David was seated in the middle row of his private car, his posture stiff and his whole body radiating tension. His clenched fists rested tightly on his knees, knuckles turning pale from the force of his grip.

The tendons along his neck bulged visibly, and even the veins in his arms stood out, proof of how much frustration was boiling inside him. His expression was dark, his jaw set hard as if he were moments away from erupting.

"What the hell is wrong with this morning? Why is everything falling apart? And why… why have my mom and dad suddenly changed like this?" he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low but sharp with irritation.

In the driver's seat sat the family chauffeur, his body stiff, his eyes locked forward on the road ahead. There was something strange about him—his pupils seemed clouded, unfocused, as though his mind was not entirely present. And yet, outwardly, his hands moved the wheel and his body responded as though everything were perfectly normal.

"I… do not understand either, young master. Perhaps this is what humans refer to as… an unlucky day?"

The reply came in a deep, slightly rough voice.

Seated in front seat beside the chauffeur was a figure cloaked in black, his presence heavy and unsettling. A faint ripple of shadowy energy shimmered around his fingertips, stretching invisibly toward the chauffeur.

It was clear he was weaving a subtle spell, a light hypnosis to bend the driver's mind and keep him under control.

That figure was Hosan. He had only just returned after confirming that Aliena and Sonu had successfully brought Sappe to the being they called Father

David suddenly stomped his foot against the floor, the force making the entire vehicle shudder for a brief second. His anger was overflowing, but with no outlet, it only twisted deeper inside him, eating at his nerves.

"Damn it!" he growled, his voice sharp and cracking with emotion. "What is wrong?! What the hell is going wrong?!" His whole body trembled, shoulders quivering as though he might explode at any second.

Hosan, however, remained utterly calm. He did not move, did not break his concentration on the spell. He simply allowed David to release some of that frustration, silently waiting for the young master's storm of emotions to run its course.

His own thoughts drifted elsewhere, circling back to the black-clad warrior he had faced earlier. That man was strong, unnervingly so, and there was something deeply mysterious about him.

Who was he really? Was that being truly a djinn? Hah… If not for the command that we restrain ourselves, I would have already erased him from existence. The thought echoed bitterly in Hosan's mind. Even so, he remained confident—if forced into a full confrontation, he still believed he could crush that mysterious figure.

Before long, the car rolled smoothly into the expansive parking lot of a grand, luxurious academy: Makazhar Elite School, David's own domain. The school was a sprawling institution built in an elegant style, catering exclusively to the sons and daughters of the most privileged families, most of them heirs to the great powers and wealth of Eastern Indorosia.

"Hosan. Prepare the room," David ordered, his eyes still blazing with restless fury.

"As you wish, young master," Hosan replied evenly. With a flicker of shadow, his body disappeared from the seat in an instant, vanishing as though he had never been there at all.

The chauffeur suddenly jolted, his body trembling faintly as his awareness returned to him. His cloudy gaze cleared after a few seconds, confusion flashing across his face. Blinking rapidly, he glanced around, then realized that the car had already stopped inside the school's private parking zone.

"Y-young master, we have… already arrived?" he asked uncertainly, his voice shaky as if he had no idea what had just happened.

David only looked at him flatly, his gaze indifferent, as though he were waiting for something that never came.

The driver fidgeted, still disoriented, but unable to understand what he had just experienced.

"You took long enough," David muttered coldly, though he made sure not to let his voice drip with too much cruelty. He had no intention of openly humiliating one of his family's staff—not here, not now.

With a sharp motion, he pushed open the door himself and stepped out of the vehicle.

"M-my apologies, young master…" the chauffeur stammered, startled. Normally he would have leapt to open the door, or at the very least pressed the automatic release, but his lapse had left David to do it manually.

David, however, no longer cared. He had more pressing matters demanding his attention. Without another glance at the man, he simply turned and strode away with brisk steps, heading straight toward his destination.

The school grounds were alive with movement. Students in pristine uniforms, staff members, attendants, and even teachers all noticed his arrival.

Heads turned, gazes followed him, and as always, a kind of respectful awe spread through the crowd. David was, after all, a figure of prestige here, a young master who held himself like someone destined to stand above the rest.

Yet today, something about him was different. Instead of pausing to acknowledge the greetings and smiles directed his way, instead of carrying himself with his usual composed elegance, he walked faster, his face taut with barely contained frustration.

He did not so much as nod back, and the change left many onlookers stunned. To see the ever-refined David pass them by without a word or gesture was unsettling—something was clearly very wrong with him today.

A short while later, David found himself standing inside a sealed training hall, a massive chamber painted in stark white. The space stretched almost half the size of a soccer field, wide enough to host large-scale exercises.

Scattered here and there were pieces of training equipment, racks, and tools clearly designed for combat drills and physical conditioning. It was no ordinary gymnasium—it was a specialized training ground reserved for those who could afford to vent their power in ways far beyond what normal students could ever imagine.

In front of him stood a practice mannequin. Its faceless head had been crudely plastered with a printed photograph of Al, the image defaced and violently scratched over. The sight alone made David's eyes burn with deeper rage, as though the very existence of that photo was mocking him.

Behind him, Hosan had already arrived. He was disguised in the form of a middle-aged man, the picture of a humble school attendant tasked with maintaining the facility.

Even in this guise, his back was straight, his presence commanding. Both of his hands began to glow faintly as waves of dark energy rippled between his palms.

With a sharp gesture, Hosan raised his arms and unleashed a surge of power.

Magic Skill: Barrier.

WOOOSHHHH!

A translucent wall of shimmering force expanded outward, enveloping the hall in layers of protection. The spell was sturdy, its thickness enough to absorb devastating impacts and destructive magical skills. It even clouded the surveillance cameras, ensuring that anyone who tried to watch from outside would see nothing but static darkness.

"You may proceed, young master. The others will be arriving soon," Hosan said calmly, bowing slightly in respect.

David did not reply at once. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath, as an aura of purplish-black energy coiled violently around his body. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as though the room itself was suffocating under the weight of his unstable emotions.

When he opened his eyes again, they burned with a dark light. His expression twisted into something deranged, half-feral.

Without warning, he let out a guttural roar and hurled himself into a frenzy, blasting wave after wave of destructive attacks in every direction, but most of all at the mannequin bearing Al's face. His fury poured out through raw energy, each strike a scream of frustration given physical form.

"Die! Die, damn you!" he shouted, his voice ragged and overflowing with hatred.

Hosan, unfazed, calmly erected a smaller barrier around himself, ensuring he would not be caught in the storm. He observed quietly. The attacks David unleashed were wild and destructive, the kind that would tear apart ordinary walls with ease.

To Hosan, they lacked true precision and power—insufficient to harm someone like him—but the sheer ferocity behind them was enough to fracture the barrier protecting the room, cracks spreading dangerously along its edges.

The chamber resounded with thunderous booms and sharp explosions. Each impact rattled the air and filled the space with dust and smoke. The smell of scorched stone and burning energy lingered thickly.

Minutes passed before the storm of destruction finally died down. The air trembled with silence broken only by the sound of David's unsteady, ragged breathing. He stood hunched, sweat dripping down his face, his chest heaving. The purple-black aura flickered weakly now, his reserves heavily drained.

Hosan stepped forward, extending one hand to steady his young master while with the other he conjured a gust of wind, sweeping away the haze of smoke that filled the chamber.

The mannequin was a ruin. Shards of its body were scattered across the ground, its limbs blasted apart. David's attacks had not been flawless—many had missed, striking at random—but the vital area, the head, had been obliterated beyond recognition.

It was proof that even in blind rage, his battle instincts were sharpening. His strikes were becoming more instinctive, more targeted, even when he was at his most uncontrolled.

"Are you well, young master?" Hosan asked, offering a small glass vial filled with a glowing, greenish liquid no longer than a finger. It was a restorative mixture, a magical potion brewed to stabilize energy and accelerate recovery.

David snatched the vial and downed it in a single gulp. His face twisted in distaste at the bitter taste coating his tongue, but the effect was immediate. The potion replenished a portion of his energy and soothed the strain in his body.

Exhaling deeply, he straightened his posture. A faint smirk touched his lips.

"Hahhhh… even after tearing this place apart, I still don't feel satisfied," he muttered, tossing the empty vial back at Hosan. "But… at least it's better than before."

Hosan caught the bottle and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

David remained silent for a moment, letting the potion take fuller effect, his gaze still simmering with cold intent. Then he turned slightly toward Hosan.

"So… what do you think?" he asked at last.

"If you mean your interest in human women, I cannot comment much, young master. My duty is only to carry out your will."

"Not that," David replied sharply, his tone laced with impatience. "I'm not talking about trivial matters like women, Kareeza, Sappe, or even the state of my room. All of that is clear enough. What unsettles me now is that figure you fought… and why my parents have suddenly changed. That is what bothers me most."

Hosan's expression darkened slightly. "As for that… I cannot say for certain either. Why he appeared, who he truly is—there are no answers. For now, I suspect he is simply another djinn, like us, drawn to Kareeza's energy. As for your parents, we will investigate further once matters stabilize."

"Djinn, you say? Then tell me this… how did it feel to fight someone who could nullify magical energy?" David asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

Hosan froze for a moment, taken aback. The question sounded absurd.

"Nullify magical energy? Young master, who exactly are you referring to?"

David frowned, confused at the response.

"Isn't that obvious? The black-clad figure you fought. Didn't he show such a skill? I'm talking about that man."

Hosan paused, recalling the fight carefully. He shook his head. "I… saw no such ability. Every attack from the shadow troops connected normally. None of them reported their energy being nullified."

"Really? Then… could it be that he only used it against Sister Vianna?" David murmured, curiosity flickering across his face.

Hosan considered it, and the explanation seemed plausible. David would not invent something without reason. So he merely nodded, accepting the assumption.

"Tch… if that's true, then it would be fascinating to draw him to our side. Imagine what I could learn from someone who wields such a deadly skill," David said, admiration tinged with envy in his tone, though he did not realize the man he spoke of was the very person he hated most.

"You may be right, young master. I doubt he holds any personal grudge against you. We clashed only because we attacked first. If he truly possessed such a power as you claim, he would have already crushed you if he wished to. The fact that you stand unharmed means he did not consider you an enemy."

David's lips curved into a thin smile. A new scheme had begun to take root in his mind.

Hosan continued, "And perhaps we could use Kareeza to lure him again, but in a safer location. He seems fixated solely on her."

David's eyes lit up, thrilled by the suggestion, as though a divine revelation had just been whispered into his ear.

"Yes… yes, that's brilliant," he said, excitement rising in his voice. "In that case, return to Father immediately. Make sure Sappe and the others are in order. While Kareeza recovers and my room is secured, we'll prepare everything."

Hosan bowed and vanished without another word.

David stepped closer to the shattered mannequin. A torn piece of Al's photograph still clung stubbornly to the debris. With deliberate movements, he pressed his shoe down and ground it into the floor until it was completely destroyed.

"I don't know what's wrong with them… but you will never take what's supposed to be mine," he muttered venomously.

Almost on cue, a group of more than a dozen students entered the hall, three among them being those who had participated in the school festival—one of them Yolanda.

David immediately composed himself, discarding the childish display.

They approached in unison, lining up neatly and bowing their heads slightly, greeting him as though he were their master.

David allowed a faint smile to return to his face, welcoming them with calm dignity. And just like that, his day at school continued.

---

Meanwhile, inside the grand residence of the Virellano family,

Al was seated at his wide desk, quietly working on a large sheet of paper. His hand moved steadily, sketching out lines and details with a level of focus that seemed unshakable.

And then—

Tok! Tok!

A series of knocks landed on his bedroom door.

Without rushing, Al glanced toward the small digital intercom mounted beside his desk. The device was linked to a miniature monitor, allowing him to see exactly who stood outside before answering.

On the screen, the familiar figure of Harun came into view. The loyal attendant waited with his usual calm expression, hands folded neatly in front of him.

Al pressed the button to respond, his voice carried through the speaker.

"What is it, Harun?"

From the other side came Harun's steady tone, polite yet direct.

"Master Edward requests your presence in the main lounge after lunch."

Al let out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair as if the news had dropped a weight on his shoulders.

"Ughh… what a nuisance," he muttered under his breath. His gaze shifted back to the unfinished illustration spread across his desk. After a short pause, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Well… that still leaves me with enough time to finish this."

---

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.