‘This is suicidal!’ An old man entered a courtyard. His steps were slow, oozing of steadiness, but his mind was anything but calm.

The beautiful fragrance of roses tickled his nose. But he wasn’t in the mood to enjoy them.

He stopped at the center of the courtyard. A young blue-haired boy sat cross-legged under a tree. His eyes were closed, and a sword laid on his legs. He occasionally frowned, as though he were in deep thought.

‘Do it for the Young Miss!’ The old man bowed and said.

“Young Mast-”

“Don’t disturb me!” The boy frowned.

The old man flinched at the boy’s tone. He hesitated before turning around.

A young girl’s head popped out from behind the distant pillar. The old man couldn’t bear to betray those sanguine eyes.

“Young Master, the Young Miss…“

The boy opened his eyes. His gaze left the old man and wandered behind him.

“I do not have the time for this. Take her back!” His cold voice frightened the old man. Clenching his fist, he once again mustered his courage and spoke.

“Young-”

“Tara!” The boy scowled. A dangerous glint flashed past his eyes.

Tara took a step back in fear. He could only watch helplessly as his Young Master left the courtyard. The Young Master’s eyebrows were creased, irritated with his vain attempts. At least, that was what Tara assumed.

However, noticing an unexpected moment, Tara’s eyes glistened.

“B-Big Broth…” His Young Miss attempted to call the Young Master. However, the blue-haired boy strode past her. Tara sighed, wondering if the Young Master even registered the call.

He approached the young forlorn girl, not knowing what to say. Her shoulders were slumped, devastated by the failure. This failure would inhibit her future attempts, maybe further estrange her relationship with her brother.

Tara reigned his wandering thoughts and hugged the desolate girl.

“Grandpa… does Big Brother Ren hate me?” Wiping her tears, he forced a smile.

“No, Young Miss. The Young Master is just too busy…”

Comforting her, he guided the young girl to her room.

----------------------------------------

A white-robed messenger waited beside a fountain. Occasionally, he shuddered. Was it the weather? Staring at the bright sun, he rejected that notion.

Was it his job? Remembering the stories, he gulped. Indeed, his job was the culprit.

‘Be careful…’ He reminded himself for the nth time. His predecessors’ fates warned him to be extremely cautious and respectful in the upcoming meeting.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of black. Instantly, he straightened his back.

“You can meet the Lord. Follow me!” The black-robed figure said.

The messenger silently gulped. He took a deep breath and followed the black-robed figure.

A fragrant smell caught his attention. The Zarstorm’s manor was well-maintained, just like the clan’s headquarters. He personally loved the blue roses. A perfect symbol for the regal Zelongs, he believed.

However, on this trip, they filled him with dread.

‘Today, another rose will be born. They shall use my corpse as manure.’ His face contorted. The rumors wreaked havoc in his heart.

The black-robed figure led him towards a large Skywood door... the luxurious door of life and death. A bald giant guarded the door. Apt, as it contained a royal Zelong, the Lord of the Zarstorm branch. The person who would determine his fate.

The bald giant opened the door and invited him. Steeling his heart, the messenger entered the hall.

Thump! The door shut behind him, frightening the messenger. He looked back and realized that the bald man hadn’t entered.

‘…Would you abandon me as well?’ He cursed the giant to a prolonged stay in the Netherworld before returning to his task.

A young, expressionless blue-haired boy captured his attention.

‘The rumors were true! He’s the spitting image of the Old Master of the Zarstorms. So young... but he’s already the head of this branch. And the people he's killed… This kid is a monster! Who said the Zarstorms were declining?! I'll fight them if it can guarantee my survival today!’ The messenger gulped.

“Sit!” He received the command. Without a thought, the messenger instinctively kneeled on the spot. Instantly, his face paled. He was far away from the monster!

‘Nooo! I’m dead! My life’s a gash!’

He approached the young monster in a hurry, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

‘I messed up. He’s going to kill me!’ He inwardly panicked, not knowing what to do. Catching a glimpse of the monster's face, a wave of relief washed over his heart.

‘Phew, his eyes are closed. He probably didn’t notice-’

“The message.”

The messenger flinched. He searched his robe in haste.

He retrieved a letter, only to drop it. Aghast, he picked it, his heart beating faster than the time he fought that dreadful bear. With a flushed face, he read the contents of the letter.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“To Ren Zarstorm, from the-“ Before he could read any further, a commanding voice interrupted him.

“Summarize!” The messenger froze. He felt a penetrating gaze. It pierced through his white robe and his chest, targetting his fragile heart.

'It’s over! My fate is sealed!' The messenger wanted to flee. By reading the letter, he could hide behind the written words of the clan. However, on summarizing, he would have to use his own words. And any poor choice of words could easily offend this young monster.

The messenger wanted to cry but he had no tears to shed.

'Cursed Zelongs! They purposefully sent me to my death. If that's your desire, I'm out! I'd rather become a slave than a corpse.' Reviving his dead heart, he gave an apt summary of the letter.

“Young Master, the Zelongs have rejected Young Master’s rule. They revoked our branch status and they want to take the Young Miss back to the clan’s headquarters. And…”

He spoke as a servant of the Zarstorms, hoping to reduce the hostility. Even then, he hesitated as he reached the last point.

“And what?” The messenger had the urge to cry. He knew that once he uttered the last sentence, he would meet his ancestors.

“…They a-asked for Young Master's d-de-death.” The white-robed messenger stuttered.

“Is that it?” The monster touched the sword on his lap.

‘NO! I can’t die here!’ The messenger’s face paled.

“Young Master, please don’t kill me. I’m just a messenger. I can even abandon the main clan to become your slave. Please don’t kill me. I have a family to feed!” He prostrated and begged. He couldn't see the Young Monster's face. The unsettling silence, his thumping heart... he wished the world would end already, sparing him this misery.

“Do you love your family?”

The messenger saw the light. Maybe, he would live today. Maybe, Ren Zarstorm wasn’t as terrible as the rumors. Maybe, the jealous gossips had warped his view of the gracious Young Master.

“Yes, Young Master! I have a child. He’s just a year old. Young Master, please spare me on account of my family. The Young Master is merciful! No one can compare to the grace of the Lord. I and my family will be forever indebted to the Young Master. I shall live a loyal dog to the Young Master.” He desperately clutched onto the opportunity. Not even his wife, had he hugged this hard before.

The Young Master fell silent. Optimistic, the white-robed messenger awaited the Young Master’s merciful verdict. Inwardly, he even fancied the idea of working under this Young Master.

“Your life or your family. Which one do you love more?” The nonchalant voice asked, crushing his hopes.

The white-robed man froze.

‘Oh... So, it’s like that... The rumors weren’t false…’ His dreams evaporated. Tears rolled down his forlorn cheeks. With a muffled voice, he made the last choice of his life.

“My… family.”

Tsuiin! He saw a flash. The floor collided onto his face.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the monster wiping the blood off the sword.

‘Ple…’ Darkness clouded his vision forever.

----------------------------------------

Many days passed.

Tara carefully opened the door. Tiptoeing, he entered the room, all while carrying a tray. With silent movements, he placed it onto the table. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a young girl. She was absorbed into the canvas, a brush on her hand.

Tara nearly sighed in relief, but he stopped himself and returned.

‘Phew, The Young Miss didn’t notice me. Better leave before-'

“Grandpa, what happened to the maid?” A sweet, inquisitive voice brought a wry smile on his old face. The Young Miss’s head was tilted.

“She has taken a vacation.” The old man smiled bitterly. He hoped to avoid this meeting but luck wasn’t on his side.

“A vacation?”

“Yes, a trip with her family.” The old man forced a smile.

“When will she return?”

“Maybe a few months later.” He lied, “Young Miss doesn’t have to worry. The Young Master will arrange a new maid.”

“Really? Big Brother will?” Seeing the stars in her eyes, he couldn’t afford to ruin her dreams.

“Yes.” He lied through his teeth, “I’ll take my leave. This old man would only disturb Young Miss’s painting.”

“Wait! Grandpa, I need your help.”

The old man’s heart skipped a beat. He wondered what trouble he’d fall into this time.

“Young Miss, please issue the order. Even if it is jumping into a volcano, as long as this old man can do it, it will be done.”

“Boo, no volcanoes! It’s about my painting. Come here.” She pouted and waved her arm.

‘Painting? I can’t even draw a circle. How can I… Ha, I’ll just praise the Young Miss’s skills.’ Putting on a cheerful face, the old man approached the canvas. Although his drawing skills were garbage, he was quite proud of his acting abilities.

He had mastered the arts of 209 Facial Expressions in his youth. No one in this household could stand a chance against him!

Prepared to put on the Fifth Variation of the amazed expression, he reached the canvas. After all, what could a nine-year-old draw?

Staring at the canvas, his mouth dropped and his eyes bulged. A breathtaking portrait of a family of three played out in his eyes.

Their figures, the level of detail… His eyes refused to leave the canvas. From the minor wrinkles to the tiny dimples, the painting radiated the heart of his talented Miss. Tara even thought of sacrificing his entire life's savings to buy this portrait.

“Stop acting!” The young girl’s angry voice whipped him from his daze.

“This… Young Miss, I swear I’m not acting. Staring at this picture, I feel like the Second Master has returned…” The old man spoke his heart. He couldn't remember the last time his thoughts left his mouth without a filter.

“Really?”

He nodded furiously.

“Grandpa is lying. That is an old painting. I was not too good then. This is my present painting.” The girl dashed to her bed. She dragged a large canvas from beneath her plush bed, one larger than her tiny body.

Placing it onto the wall, she pulled the cloth, revealing her masterpiece.

Tara instantly kneeled on the ground. If the last picture was breathtaking, the present one was no longer in the realm of pictures. Instead, it had ascended to become the manifestation of the Second Master’s family!

He broke down. Unable to control his feelings, his eyes grew wet.

“Second Master… Welcome back.” He choked. The faint smile on the familiar stern face broke his heart. The painting exuded the bold, yet kind aura of his Second Master. Tara never imagined he'd relive this aura.

“Buu, Grandpa is overacting.” He smiled and wiped the tears on his face.

“Young Miss, your drawing is legendary. I will petition the Young Master to let you study under a Grandmaster Artist.” As he spoke, he wandered into his dreamland. Imagining his Young Miss becoming a world-renown painter, a flame lit up his heart.

“Grandpa, you’re not helping me. This picture is incomplete!” She pointed at an empty region at the bottom of the painting.

“…It is incomplete.” Tara noticed the empty portion next to the image of his familiar Young Miss. He was so absorbed with the Second Master that he had ignored the rest of the drawing.

“Young Miss, why is it incomplete?”

“I want to draw Big Brother Ren… but I can’t imagine his face.” She bit her bottom lip. Tara could feel the frustration in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Young Miss. I’ll borrow the Young Master’s portrait.” Thumping his old chest, he rushed to the door when his Young Miss blocked his path.

“Young Miss?”

“Grandpa! You’re not listening! Why are you overreacting? I don’t want those boring portraits!” Feeling a slight sting on his feet, he took a deep breath.

“Young Miss, what is your wish?” He bowed.

“Grandpa, look at that painting. Dad, mom, everyone is smiling. I want to draw a happy face of brother, but…”

Tara’s shoulders slumped. His initials doubts weren’t wrong. The Young Miss had a knack of pushing him into trouble.

“Young Miss… You’re asking for the impossible. I can’t ask the Young Master to smile. He’ll kill me!” Tara would rather jump into a volcano naked.

The girl pouted. Her little arms flung at him.

“Useless! Useless! Go out! Buu, Useless!” With a wry smile, the old man left the luxurious room.

----------------------------------------

‘Zelong’s sky roses! How does the Young Miss come up with these weird requests? How can I get the Young Master to smile? Tickle him? Make funny faces? Maybe like this?’ Tara stretched his wrinkled face.

‘I need a mirror… Hmm, blue hair? Is that the Young Master? Will he smile at my face?’ He extended his tongue.

The young boy halted, and their gazes met.

‘Smile! Smile, you little runt! Smile for your sister!’ The old man smiled with his stretched face. At the same time, he wondered if it was funny or scary.

“What are you doing?” The boy's nonchalant voice irked him.

“Zelong’s sky roses! Why aren’t you smiling… YOUNG MASTER!"