The mansion lights were blinding tonight — warm gold spilling across the driveway, reflecting off the decorations and the hundreds of guests swarming the place like it was a festival.
Lucien slowed the bike and came to a stop at the edge of the crowd.
He looked around. Confused. Annoyed. Zero idea why his house looked like a wedding venu
Lucien scanned the glowing mansion again, irritation rising.
"Seriously, what the fuck is happening here?"
The voice hummed thoughtfully.
Looks like a welcome party. Or a reunion. Something like that.
Lucien frowned.
"For which bast—"
He stopped.
Frozen.
Realization slammed into him.
"…fuck fuck fuck… it's for me."
He dragged a hand down his face.
"Goddammit."
The voice cackled instantly.
HAHAHAHAHAHA— YES! YES! It is for YOU! Oh this is priceless!
Lucien stared at the mansion, panic creeping up his spine.
"Fuck—fuck—what do I do?" he muttered. "Should I jump the wall and sneak into my room?"
No, the voice replied immediately. Pretty sure your family is inside. You REALLY don't want to surprise them by dropping in like a burglar.
Lucien grimaced.
"Great. So… the front gate it is."
He parked the bike carefully, mind racing in circles that made zero sense. He stepped off, inhaled once, and walked toward the main entrance.
As he moved through the clusters of guests, nobody reacted. Nobody stared. Nobody pointed. Nobody screamed "Lucien!".
Nothing.
The voice snorted.
Seems like no one recognizes you.
"Good," Lucien muttered, slipping inside the mansion.
Noise. Laughter. Music. Conversations bouncing everywhere. People brushed past him without a second glance.
The voice clicked its tongue.
You're clearly underdressed, brat.
Lucien rolled his eyes.
"Oh shut up. It's not like I KNEW they'd throw a goddamn circus."
He kept walking, quietly scanning the hall, doing his best to blend in while also dying internally.
He whispered under his breath:
"…Why didn't I just jump the wall."
Because you would've face-planted into your mother.
Lucien stiffened.
"…Shit."
Lucien walked deeper into the mansion, scanning faces, looking for the fastest escape route and not finding a single one.
Then he spotted them.
His father and his mother, standing together near the center of the room, talking to a group of relatives. They looked tense, distracted — clearly waiting for someone.
Lucien swallowed.
Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed.
He pushed through the crowd, trying to look as normal as someone who technically returned from the dead could look.
A few people turned.
Then a few more.
And suddenly entire clusters were staring at him.
Not in shock.
Not in horror.
Not in recognition.
But with… giggles.
Little stupid laughs.
Snickering.
Side-eyes.
Lucien frowned hard.
"…Why the fuck are they laughing?" he muttered under his breath.
The voice answered immediately, dripping sarcasm:
I do not know, Lucy. Absolutely no idea.
Maybe… just MAYBE… it's because you walked into a fancy party… wearing shorts.
Lucien froze.
Then looked down.
Then sighed the sigh of a man who had already accepted defeat.
"…I hate everything."
Lucien walked up to his parents and spoke before either of them could.
"Let me guess," he said, sweeping a hand at the decorations and crowd, "this whole circus show is supposed to be a reunion announcement party about me, huh?"
"Yes," his father said. "But more importantly—where were you? I sent you home early from the factory so you'd reach before everyone else. Why were you late?"
"I wanted to see the town," Lucien said. "See how much it's changed, Dad."
And I wanted to kill eight thugs, the voice added mockingly.
Lucien ignored it.
His mother stepped closer, worry written all over her face.
"You just got back, Lucy. Don't wander off like that. You had us worried."
You had her worried, the voice muttered. Your dad's just annoyed.
Out of nowhere, Rowan walked in, wearing a grin that was way too casual for the moment.
"Yeah, Lucien—I thought you'd pull another twelve on us," Rowan joked.
Lucien laughed.
"Good one," the voice said.
Lucien said it at the exact same time.
Marianne shot Rowan a sharp, stern look immediately, clearly not amused.
Rowan's smile died on the spot.
Upstairs, Ameera stood on the balcony with a welcome drink in her hand, her group of girl friends gathered loosely around her. She took a slow sip and let her eyes wander over the glowing Rein estate below.
"I haven't been upstairs here in months," she murmured. "I used to know this place like the back of my hand."
"You used to play here?" one girl asked.
Another nudged her lightly, silently telling her she should've known.
Ameera didn't mind.
"Me and Lucien," she said.
The circle fell into a quiet pause at the mention of the name.
Before anyone could say anything else, a group of neighborhood boys walked onto the balcony. They blended into the circle naturally, offering easy smiles and casual small talk.
"Evening," one of them said.
"This place looks different today," another added.
"Nice to see everyone together like this."
They chatted with the whole group — light jokes, simple questions, harmless banter.
Ameera played along the way she always did:
a small smile, a polite laugh, deflecting and reflecting comments with ease, staying present without encouraging anything.
Then one boy ruined the mood.
He let out a short scoff.
"So who did you even hang around with here? Lucien? He's been gone so long I barely even remember him."
The entire group went silent.
Ameera lowered her drink slowly, her expression going flat in a way that made the boy shift uncomfortably.
"You barely remember Lucien?" she repeated quietly.
"That says more about you than it does about him."
The boy frowned.
Ameera didn't blink.
"He was eight."
Her voice stayed calm, steady.
"Eight. And he still made more of an impression than you've managed your whole life."
A couple girls choked back a laugh.
The boys stiffened.
Ameera stepped just a little closer — not aggressive, just precise.
"People don't forget someone like him.
Not unless they were never worth remembering in the first place."
The boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Ameera tilted her head slightly, smiling in the lightest, coldest way possible.
"So don't use his name to look clever.
It's not a mirror that makes you look better."
Silence hit the group like a punch.
Before anyone recovered, Ameera took a calm sip of her drink and slipped away from the circle — using the stunned quiet to move to an empty corner of the upstairs balcony, finally away from all of them.
Ameera moved into the empty corner of the upstairs balcony, finally away from all that noise. She took a breath, irritation simmering under her skin.
Fucking bastard… who does he think he is?
She thought it sharply, jaw tightening.
If this wasn't a family function, she would've slapped him right there and not cared one bit about who saw it.
She leaned on the railing and looked down at the hall below, letting her eyes drift across the crowd.
That's when she saw them.
Uncle Aldric.
Aunty Marianne.
Rowan beside them.
All three standing together, speaking to someone.
Ameera's eyebrows rose slightly.
The person was talking to them casually — too casually.
No stiffness.
No hesitation.
Just standing there like he belonged in the center of that family.
And then she noticed something else.
He was wearing fucking shorts.
Her eyes narrowed.
Who the hell walks into a Rein family function dressed like that?
She leaned forward a bit more, trying to see clearer.
And then her breath hitched in her throat.
It's him.
Her eyes widened slowly.
The guy from the airport.
Same posture.
Same casual confidence.
Same face.
Ameera's confusion sharpened.
What the hell is his connection to the Reins…
for him to speak to them like that?
She kept staring, her grip on the balcony railing tightening.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the scene below, but her focus sharpened when Aldric leaned slightly toward the man standing with him.
---
"Go upstairs and get dressed and come down fast," Aldric said. "It's getting late, and tomorrow is a working day. There's a butler upstairs — ask him to help you wear the suit."
Lucien stared at him.
"I'm gonna stop you right there, Father. I know how to wear a suit. No need."
Aldric simply turned back to his conversation, already done with the topic.
Lucien muttered, "Unbelievable," and pushed through the crowd toward the stairs.
The voice snorted.
"Try not to punch someone. That alone is enough for today."
Lucien rolled his eyes.
"I wasn't planning on punching anyone."
"Mhm. Sure," the voice hummed.
Lucien ignored it and climbed the stairs.
He reached the hallway and opened the door to his room—
—and froze.
The room was full of kids.
Tiny cousins. Random visiting children. A whole swarm of chaos.
One was jumping on his bed.
Two were sword-fighting using his old action figures — untouched for twelve years.
One kid was half inside his wardrobe.
Another was wearing his childhood cap backward, narrating some imaginary battle with dramatic hand gestures.
Lucien stared.
The kids stared back.
Then the kid on the bed waved.
"Hi, bro!"
Lucien smiled.
A calm, friendly, perfectly polite smile.
"Hey, kids… having fun?"
They all nodded excitedly.
His smile widened by a millimeter.
"Great. Amazing. Lovely."
His eye twitched.
One boy lifted a dusty action figure.
"Look! I found thi—"
"That's wonderful," Lucien cut in smoothly. "Really. But now…"
He clapped his hands once — loud.
"OUT."
Instant chaos.
Kids tripped over each other trying to escape, scrambling to the door like someone had set the floor on fire. Lucien guided them out with exaggerated politeness:
"Careful."
"Yes, that's the door."
"Don't step on her."
"Fantastic. Keep going."
"Goodbye—
GO."
He shut the door behind the last kid and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly.
The voice cackled.
"Saint Lucy. Truly. I would've thrown one out the window for touching the action figures."
Lucien rubbed his forehead.
"No more children. Please. Let me just get dressed before someone else invades this room."
Lucien walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out the brown leather suit box resting inside — heavy, expensive-looking, its surface embroidered in gold patterns.
"Nice box," he muttered to himself.
He placed it on the bed and undid the clasps slowly. The lid lifted with a soft creak.
Inside…
A perfectly tailored black suit.
Sharp lines. Clean cut. Impossibly precise.
Lucien stared.
"When the fuck did they measure my body…" he thought.
Before he could question it more, his phone rang.
Reggie.
Lucien reached for it —
The call cut off instantly.
Lucien closed his eyes.
Yeah. He knew exactly what that meant.
"Come down fast, brat."
That was the message Reggie intended.
Lucien sighed and set the phone aside.
He grabbed the suit pieces from the box and tossed them onto the bed. Then he locked the door — firmly — before anyone else could storm in.
He stripped off the last of what he was wearing and walked over to the wardrobe drawer, pulling out a fresh pair of black boxers. He slipped them on and breathed out.
"Okay," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."
He grabbed the shirt first — black, crisp, perfectly ironed — and slid his arms through the sleeves. The fabric hugged him like it already knew every inch of his frame.
"Great," he muttered. "Tailored sorcery."
Next was the vest — same black, with a subtle pattern that caught the light only when he moved. He buttoned it smoothly, each click echoing softly in the room.
Then the pants.
Then the belt.
Lucien straightened, breathing once, then reached for the coat.
He lifted it by the shoulders, feeling the weight — not heavy, but solid, expensive, made for someone important.
He swung it over his back in one clean motion.
The coat settled perfectly, fitting like it was molded onto him.
The voice finally spoke.
"You know what this reminds me of?"
Lucien exhaled.
"Don't need to tell me twice."
The voice chuckled.
"That day in Kabukichō… your initiation."
Lucien smirked faintly at the memory — the neon lights, the cramped room, the cigarette smoke, the air heavy enough to choke someone normal.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Hard to forget."
He adjusted the coat lapels, straightened them once, and looked at himself in the mirror — sharp, controlled, nothing like the boy who vanished twelve years ago.
Lucien leaned closer to the mirror, fingers sliding back through his hair. It was longer now, thicker, heavier — but it still fell the same way when he pushed it back.
He grabbed a small comb from the drawer, ran it once through the sides, then used his fingers for the rest. He didn't force it into shape — he guided it.
The front strands separated on their own, settling into a loose, natural part.
Not a clean middle part, not a full side-slick — just that effortless, heavy sweep that framed his face.
The hair at the top curved backward with a soft wave, textured just enough to look like he hadn't tried too hard.
The sides stayed controlled, falling neatly behind his temples.
One stubborn strand dropped toward his forehead.
Lucien flicked it back with a tiny glare.
The voice chuckled.
"Yeah, that's it. Exactly like that day in Kabukichō."
Lucien ignored the comment and adjusted the last few strands with his fingers, letting the hair fall into place naturally — the same way it looked in the photo.
A messy, perfect, effortless look.
A style that wasn't styled.
Just… him.
Lucien adjusted the coat one last time, staring at himself in the mirror.
Something felt… off.
He tilted his head.
"I don't know… something ain't right," he muttered. "The suit— it's too light of a black for me."
The voice hummed.
"Yeah… I thought so too."
Lucien frowned at his reflection.
"So what, I just go down like this?"
The voice snickered — low, dark, almost amused in a dangerous way.
"Well… it's not like we don't have ways of fixing it."
Lucien paused.
Lucien mutters Kaigyāin,as his suits appearance changes to that of a dark black.
Lucien stared at the suit in the mirror, jaw tightening.
"Still too light," he muttered.
The voice snorted softly.
"Then fix it."
Lucien inhaled slowly — deep, controlled.
Under his breath, he whispered:
"Geba-ku-in."
The reaction was instant.
A thick, viscous black smoke slipped out from between his teeth, rolling downward like liquid shadow. It clung to the suit, spreading across the fabric with deliberate, slow precision.
The smoke didn't drift.
It moved.
Like it was searching for every seam, every fiber, every microscopic gap.
It soaked into the suit completely.
And the color shifted —
from a dull dark
to a pure, jet black
that swallowed light without effort.
Lucien ran a hand down the coat.
"Now that looks like me," he said quietly.
He grabbed the perfume bottle on the table, sprayed twice, and stepped through the mist as he moved toward the door.
He opened it.
Stepped out.
And immediately felt eyes on him.
Not dramatic gasps — just that subtle, involuntary reaction people had when someone walked past looking sharp enough to cut the air.
Heads turned.
Conversations paused mid-sentence.
Someone's footsteps faltered.
Lucien didn't break stride.
Hands in pockets, expression calm, he walked toward the staircase — the jet-black suit absorbing the hallway lights as if the shadows were following him.
Lucien stepped onto the first stair.
The hall below was loud — music, chatter, laughter — but the moment he started walking down, something shifted.
People noticed.
Not because he wanted them to.
Not because he made a show of it.
He just walked.
And that was enough.
Halfway down, a man stepped forward with a friendly smile.
"Ah, young man, you must be—"
Lucien kept walking.
Didn't break stride.
Didn't even look at him.
The man blinked, confused, left hanging mid-sentence.
Two steps later, a well-dressed woman raised her glass.
"Oh dear, you look—"
Lucien brushed right past her without a word.
She lowered her glass slowly, stunned.
A pair of younger girls near the banister whispered to each other, then one stepped forward, smiling shyly.
"Hi—um, excuse me—"
Lucien walked by without even turning his head.
Her smile evaporated.
Another guy tried:
"Hey man, haven't seen you arou—"
Lucien passed him like he was air.
Someone else attempted:
"You're Aldric's—"
Ignored.
"Can we get a pict—"
Ignored.
"Bro—"
Ignored.
He didn't snap.
He didn't glare.
He didn't tell anyone off.
He just didn't acknowledge them —
like none of the voices existed.
By the time he reached the last step, people had already started moving out of his way on instinct, clearing a path without realizing it.
Lucien crossed the hall, walking straight toward Aldric.
His father looked up the moment he approached, eyes widening just slightly — enough to show he was impressed.
Lucien stopped in front of him.
Aldric gave a short nod.
"Good. You're finally dressed."
Lucien didn't smile.
Didn't respond.
The voice inside him murmured:
"You made an entrance, alright."
Aldric looked him up and down, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…Your suit looks darker than the one I bought," he said. "Much darker."
Lucien didn't blink.
"That's because I shine more than it intended," he replied calmly.
Aldric stared for a second, unable to tell whether his son was joking or dead serious.
The voice inside Lucien snorted.
"Smooth."
Lucien didn't react — just adjusted the sleeve once and waited for his father's next line.
Aldric was still inspecting Lucien's suit when a small shift moved through the crowd — people quietly noticing the man in jet black standing beside him.
Upstairs, Ameera stood in her corner, drink in hand, eyes wandering lazily over the hall.
She wasn't looking for anything.
Then her gaze landed on him.
Her eyebrows pulled together slightly.
That's the airport guy…?
He looked completely different from earlier.
Same face, sure — but the overall presence?
Sharpened.
Collected.
Almost like he'd stepped out of a different day entirely.
Ameera leaned a little closer to the railing, trying to confirm that it was actually the same person.
Is that even the same guy?
He didn't look sloppy now.
No shorts.
No random attitude.
Just… composed.
She kept watching for a moment, trying to understand the sudden change.
Down below, Lucien lifted his head slightly — the way people do when they feel eyes on them — and his gaze met hers.
He didn't smile.
He didn't acknowledge her verbally.
He just tilted his head a fraction, the smallest motion, like he was checking who was staring at him.
Ameera looked away immediately, annoyed that he'd caught her looking.
Lucien's attention dropped back to Aldric without a second thought.
Marianne spotted him first.
She was listening to a relative when her gaze drifted toward Aldric—
and then stopped.
Her breath caught.
For a moment she forgot to blink.
Lucien, in that jet-black suit, standing beside Aldric like he'd never left.
She didn't move toward him.
She didn't call his name.
She just stared, hand tightening around her glass.
Next was Reggie.
He had his arm around his wife, their two kids tugging at his sleeves, Lex standing near them. They were all mid-conversation when Reggie turned to look—
—and nearly choked on air.
"Holy—" he muttered under his breath.
His wife's eyes widened.
Lex froze completely.
Even the children went silent for a second, confused by the sudden tension.
Rowan reached Lucien first.
He walked up with a half-grin, half-shock expression.
"…You clean up nicely," Rowan said quietly. "Didn't expect that."
Lucien nodded once.
"Right."
Rowan blinked at the one-word answer but accepted it.
Lucien turned to Aldric.
"What now?"
Aldric adjusted his glasses, glancing around the room.
"Now," he said, "I announce the reason for this gathering."
Lucien exhaled softly.
"Great."
Meanwhile, upstairs, Ameera pushed herself off the railing.
She wasn't sure why she was going down — curiosity, confusion, irritation — it didn't matter. She started moving toward the staircase, weaving past a few guests.
She only made it halfway across the balcony when—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Aldric tapped his glass with a knuckle.
The sound carried instantly.
Conversations died.
Music softened.
Every head in the hall turned toward the center, toward him.
Ameera stopped mid-step, hand resting on the railing, eyes shifting toward the sound.
Aldric cleared his throat.
"Everyone," he said, voice firm, steady, commanding the room. "May I have your attention."
Lucien stood beside him.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Unaware that every single person in the room was about to see something impossible.
And Ameera, stuck halfway down the stairs, could only watch.
Aldric Rein stood at the center of the hall, fingertips resting lightly against the table beside him. His posture was impeccable — composed, commanding — but the weight behind his eyes said everything.
When he tapped his glass again, the room fell into a hush.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Aldric began, his voice rich and steady, "thank you for granting me a moment of your time."
Conversations faded.
People turned.
Even the children quieted instinctively.
Ameera stopped on the stairs, half-hidden, watching.
Aldric continued with careful diction, each word measured.
"Twelve years ago, my family encountered a tragedy that tore through us with a violence I cannot describe. There is no metaphor, no gentle phrasing, that can soften the truth: I lost my son."
A ripple went through the hall.
Not noise — just emotion tightening everywhere at once.
Aldric held his composure, but his jaw trembled once before he mastered it.
"Grief of that nature," he said, "is not something one outgrows. One does not recover from it. One learns to exist alongside it… to function with an absence that no success, no wealth, no passage of time can fill."
Marianne's eyes shined.
Reggie lowered his head.
Lex held his breath.
Aldric inhaled deeply.
"And yet," he said, voice deepening, "fate is… unpredictable. Cruel in its design, but occasionally—miraculously—merciful."
He placed a steady hand on Lucien's shoulder.
"This young man beside me has endured tribulations none of us can comprehend. He crawled through hell in its purest form — and somehow continued upward. He survived hardship, deprivation, and solitude that would break most men."
Gasps broke softly across the room.
A few guests whispered immediately:
"Crawled through hell?"
"Is Aldric adopting someone?"
"Is this a rescue?"
"Marianne must have agreed—"
"That explains the tone…"
Upstairs, Ameera's eyes widened slightly.
That actually makes sense…
Aldric Rein would adopt someone who crawled through hell.
The airport guy — rough edges, that empty look — it fits.
She nodded to herself.
Of course. This is an adoption announcement.
Down below, the whispers grew more confident:
"A child they've taken in."
"A young man they've saved."
"He must have been through horrors."
"Poor boy…"
Aldric raised a hand.
The room obeyed instantly.
"To clarify," he said calmly, "this is not an act of charity. This is not adoption. This is not the Rein family extending a hand to a stranger."
Confusion rippled across the hall.
Ameera frowned.
"…What?"
Aldric continued, articulate and unwavering:
"I am not introducing someone new to this family. I am reintroducing someone who already belonged to it — whose absence carved a wound into our lives."
The room stilled.
Aldric's voice softened, but the gravitas only deepened.
"Twelve years ago, the child I cherished — the boy who carried my name — vanished. And for twelve years, I believed the world had taken him from us forever."
His breath shook once.
"But I was wrong."
He turned fully to Lucien.
"The child the world stole from me…"
His voice trembled at the edges.
"…and the man who returned from that abyss…"
A beat.
A silence so heavy it pressed on every chest.
Aldric lifted his chin.
"…are one and the same."
People froze.
Ameera's stomach flipped, her mind refusing to process what she'd just heard.
Aldric's words cut through the room like a blade:
"Allow me to reintroduce my son."
Aldric stepped aside just enough for the lights to fall cleanly on Lucien.
"Lucien Rein has returned."
The hall didn't breathe.
Not a whisper.
Not a shuffle.
Nothing.
Up on the stairs, Ameera stopped mid-step.
Her stomach lurched up into her chest, sudden and violent.
The hairs on her arms stood straight.
Her grip on the railing tightened hard enough that her knuckles went pale.
Her eyes trembled — actually trembled — refusing to decide whether they were seeing reality or a trick of the lights.
That face.
That posture.
That presence.
No.
No way.
That can't be—
Her breath hitched once, sharp and involuntary.
Down below, Lucien stood perfectly still.
Suit black as night.
Expression unreadable.
He didn't raise a hand.
He didn't nod.
He didn't move.
Just stood there.
Ameera's thoughts staggered, tripping over themselves.
The child she remembered…
and this man in black…
cannot be the same person.
Impossible.
Completely impossible.
But Aldric Rein had said the name.
Lucien Rein.
Her pulse jumped painfully.
The hall remained frozen, suspended in the impossible moment between past and present.