Flashback — Little Zyren and Angel:
The car door slams shut, loud and sharp, echoing through the quiet afternoon.
A fourteen-year-old Zyren storms out of the back seat, his school uniform wrinkled, his tie hanging loose and crooked around his neck. His silver hair catches the sunlight as he moves, a flash of pale gold against the dark luxury of the car.
The servants lined up at the entrance bow deeply.
"Welcome home, Young Master."
Zyren yanks the tie from his neck and throws it. The fabric lands on the face of the nearest servant—a young woman who flinches but doesn't dare move.
"Shut up," he mutters without looking, and continues walking.
The servants watch him disappear into the mansion, their faces falling. A murmur spreads among them, quiet and fearful.
"Today, Young Master's mood is bad again," one whispers.
Another nods, her voice low.
"I don't know how he's going to punish us this time."
An old woman shakes her head, her eyes sad.
