Author note: First 4 chapters may feel boring so dont give up before chapter 7 atleast. (It's raw version and I think I'll be rewriting these chapters once the story ends)
_____
A woman in her mid-thirties stood in front of the mansion, shoulders straight but relaxed. Black hair curled at the edges, and her dark red dress looked expensive without effort. Around her, a small group of neighbors lingered at a distance, murmuring quietly. She patted her son's shoulder, a soft smile on her lips, pride clear in the way she held him.
"Timm, my son, take care of yourself. And… Don't forget your cousin. Treat him like you always do—like a brother, okay?" She smiled, but there was a flicker in her eyes that didn't reach him.
The boy, somewhere in his mid-teens, nodded, a smile on his face.
"Don't worry, Mom." His hair was neatly cut—short enough to stay sharp, long enough to fall just over his eyes. His black trench coat, lined with gold strips, fit perfectly, giving off a quiet, confident air. He glanced at Ryuen. "I'll take care of him. I'll never let him feel… alone." The smile softened into a smirk, faint, but enough to be noticed by Ryuen.
For some reason, the conversation made Ryuen more and more uneasy. Still, he didn't let his fake smile slip.
The moment the bus came into view, the act faded.
Mary stepped back and began straightening Timm's jacket, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve like he was headed off to inherit a kingdom.
Ryuen followed a few steps behind. No send-off. No weight. Just a second shadow.
Timm walked ahead like he already owned the place. Bag swaying. Shoulders straight.
Ryuen followed silently, a few steps behind.
He knew what was hidden beneath that academy coat. Knew who put it there.
A high-tier bloodcore weapon — disguised beneath Timm's clothes
Mary gave it to Timm. Just like that.
Bloodcore gear wasn't just for fighting. It meant faster training, better performance stats, higher rank.
It meant status. Survival. Power.
And she gave it to Timm like it was his birthright.
Ryuen's fingers tightened slightly around the strap of his own bag — nearly empty.
No one had ever handed him anything.
Maybe these things just weren't made for people like him.
The bus made no sound when it stopped—only the low hum of magnetic rails beneath its frame.
Inside, everything gleamed. Surfaces so clean they didn't look designed for people—just for display.
It was cleaner than anything he'd ever touched. The kind of clean that made you feel like dirt just for breathing.
The scent hit him next—sterile metal, artificial leather, and the faint chemical sharpness of something meant to smell clean, but didn't.
He found his seat by the glowing number etched on the wall beside it: 47-B.
He sat, adjusted his posture with rigid precision, and waited. The moment the bus began to move—silent, smooth, fast—a translucent panel flickered to life on the back of the seat in front of him.
A D.M.I. newsfeed opened without prompt. The screen pulsed with glowing text:
"One more demon planet now under human control. Numbers are rising rapidly. Experts hope the demon threat will be eliminated entirely in the coming decade."
Around him, most of the other students leaned forward to watch. Some stared blankly. A few whispered. No one looked surprised.
Ryuen didn't respond. He just leaned his head back against the glass, eyes half-closed.
Rain tapped softly against the window. It had started while no one was looking — light and cold, just enough to blur the edges of the city outside.
He watched it for a while, the rhythm steady, almost peaceful. For the first time in years, he felt no weight on his back. No command waiting to be followed.
He let the world fade.
And slept.
Half an hour passed.
A hand tapped his shoulder gently. Ryuen blinked awake.
A boy stood beside him — simple brown hair, gently combed, clean uniform without effort. His eyes were soft, unsure, but not weak. He had the kind of face no one would notice twice — harmless, polite.
But he smiled like someone who hadn't learned to be afraid of people yet.
"Sorry," the boy said quietly. "You dropped this."
He held out a small, folded scrap — part of Ryuen's ID tab that had slipped out from his bag.
Ryuen took it without a word.
The boy didn't move. Just smiled again, a little awkward.
"I'm Lien," he added. "Seat 47-A. I guess we're neighbors."
Lien smiled, adjusting his posture.
"Sorry, Ryuen ? You must've been tired."
"What? How do you know my name?"
"Hm? It was on your ID tab."
Ryuen looked away fast — cheeks red. He turned toward the bus window so Lien wouldn't see.
Lien leaned in slightly, concerned.
"Huh? Did I do something wrong?"
"No... It's not that."
Ryuen's voice faded.
Because now he saw the figure standing in the aisle beside them.
Timm Kael.
One hand rested on the seatback. That polished smile. But the eyes didn't match.
"Making friends already? That's rare for you, cousin."
Ryuen straightened.
Timm's voice dropped — soft enough that only Ryuen would hear it.
"Seat 47-A, huh? Friendly type. Easy to break."
He glanced at Lien, then back to Ryuen.
"Hope he makes it through the first week. Would be a shame if something... shifted."
Then he clapped the seat, winked, and walked away like nothing happened.
Lien tilted his head.
"He your cousin?"
Ryuen didn't answer.
"He... seems nice?"
Ryuen turned back to the window.
And this time — he didn't smile back.