The Aybeyli estate was unusually tense that morning.
Emir Aybeyli, patriarch and head of the family, stood in the grand hall, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he watched the tablet in his hands. The report glowed, unyielding:
"Assassination attempt.
Emrah intervened.
Attackers neutralized.
Cleanup in progress."
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His eldest son—the one he had believed fragile, weakened by MS, the one who had never embraced the family's dangerous world—had not only survived but dominated the attack.
"Baba…"
Aslan, Emrah's younger brother, stepped into the hall, face tight with disbelief. "Is… is it true? He… he's fine?"
Emir set the tablet down sharply. "Fine? He's alive, yes. But more than that—he stopped them. All of them."
Aslan's jaw dropped. "He… he's supposed to be… sick, Baba. He's not… not strong enough for—"
"Not strong enough?" Emir interrupted, voice low but steely. "He's Aybeyli blood. Weakness was never in him. He may appear fragile, but he proved today that appearances deceive."
A tense silence filled the room. The estate itself seemed to hold its breath, the guards exchanging wary glances.
Aslan finally whispered, awe creeping into his voice. "Baba… he's… he's more than I imagined."
"Yes," Emir said grimly, his eyes narrowing. "The city will notice. Every rival family, every ally… they'll know Emrah Aybeyli has returned. And he's not just the eldest son—he's a force."
Outside, the rumble of engines signaled Emrah's armored convoy approaching the estate. Inside, father and son waited, knowing that the man they thought fragile was about to step back into their world—stronger, sharper, and untouchable.
The armored convoy rolled to a stop at the Aybeyli estate. Dust swirled as Emrah's hand rested on his cane, the polished wood cool beneath his fingers. He inhaled, steadying himself, then rose carefully, letting the weight shift as if each step demanded effort.
At the entrance, the entire family waited. Emir Aybeyli, the patriarch, arms crossed, eyes sharp with concern. Leyla, graceful yet tense, standing beside him. Aslan, Emrah's younger brother, shifting impatiently, trying to hide the worry in his posture. Sahra and Yusuf flanked them, their expressions a mixture of relief and suspicion.
"Emrah," Emir called, voice tight, "where have you been? Are you—are you alright?"
Emrah allowed a faint smile, leaning slightly on the cane. "Just some errands, Baba. Nothing serious," he said, his tone casual but measured. "I'm fine, truly."
Aslan stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "You don't look fine… You're sure nothing happened?"
"I've had worse scrapes," Emrah replied lightly, inclining his head. "I can walk. Don't worry."
Leyla's gaze softened, but worry lingered. "We've been so anxious, Emrah. You can't just—"
He cut her off gently, raising a hand. "I'm okay, Mama. I can manage."
Inside, every muscle obeyed flawlessly. Each step, each subtle shift of weight, was perfect. The cane was only a prop. The weakness they expected, the frailty they imagined—none of it was real. Not anymore.
And no one, not a single one of them, suspected that for the first time in years, Emrah was completely whole.
Because all he wanted… was a normal life.
Emrah straightened, letting the cane rest lightly against his leg, careful not to betray the ease in his movements.
Sahra stepped closer, her voice tinged with worry. "Emrah… you're really okay? That attack—"
"I handled it," he interrupted softly, a hint of a smile curling his lips. "Nothing that couldn't be managed."
Yusuf, her husband, frowned, crossing his arms. "Managed? Do you realize what could have happened? What if you weren't… prepared?"
"I was prepared," Emrah said simply, shrugging as if it were nothing. "It's all taken care of."
Aslan's eyes flicked to the cane, then back to his brother's face. "You make it sound easy… but we've never seen you like this. I mean—your legs, Emrah…"
Emrah leaned lightly on the cane, slow and deliberate, letting it look necessary. "Old habits die hard. But yes, they're… better."
Leyla stepped forward, reaching out to touch his arm. "Better? Oh, thank God. We were so worried."
He allowed a faint squeeze of her hand, careful to show warmth but not strength. "I know, Mama. That's why I'm here now. Safe. All of us."
Emir's stern gaze softened, but only slightly. "You can't keep doing this alone, Emrah. You think you can manage everything by yourself, but the world out there… it doesn't wait."
Emrah inclined his head. "I'm aware, Baba. That's why I take precautions." His eyes scanned the family, lingering just long enough to convey confidence without revealing too much.
Aslan muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the air, "I don't know how he does it… still pretending…"
Emrah caught the mutter with a calm, knowing look. No comment. He let it hang. Let them think he was still the frail eldest son, the one who needed watching.
Sahra's expression softened into worry and relief. "We're glad you're home, Emrah. Truly."
"And I'm glad to be back," he said, voice quiet but steady. "Let's just… enjoy the evening."
He stepped past them, walking slowly toward the house. The cane tapped lightly against the marble steps, each sound deliberate. To them, it was the rhythm of weakness. To him, it was the perfect mask.
Because no one could know. Not yet.
Not that he'd ever wanted to be the hero.
Not that he'd ever wanted to be anything more than Emrah… a man free to live, finally whole.
Once inside his room, Emrah closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, cane in hand. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only the quiet hum of his thoughts.
The events of the day—the attack, the bullets suspended midair, the girls, the families—everything pressed against his mind. He already knew what was coming: the other families would approach the Aybeylis soon, with offers, threats, and negotiations. He needed to be ready. Every move counted.
He opened his desk drawer and carefully placed the last remaining pieces of the chocolate bar into the safe. Each square was treated like a relic, precious and potentially dangerous.
This is the source, he thought. Whatever gave me this power, it isn't something to leave lying around. Side effects, instability… I can't take any chances.
He stared at the safe for a long moment, his mind racing through hypotheses. The chocolate was clearly extraordinary, but why? And how? Its origin, its ingredients, everything about it demanded investigation. He had to know.
And yet, there was another problem pressing against the back of his thoughts: the girls. Efsun and Efsane. He couldn't reveal the truth—not now, not ever. But he needed a logical explanation, a story that could satisfy them without hinting at the reality.
They need safety, not fear.
He paced slowly across the room, cane tapping softly against the floor, each step a measured rhythm that helped him think. Every plan, every precaution, had to be considered. He would study the chocolate, trace its origins, and understand the limits of his abilities before anyone else could suspect a thing.
For now, secrecy was survival. Preparation was power. And patience… patience was the only way to stay ahead of the storm that was inevitably coming.
The next morning, long before anyone in the Aybeyli household stirred, Emrah retrieved a small, carefully sealed fragment of the chocolate from the safe. The square gleamed slightly under the dim light of his room, ordinary in appearance but extraordinary in potential.
He didn't trust just anyone with this. Only one person had the skill, discretion, and judgment to handle it: Dr. Kerem Yalçın, a chemist and materials scientist who had once worked on classified projects abroad. Emrah had kept in contact with him over the years, though always discreetly.
By midday, a nondescript black car pulled up near the edge of the city. Emrah, cane in hand, stepped out, carrying the small vial containing the chocolate. Every muscle in his body was alert, every movement measured. Even though he had mastered time-altering abilities, he refused to take unnecessary risks.
Dr. Yalçın waited inside a private, secure lab, his eyes widening slightly when Emrah entered.
"I take it this isn't a social visit," Yalçın said, already knowing better than to ask questions.
Emrah placed the vial on the table carefully. "This," he said, voice calm but resolute, "needs to be analyzed. Fully. Chemical structure, biological impact, stability, any side effects. Everything."
Yalçın studied the chocolate under the light, his trained eyes scanning every detail. "And… you trust me to handle it?"
Emrah's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "I trust only you. And you won't tell anyone, under any circumstances."
"Understood," Yalçın replied. He rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the equipment.
Emrah leaned against the edge of the table, watching, his mind elsewhere. While Kerem worked, Emrah's thoughts returned to the bigger picture: the rival families, the girls, the future negotiations, and the consequences of his actions. The chocolate was a key, yes, but the real challenge lay in controlling the power it had given him—and protecting those he cared about without revealing the truth.
For now, he had taken the first step. Knowledge would follow. And with knowledge came control.
The calm of the lab belied the storm outside, but Emrah knew better: the storm was inevitable, and he had to be ready.
Dr. Yalçın adjusted his microscope, glancing up at Emrah. "Extraction of the active compounds will take at least a week, maybe longer. It's meticulous work. I can't rush it without risking contamination or destroying the sample."
Emrah's gaze remained steady, calm, but his mind was already moving a hundred steps ahead. "Do it carefully, but if you find anything immediately, anything at all, you call me," he said. "No delays. Even a single clue could change everything."
Yalçın nodded, accustomed to the urgency in Emrah's voice. "Understood. I'll notify you at the first sign."
Emrah picked up his cane and slid the vial of chocolate back into his jacket pocket. He paused at the door, eyes briefly scanning the lab. "Good. I'll be gone for now. But don't forget—absolute discretion."
With that, he left the lab and headed toward the car waiting outside. The streets of Istanbul moved around him in their usual chaos, but he felt detached, his mind focused on the next step. Today marked the beginning of a new chapter in more ways than one.
He arrived at Istanbul University, the imposing structure of academia rising before him. Inside, he walked past students bustling between classes, all oblivious to the extraordinary abilities of the man passing among them. Emrah had two roles today: student and instructor. Both would challenge him, both would be his path to understanding the forces now coursing through his veins.
The lecture hall smelled faintly of chalk and warm metal. Emrah stepped in quietly, cane in hand, scanning the room as students murmured among themselves. Today he was just another student, one among many, here to learn.
He found an empty seat near the back, unpacked his notebook, and observed. The professor began the lecture on quantum mechanics and the fundamentals of particle motion, but Emrah's attention was only partly on the words. His mind dissected every detail: the mathematics, the experiments, the potential ways these principles could interact with what the chocolate had given him.
He scribbled notes with deliberate precision, pausing now and then to test his focus, his reflexes, his senses—subtle trials under the guise of normal study. He didn't want anyone to suspect that he was more than just a diligent student.
By the time the lecture ended, he already had a dozen new questions, hypotheses forming about energy, matter, and the manipulation of time itself.
Emrah's first class as a student ended with the usual shuffle of chairs and murmurs. He gathered his belongings, cane tapping softly against the polished floor, and headed toward the instructors' lounge before his next class.
The lounge hummed with conversation—professors discussing research, papers, and projects. Some glanced at him as he entered, a young man moving with a quiet confidence that made them pause. He poured himself a cup of coffee and let his gaze drift across the room.
One of the senior instructors raised an eyebrow. "You're teaching the next class? Fresh out of student life, aren't you?"
Emrah's smile was calm, controlled. "Ambition has its place. I intend to do my best."
As he sipped, he reviewed the lecture in his mind. No one here suspected that this polite, composed young man would soon become their students' teacher—the same man who had just sat among them, taking notes silently, blending in.
By the time he left the lounge, word had already spread among whispers: "He's the next instructor?"
He entered the mechanical engineering classroom, and the reaction was immediate. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and a few students exchanged incredulous looks.
"Uh… you're… our teacher?" one student stammered.
Emrah rested a hand lightly on his cane, letting a small, controlled smile curl across his face. "Yes. I'll be guiding you through this course. Please take your seats."
The room buzzed with disbelief and curiosity. Some students stole glances at him, trying to reconcile the young man who had been a student with the poised figure now standing at the front of the class.
Emrah's mind was elsewhere, of course—strategizing, observing, planning. Every movement, every word measured. Today, the observer became the leader of knowledge, and no one had the faintest idea that the quiet young student they'd seen hours ago was the same man holding the classroom's attention now.
The final bell echoed through the hallways, signaling the end of his class. Emrah packed his things with deliberate calm, the cane tapping lightly against the floor.
As he gathered his bag, a few of his classmates approached him.
"Thank you, Professor," one of them said, eyes wide with surprise. "Your class… it was incredible."
"Yeah," another added. "I can't believe you're both a student and a teacher here. That was… amazing."
Emrah offered a small, polite nod. "I'm glad you found it useful. Keep asking questions, and keep pushing yourselves."
The students left, murmuring among themselves, still whispering about the "young instructor who had been a student just hours ago."
He walked down the corridor toward the faculty parking lot, mind focused on logistics, chocolate research, and the lingering questions about the families. But the moment he stepped outside the faculty doors, his steps faltered.
There, blocking his path, stood Efsun and Efsane. Each flanked by imposing bodyguards, their presence commanding, unyielding. The sunlight glinted off the polished weapons of the men standing behind them.
Even more shocking, all of his students and classmates had gathered in the hall behind him, whispering and watching the scene unfold like a live drama.
Efsun's eyes locked on him, fiery and determined. "You're coming with me," she said, her voice low but deadly serious.
Efsane's gaze was icy, unwavering. "No, I'm the one taking you to my father. Now."
A tense pause settled over the scene. The two girls took a step closer to each other, the air between them crackling with the threat of confrontation. Their bodyguards mirrored their motions, ready for any sign of escalation.
Emrah's fingers tightened around his cane. Calm, measured, but fully aware of the stakes. He had to choose—and fast. One wrong move, and the situation could spiral into chaos before anyone could intervene.
The students behind him whispered nervously, sensing the impending conflict.
Efsun and Efsane inched toward each other, tension coiling like a spring, ready to snap.
And in that moment, Emrah realized just how dangerous a decision this could be.
He had to pick… or risk watching them fight for him.
Efsun and Efsane glared at each other, each stepping closer, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Their bodyguards mirrored every movement, hands brushing against weapons.
Emrah straightened, cane in hand, projecting calm authority. "Stop," he said, his voice steady, measured. Both girls froze, turning their full attention to him.
"I will call your fathers," he continued, eyes flicking between them. "I will give them a time and place to meet me. I will not go with either of you."
Shock flashed across their faces. Their bodies stiffened, and even the bodyguards hesitated. The two girls stared at him, disbelief mingling with fury—and something else, something begrudgingly impressed.
Emrah's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "If either of you touches me before then, you'll regret it."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the distant whispers of the students and classmates who had been watching the entire scene unfold.
Neither girl moved, but the fire in their eyes promised that this decision was far from over.
Emrah turned, cane tapping against the pavement, and walked toward the street, already planning the next move.
Behind him, the two girls exchanged a glance—one that silently acknowledged: the game had just begun.