The school's final bell rang, echoing through the building as waves of students rushed out, eager to return home.
As I had skipped first period today and gave a simple excuse — "I overslept." They slapped me with cleaning duty after school. So here I was, in an empty classroom, quietly sweeping up the remains of the day. The silence of the nearly deserted school was almost comforting.
Somewhere below, in the locker hallway…
CLANK.
A sharp metal sound rang out, followed by muffled voices.
"This bastard thinks he's some kind of king."
The voice was harsh — sneering.
"He won't find out, right?" another chimed in, less sure.
"What, you chickening out now? How long are you gonna keep bowing your head to Liam?"
The clatter of metal continued, louder now.
From the staircase above, heavy footsteps descended. Liam's boots echoed dully through the hallway as he walked through the quiet building, the noise drawing him toward the lockers. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became — and the clearer the crunch of something breaking.
He stopped just before turning the corner. One glance from the shadows — and his blood ran cold.
Three boys, the same ones who always hovered around him, were standing before his locker. One of them held a pipe, which they'd used to bust the locker door open.
"That arrogant prick," one of them snickered, yanking something out.
"Let's teach him what happens when you look down on people."
"Hah… look at this! He keeps a picture of his mom in here?"
"What is he, a kid? Crying over mommy in high school?"
Liam froze. His breath hitched. His fists clenched.
On the ground — shattered glass of his pocket watch, the clock face cracked and still. Torn pieces of a photo scattered around it. His mother's photo.
A sharp pain pulsed through his chest. His vision narrowed. Rage boiled inside him.
I'll kill them, he thought, his body trembling. I'll kill every last one of them—
Then—
"What are you doing?"
A calm voice interrupted, slicing through the tension like glass.
Liam's breath caught in his throat.
That voice—
Noa.
The three boys turned, startled.
"Huh? You again? You want to go flying today?" one barked, stepping forward with a nasty grin.
Noa stood there, still and unimpressed, holding a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other.
"I wouldn't recommend flying in this hallway," he said smoothly. "There's a camera right above you, after all."
"Why don't you finish whatever it is you're doing and let me clean up the class like I'm supposed to?"
One of the boys grabbed him by the collar.
"Tch. You think you're untouchable just because you hang around Ryan now?"
"Please. Ryan won't stick with a loser like you. Whatever he's planning, he'll toss you aside once he's done."
They laughed, cruel and loud. Their eyes burned with malice.
They won't listen. Not a single word will reach them.
Their voices blurred. Their curses grew distant.
And inside my head, I spoke quietly—
"Oran?"
"Yes, Noa?" the familiar, deep voice answered, warm and steady.
"Can you help me out a bit?"
"sure...I can slow time down for you. Long enough to get away."
"I… have another favor."
"What is it?"
"Oran… can you fix objects? Put them back the way they were before they broke?"
"You mean those things on the ground…?"
"Yes."
Oran was quiet.
"Those belong to that guy… the one who hurt you. You heard what they said just now."
"I did."
"And… I know he doesn't have a mother. But it looks like he treasures her memory."
"He won't even know I helped him."
"Then why—"
"Because… uncle in his final moment told me to pass on the warmth he gave me. Even if it's something small."
"Even if it's for someone like him."
"plus He looks like someone who's forgotten what warmth even is."
Oran paused Abit. Then—
"…I see."
"YOU BASTARD, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME—?!"
The boy's voice cut off abruptly. Time itself froze. Their bodies locked in place, suspended mid-motion. The air was still. Everything had stopped.
Beside me, golden light shimmered, and Oran appeared — his lion form glowing faintly.
"Noa," he said gently. "We don't have much time."
I nodded, stepping forward slowly, Oran walked besides me as I moved. My knees hit the floor as I crouched before the broken items.
"Place your hand just above them," Oran instructed.
I closed my eyes, hand hovering over the shattered glass and torn photo. Oran released his golden essence — fragments of time, scattered like dust. I focused, reaching deep into my core, channeling the power of alternation. It pulled on every bit of strength I had.
"Ughhh…"
A low groan escaped me as my body trembled. My fingers shook. Then—
Click.
The watch's hands ticked softly.
The photo reformed itself — piece by piece — until her smiling face was whole again.
Oran pressed his head against me.
"Are you okay, Noa?"
"Yeah," I breathed, though my body felt drained. I stood, swaying slightly before Oran helped me straighten up.
I took the photo and the watch with me, holding them gently in my hand.
I packed my stuff and left school. The sun was already setting, and darkness was creeping in by the time the driver met me on the road to take me back to the mansion. I felt tired, dragging myself inside, where the same butler greeted me.
"Welcome back, Sir Noa."
"Thank you… By the way, what's your name?" I asked.
"Jason, Sir," he replied.
"I see, Mr. Jason—"
"Please, just call me Jason, Sir," he cut me off politely.
"Uhh, okay, Jason," I said. "Can you help me put these in Liam's room?" I showed him the photo and the pocket watch, which was ticking softly.
His eyes widened, clearly shocked. "How did you get these?" he asked.
"Oh… he left them, so I brought them back," I said, laughing nervously.
Jason stared at me for a moment. "I see. Please, follow me, Sir."
He led me out of the mansion and through the garden, along a path lined with low hedges. At the end, we reached the back of the house. When we first arrived, I had noticed the swimming pool, It was beautifully designed — complete with a waterfall, soft lighting, and even a wide water slide.
Beside it stood a separate building made almost entirely of glass. It was a single floor house but luxurious and inviting.
"This is where Sir Liam lives," Jason said.
"he doesn't live in the mansion?" I asked, curious.
Jason paused, then answered, "No, Sir. Young master Liam lives here. He isn't allowed inside the main mansion without Lord Caspian's order."
"Why?" I asked, unsure if he would answer, but asking anyway.
Jason stayed quiet then faced me.
"Young master's full name is Liam Caelis Eliar de Astra."
Caelis?
But… wasn't Caspian his father?
Jason silently observed me, his expression unreadable. Then, as if reading my thoughts, he spoke again—his voice low but clear.
"What you're thinking is correct, sir. Lord Caspian is the young master's uncle. His real father was Sir Caelis, the second lord… Lord Caspian's younger brother."
I froze. A chill crawled up my spine.
Wait… am I even supposed to know this? Tooken a back I asked.
Caspian never mentioned it. Neither did Thorne. Not a whisper of this name ever slipped from the lips of the servants or maids.
"Why now? Why me?" I asked.
"You're truly remarkable, sir," Jason added.
"Yes, None of us are allowed to speak of this. Revealing such a truth would be punishable… by death."
"If I'm not meant to hear it," I said quietly, "then there's no need to know more."
I turned away and gently placed the pocket watch and the photo down on the nearby table.
Jason didn't follow. He remained rooted in place, his voice calm.
"Please, sir. Just… listen to me."
I turned back to look at him.
He stood stiffly under the warm light, his posture proper, but I could see it—lines etched into his face that made him appear older than he likely was. He couldn't have been more than in his thirties, yet he looked thin, pale, almost sick.
"Why should I?" I asked. "You know this is dangerous—for both of us. Why carry that burden any further?"
He interrupted gently, not forceful but certain.
"I swear no harm will come to you or your family."
"And how exactly can you guarantee that?"
"I brought you here because no one else enters this place—not unless young master is home. And he hasn't returned yet."
Jason's eyes softened, faint nostalgia lacing his expression.
"I… I watched young master grow up. I don't have much time left, sir. I just… wanted him to open up to someone before it's too late. But he never let anyone in. Not one real friend."
"You think it's going to be me?" I asked, genuinely taken aback.
"You brought these back," he nodded toward the photo and watch, "despite what he did to you yesterday. That alone tells me you're different. I can trust you with this, sir."
I went quiet.
His eyes flicked to my neck—where Liam had bruised me. The smile that tugged faintly at his lips wasn't cruel, but knowing.
He saw through me.
He knew I'd lied about where I found them.
He knew I was already too involved to walk away now.
And if he wanted to… he could report me for theft.
"...Fine," I muttered, exhaling. "But if anything happens to us because of this, I won't just sit and watch."
"Of course, sir. I will take this to my grave."
We moved to the sofa. He returned moments later with two cups of tea, placing one in front of me before settling into the seat across. His eyes met mine—and calmly, as he began.