It was a normal world, where every being was just human. It was 2022, the modern era. Technology was evolving rapidly, and humanity was beginning to touch the very design of the world itself.
In a high school in a city called "New Orleans," there was a young man named Malachi Hendrich. A charismatic English boy. He had long, slightly curly, dark hair. His eyes were cold, almost emotionless, and his skin was a little pale. Despite his expressionless face, he possessed immense beauty. He stood around one meter ninety, with a well-sculpted body that wasn't overdone. You could tell he was in excellent shape.
Malachi was the only son of the Hendrich family, a powerful family with significant international influence. As a result, he was the typical kind of boy who dressed elegantly.
Malachi was extremely classy, especially with his slightly gothic style. He wore a dark gray shirt, black dress pants, and boat shoes. He had a silver necklace with three interlocking circles as a pendant, chrome rings on nearly all his fingers, and a silver and obsidian watch.
In class, during the break, Malachi sat in the back corner by the window. He gazed outside, resting his chin on one hand. He was far too charismatic.
Even though he was doing nothing, the girls in the class couldn't stop staring at him. They desired him with their eyes. Those who were seated kept rubbing their knees together, while those standing discreetly pressed their private parts against the corner of a desk and moved gently.
That was Malachi's presence: just looking at him sent hormones into overdrive and made their bodies delirious with excitement. Malachi alone was a natural visual stimulant.
Classes resumed, and Malachi remained as nonchalant as ever. No matter how the teacher explained the lessons, Malachi wasn't interested in the slightest. He was already brilliant. Although he was in his final year of high school, Malachi didn't care about studies because he already knew everything from reading countless books.
When he was a child, Malachi used to read in the family library—an enormous library containing nearly a million books. He was interested in everything: by the age of ten, he was already as knowledgeable as university students. Now, at seventeen, Malachi far surpassed current engineers. So why did Malachi still attend school? Because of his father, Miley Hendrich. According to Miley, Malachi would be better off making friends in a public place like school.
When classes ended and the bell rang, Malachi stood up from his seat and walked out the door. During that short walk, he passed by a few girls; Malachi's scent was natural—he wore no cologne. It was the sweet smell of rain, incredibly alluring. The girls started drooling, and some even soaked their panties from excitement.
In the courtyard, Malachi took out his key and put on his helmet. A very luxurious Japanese motorcycle was parked right there. He started it, and the roar of the engine, like a beast, could make any guy jealous.
Whispers started among the students. There were plenty of compliments, but also insulting rumors. Malachi was mostly adored by the girls and a few admiring boys. But there will always be jealous people.
"That's Malachi, the hottest guy in our school."
"Malachi is seriously rich."
"What a guy!"
"His bike is so cool."
"They say he's gay!"
"I heard Malachi does drugs."
"He never talks."
"He's just a damn arrogant prick."
Malachi rode from school to a nightclub. He parked his motorcycle in the lot and entered the building carrying his helmet. He sat at the bar and spoke to the manager. He ordered an iced mint orange juice. He placed his helmet on the counter and gracefully sipped his drink.
*Bam!* The door slammed open violently. A group of students who had repeated a year from Malachi's class entered the club. The club was called "Seventh Heaven." It probably referred to the fact that it served the best cocktail in New Orleans—one taste of their signature drink was said to send you straight to seventh heaven. Malachi stayed calmly in his seat without even glancing at the unwelcome guests.
The four high school repeaters—three guys and one girl—were there. They sat next to Malachi, though leaving one empty stool between them. The group ordered the house specialty cocktail, which was also called Seventh Heaven. But first, the manager asked a question: "I hope you're all of legal age. May I see your IDs, please?"
It was a question the group hadn't expected. They had passed the bouncer who hadn't asked for ID, so why was the manager asking before serving? It was simple: Seventh Heaven wasn't off-limits to minors. They welcomed underage patrons. After all, there was nothing degrading about the place—no strippers, no drunk homeless people. Seventh Heaven catered to all ages. However, alcohol consumption was the only thing that required ID, obviously. Just because there were no risqué activities didn't mean there was no fun: you could do karaoke, drink (non-alcoholic) to your heart's content, play video games, place bets, and enjoy various other games.
Fortunately, the group was a year older than Malachi, so they were legally allowed to drink. They chatted among themselves, but Malachi paid them no attention. He just scrolled through his phone, checking updates on Facebook and Instagram.
Malachi finished his orange juice. Without a word, the manager instantly refilled his glass with the same drink. Malachi took the glass and continued sipping gracefully.
The group talked and stopped right after finishing their drinks. The girl with them complained because she wanted more, and the three guys laughed awkwardly. The problem was that the cocktail they'd ordered was insanely expensive. But the three guys hadn't backed down: even though it was pricey, their main goal was to get the girl to come with them. The Seventh Heaven cocktail was strong—one glass was enough to get even a heavy drinker buzzing.
The girl didn't know that, and the guys bought her another one without getting any for themselves. She was a bit suspicious, but a free drink is a free drink. A few minutes later, the girl grew tired. She hadn't even finished half her second glass and was already about to collapse. The guys caught her in their arms and prepared to leave. They split the rest of her cocktail because it cost serious money—wasting it was not an option.
When it was time to pay, the manager announced the price for the five Seventh Heaven cocktails the group had ordered: "$750." The students were shocked. Though they knew the drinks were expensive, they never imagined the price was *that* high. In a normal place, drinks like that would cost "$6" a glass. They had assumed the price would be higher, but not *that* much higher.
"This is ridiculous," one of the students said, while the drunk girl stumbled after them. The manager apologized but still said the price was the price and that it was clearly displayed on the price board. Indeed, the house special cocktail was listed at "$150" each.
While trying to argue with the manager, the students noticed something—or rather, someone. Malachi had just finished his drink, stood up, and grabbed his helmet. Malachi hadn't paid a cent. The students called out to him and asked why he hadn't paid.
The manager answered: "Mr. Malachi is special. He doesn't need to pay."
The students didn't understand why Malachi was special. They knew he was rich, but why didn't he have to pay? Whatever, they said—it wasn't important.
One of the guys put his arm around Malachi's neck and started talking to him like they were buddies. Malachi just stood there, eyes still on his phone, as if waiting for something. The guy tried to convince him to cover their bill and promised they'd pay him back later.
As the guy was talking, Malachi's phone rang. The caller ID read "Jade" with a heart emoji next to the name. For the first time, Malachi spoke to a fellow high school student. And the word was: "Shut up!" No one understood what happened—the guy suddenly went silent. As if Malachi's words were a threat without actually being one. Physically, it could just seem offensive, but in terms of aura, you could feel the pride that drew a clear line between the commoners and the King.
Malachi answered the call, and his voice changed completely: "Jadounette! My little princess! So, you're here?" The voice on the other end replied, "Yess, darling!" The club door opened, revealing a girl about 16 years old. She was stunning, with long hair reaching her hips and streaks of bluish tint running through it.