Ethan stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring up at the faded lettering on the wooden sign.
J.S.Y. House.
I've seen that somewhere before... but where? Ethan thought, straining his memory.
He took a slow, deep breath, shaking his head in mild frustration. My memory is useless when I need it most.
Glancing toward the front entryway, Ethan noticed something subtle—the padlock hanging from the iron gate was completely unlocked.
His eyes narrowed as his instincts instantly flared to high alert. Slipping silently through the gate, he passed through a small garage area designed for a single car before approaching the front door. It stood slightly ajar.
Ethan stepped inside without making a sound, his body primed for a fight.
The house was completely dead silent, illuminated only by the pale, gloomy light filtering through the overcast sky outside. Ethan took a slow walk through the ground floor, scanning his surroundings.
It's a modest layout... perfect for a small, normal family, he noted.
As he walked down the narrow hallway, he spotted clean, rectangular patches on the faded wallpaper where framed photos used to hang.
Someone cleared these walls out... and took the pictures with them, Ethan realized.
He continued down the corridor until he suddenly halted in his tracks. Hanging at the far end of the living room was a massive, dust-covered portrait—the only piece left behind.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly. He had seen this exact image before: a portrait of one man seated in a chair, while another man stood quietly right behind him.
It's the exact same image I saw there... What is this picture doing here? Is it the copy or the original? Ethan thought, stepping closer.
The canvas was smothered in a thick layer of dust. Ethan reached out, running his thumb along the bottom frame, wiping away a streak of grime.
I can clean the bottom frame easily enough... but the real question is whether I can wipe away the dust obscuring their faces. Last time I tried it didn't work.
Ethan raised his hand toward the face of the figure standing behind the chair. But before his fingers could touch the dusty canvas—
A sudden shift in the air.
Ethan froze instantly, his senses screaming. Slowly, he turned his head back toward the entrance of the room.
Standing quietly in the shadowy doorway was a figure he never, in his wildest dreams, expected to encounter here. Ethan's eyes narrowed to sharp slits as he turned his entire body to face the man.
Ethan opened his mouth, his voice cold and laced with disbelief. "I never expected to run into you in a place like this... Mr. Murphy."
Murphy stood motionless, his heavy, calculating gaze locked onto Ethan.
Taking a few deliberate steps forward, Ethan continued, "My mother told me about you. She said my father had a close childhood friend... Who would have guessed it was you? Madison's father."
A faint, mocking smile touched Murphy's lips as he reached into his coat pocket, casually sliding a brass key inside. "You're just as arrogant and naive as your father was."
"So you were the one who unlocked the front door," Ethan said, piecing it together. "The taxi driver mentioned a wealthy man used to visit this house... and unexpectedly, it was you."
Murphy chuckled softly, his tone dripping with condescension. "You've grown somewhat sharp, kid."
"Thanks," Ethan spat, his tone hardening. "Coming from the true mastermind operating behind the Three Pillars, that almost sounds like a compliment."
Murphy remained completely unbothered, his expression an unreadable mask.
Ethan took another step forward, glaring directly into Murphy's eyes. "How do you sleep at night? Slaughtering innocents for your own personal gain?"
Murphy scoffed, a cold sneer forming on his face. "Playing the hero... just like your father did. And where did that noble act lead him? Straight to his death."
Ethan snapped.
Driven by raw fury, he lunged forward, throwing a violent, straight punch aiming straight for Murphy's jaw. "Don't you dare speak about him, you son of a bitch!"
PAFF!
Murphy caught the full force of Ethan's punch in his bare palm without moving a single inch.
"You're nothing but a weak, pathetic little brat," Murphy whispered coldly.
Before Ethan could react, Murphy closed his fingers, locking Ethan's fist in a vise grip. With terrifying, inhuman physical strength, Murphy lifted Ethan off the floor by his trapped fist alone.
"Kiddo... I can't guarantee you're walking out of this house alive," Murphy growled.
Mid-air, Ethan twisted his upper body, snapping a sharp kick straight toward Murphy's face.
Murphy tilted his head back, dodging the strike effortlessly, and released Ethan's hand. Ethan flipped backward, landing heavily on his feet and dropping into a low combat stance.
He glared up at the older man, his breathing heavy.
Murphy adjusted his cuffs, his voice calm and venomous. "Your poor mother... about to lose yet another child. She's suffered such a miserable life, and yet she still hasn't completely broken apart."
The insult pushed Ethan past his limit. Roaring with rage, he charged forward. "I'LL KILL YOU!"
"Let's see how much Grace actually managed to teach you," Murphy said smoothly.
Murphy sidestepped Ethan's rush and drove a brutal front kick directly into Ethan's midsection. Ethan managed to cross his arms to block, but the sheer force of the impact smashed him backward, throwing him onto a wooden display table.
The heavy table shattered beneath him.
It's like I'm fighting him... Uncle Beast. Ethan thought, his arms trembling uncontrollably from the force of that single blow.
As Ethan pushed himself up from the debris, his shoulder brushed against the bottom of the large wall portrait.
The sudden impact shook the frame, causing a thick layer of dust to slide off the upper section of the canvas—revealing the hair of the man standing behind the chair.
Ethan's eyes flicked upward to the canvas.
The man standing in the background had snow white hair.
Ethan turned to Murphy.
"Who is that?" Ethan said.
Before Ethan could process further, a massive hand clamped around his throat, slamming him hard against the wall. Ethan gasped for air, clawing desperately at Murphy's iron grip.
"This picture... you've seen it before, haven't you?" Murphy smirked, his eyes glinting with dark amusement as he tightened his grip. "Too bad you won't live long enough to learn the truth behind it... or this house."
Murphy squeezed harder, crushing Ethan's windpipe. Spots danced across Ethan's vision, a surge of blood welling up in his mouth as his hearing began to fade into a dull buzz.
Leaning in close to Ethan's ear, Murphy whispered his final, devastating truth:
"Son of Damian... let me leave you with one last secret before you die. The man standing in that picture... is Allen's biological father."
Ethan thrashed frantically, but his strength was rapidly draining away.
"You are Damian's flesh and blood, yet you turned out to be this weak," Murphy sneered, his grip tightening to a lethal crush.