the eldest brother was abroad that day.
Noya entered not with apprehension,
but with a touch of curiosity—
to see what "family" would mean.
He was slightly surprised to find them waiting at the entrance.
"Welcome, Noya Neirith."
The mother spoke politely,
her gentle voice radiating warmth.
She appeared in full elegance—
her long blonde hair tied in a neat bun,
a velvet-colored gown flattering her figure,
heels modest in height to match her husband's stature.
She smiled brightly at Noya,
and with a graceful wave of her hand,
gestured him inside.
"Come, step forward. Enter your home now."
Noya moved lightly,
removed his hat and glasses,
and greeted his spouse's mother.
"Greetings—Noya Neirith greets his family."
The words were neither forced nor reserved.
It seemed he had accepted the situation naturally
and begun to act at ease with everyone.