Two days since the ceremony, and the house had reorganized itself around a new center of gravity.
Allen sat at uncle's right hand, position of honor, while servants brought him choicest cuts of meat, freshest bread, tea brewed to exact temperature he preferred. Uncle Rovi was mid-sentence, discussing training schedules and prospects with tone usually reserved for visiting clan elders.
"coordination with Master Denzel's school starts next week. Your talent deserves proper cultivation, not village instruction."
Aunt Dasa interrupted with practiced timing, leaning forward to fuss over Allen's collar. "And we'll need better robes. These old things won't do for someone of your grade." Her fingers lingered on the fabric, making a gesture for Rovi's benefit more than for Allen's comfort.
Performance. Every word rehearsed, every touch calculated.
Allen's shoulders straightened, small movement, deliberate. His hands rested on table instead of hiding in lap. When servant approached with more tea, he didn't flinch.
One day. Single day since awakening, and victim was learning to sit like victor.
His eyes flicked toward Nalla, glance, checking if big brother was watching.
Rovi continued without acknowledging Nalla's presence at table's end. "The clan elders will want to meet you properly. We'll need to present you at the regional gathering, proper introduction for someone of your caliber."
"We'll spare no expense," Dasa declared, voice warm with maternal generosity she'd never shown before. She squeezed Allen's hand. "Whatever you need for proper training. Robes, tutors, equipment. Nothing but the best."
"The family resources are yours now," Rovi agreed, nodding as if bestowing great wisdom.
Nalla occupied his usual seat at table's end, eating porridge that had cooled to lukewarm paste while servants attended to Allen first. He scraped spoon against bowl's bottom with deliberate precision. No one asked about his day. No one inquired about his plans. Servants refilled water without meeting his eyes.
He'd become furniture, present but unnoticed, functional but unremarkable.
Age made you immune to petty slights. Made you see patterns instead of provocations.
This performance confirmed everything. Rovi and Dasa weren't cruel, cruelty required passion. They were pragmatic. Allen had value now. Nalla didn't. Affection flowed accordingly, like water toward low ground.
Better to accelerate. Force issue now, while they were still adjusting and still calculating the best approach to secure permanent control.
Nalla's spoon stopped halfway to mouth. He set it down with deliberate care, porcelain clicking against wood.
"Half those resources are mine by law." His voice cut through Dasa's planning like blade through silk. "Inheritance is a right, not a favor you grant when it suits you."
Uncle Rovi's hand paused halfway to teacup. Aunt Dasa's fingers stilled on Allen's shoulder. Both turned to look at him as if furniture had suddenly started speaking.
Allen blinked, confusion breaking through his new-found confidence. "Brother, what..."
"Our father left clear instructions," Nalla continued, voice level. "Half to Allen, half to me. Not 'all to whoever awakens with better grade.' Half and half."
Dasa's eyes widened, tears gathering at the corners. "Nalla, dear..." She pressed hand to chest, wounded. "Is this truly about money? Your brother finally has something good in his life, and you..." Voice broke with perfect timing. "You can't even be happy for him?"
Allen's face shifted, confusion melting into something harder.
"After everything we've done," Rovi added, voice heavy with rehearsed disappointment. "We took you both in when your parents died. Fed you, clothed you, treated you as our own sons."
"And now," Dasa cut in, dabbing at eyes with napkin, "when Allen needs our support most, you want to, what? Take half the family resources and leave?" She looked at Allen, squeezed his shoulder. "Leave your brother with less, just to satisfy your pride?"
There it is. Make me the villain. Make Allen the victim who needs protecting. From me.
Dasa leaned forward, almond eyes glistening. "Nalla, dear, do you truly believe we treated you poorly all these years?"
Rovi nodded gravely. "We fed you, clothed you. Education, shelter, love..."
Love. The commodity they were trading now.
Appeal to guilt first. Classic.
Allen absorbed each word like parched earth drinking rain. Hands gripped table's edge, knuckles white, breathing shallow. Boy who had demonstrated A-grade talent just two days before now seemed smaller, desperate to believe he'd found something real.
His shoulders curved inward, victim posture practiced and perfected. But underneath the trembling, something else. Stillness. The kind that came from control, not fear.
"You were like sons to us," Dasa continued, solitary tear rolling down her cheek. "Not adopted sons, not obligations... sons of the heart."
Allen's breathing stopped for few seconds. Adam's apple bobbed once, timing perfect.
"And now," Rovi said, voice breaking almost imperceptibly, "you want to leave as if we were strangers. As if these years meant nothing."
Allen's shoulders curved further inward. But his eyes, when they lifted to meet Nalla's for just heartbeat, held something harder than hurt.
Then dropped again in practiced submission.
"We want to make this official," Dasa said softly, reaching across to cover Allen's hand with both of hers. "Complete adoption. Not as temporary guardians, but as your true parents. With all rights, all inheritance, all love that natural parents would give."
Silence fell thick as honey.
"So when did you think of this?" Nalla asked, voice flat. "Yesterday? Or right after Allen proved he's worth keeping?"
Rovi's fingers paused mid-reach for teacup.
"What do you mean?"
"One year left. Convenient timing for sudden parental love."
"Nalla," Dasa's voice carried first hint of steel beneath velvet, "that's cruel."
"It's honest. If Allen had been C-grade like me, you'd still be offering adoption?"
Pause lasted half-second too long.
"Of course," Rovi said.
"Liar."
The word dropped like stone.
Allen's head snapped up, genuine reaction, finally. Something flickered across his face. Doubt. Or recognition.
Then his breathing steadied at an unnatural pace. Expression shifted like someone remembering lines from script.
"Maybe they wanted us to be old enough to choose," Allen said quietly. Voice still soft, still worried. But words too measured.
Someone prepared you for this exact conversation. Question is who.
Allen's throat worked. "Uncle and Aunt, they're offering what I've always wanted. Real family. Real parents who choose me." Tears streamed down his face. "Why can't you just accept that? Why does it have to be your way or nothing?"
"This mediocrity, this smallness of spirit, breaks my heart," Dasa said, voice trembling. "We raised you better than petty suspicion and cruelty."
The word hung in air. Mediocrity. Could mean character. Could mean talent. Plausible deniability wrapped in silk.
Allen's eyes flicked between them, confusion genuine now. But his shoulders straightened fractionally, unconscious response before habitual curve reasserted itself.
"Then prove me wrong," Nalla said. "Give us our inheritance. Today."
Silence.
Rovi and Dasa exchanged glance. Quick. Calculating.
"We need time to prepare documentation," Rovi said finally.
"Time you don't want to give."
Allen pulled away from Dasa's embrace. Small movement. Incremental. But definitive.
"Why now?" he asked quietly, voice gaining strength. "Why adoption now and not before?"
Dasa's face crumpled. "Sweetheart, we just thought..."
"Brother told me you'd refuse the inheritance," Allen continued. "Said you'd make excuses." He looked at Rovi, and for moment genuine confusion warred with something darker. "He was right about ceremony. Right about everything so far."
Allen's breathing steadied too quickly.
"But maybe," Allen's shoulders straightened fractionally. "Maybe Brother's perspective is... limited. By disappointment."
Phrasing too precise. Too calculated.
"I mean," Allen continued, voice gaining confidence that didn't match trembling hands, "Brother has always protected me. I'm grateful." Eyes lifted, held Nalla's gaze longer than they should, and there, just there, small smile touched his lips before morphing into worried frown. "But I'm A-grade now. I have my own value. Maybe it's time I made my own decisions."
Allen's jaw tightened. And there, finally, the mask slipped fraction of inch. Resentment. Pure and aged and bitter as old wine.
"You know what, Brother?" Allen's voice cracked, but not with fear. With something rawer. Truer. "All my life, I've watched you. Perfect Nalla. Smart Nalla. Everyone's favorite." Shoulders still curved, victim posture maintained. But eyes blazed. "And where did it get you? C-grade. Average. Mediocre."
Silence fell like guillotine blade.
"I'm A-grade. Me. Not you. For once, I'm the one who matters. And maybe..." voice broke, "maybe that's what this is really about. You can't stand it."
This time it tasted real. Resentment that had festered for years while he played the weak little brother, watching Nalla receive attention, affection, and expectations.
For just moment, Nalla felt old pain. Ache of bonds being severed that had once meant everything. His little brother, choosing comfort over loyalty.
But underneath, darker question crystallizing:
Did you understand what you just did, little brother? Does accepting their adoption mean renouncing your inheritance? That if I die before year is up, they keep everything?
Nalla watched Allen's face. Tear-streaked, confused, angry. Fifteen years old and desperate for family.
Do you know you just gave them reason to want me dead? Or are you that good at playing innocent?
Couldn't tell. Genuinely couldn't tell.
"Jealous?" Nalla said, voice cutting clean through Allen's tears. "Of you being adopted by people who ignored us for fourteen years until you became useful? Sure, Allen. That's exactly what I want."
Allen flinched.
"You're fifteen. A-grade or not, you're still child who desperately wants to believe people love him." Nalla turned to Rovi and Dasa. "One year's notice. One year from today, I expect full accounting and transfer."
"Birthright," Rovi said, voice dripping contempt. "Listen to him, spinning rejection into philosophy. So smart, so eloquent, and so utterly alone. That's what your cleverness buys you, boy. Isolation. You'll die surrounded by your principles and no one else."
The words landed with weight Nalla hadn't expected. Not because they hurt, but because they revealed how threatened Rovi felt.
"Your parents would be ashamed," Dasa added, fresh tears streaming. "They raised you to value family, not chaos spheres."
"Nalla," Allen called out, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Please."
Something in that plea landed different. Genuine confusion threading through performance. Like the boy who'd prepared for a chess match but found himself in a knife fight instead.
"I don't want to lose you too," Allen said, and for first time, words felt unscripted. Shoulders curved so far inward he looked like he was folding into himself. "Why can't you just accept that? Why does it have to be your way or nothing?"
Nalla walked toward door. Behind him, Allen's breathing turned ragged, half-sob, half-gasp.
"Brother, please..."
Nalla paused at threshold.
Looked back.
Allen stood halfway between the table and the door, caught between uncle, aunt, and brother. Shoulders curved inward but chin lifted fraction higher than victim posture allowed. Fear genuine. Tears genuine. But underneath, something else.
Relief.
Relief that he could finally stop hiding behind weak little brother mask. That A-grade talent allowed him to straighten his spine, lift his chin, and claim space.
You wanted this. Not just family. Not just love. You wanted to stop being less than me.
"Goodbye, Allen."
Door closed with a soft click that sounded like a bone breaking.