Chapter 82 : The Broken Legacy

The sky was clear that morning in Gu-Hoit City, but for Nairo, the world had never felt colder.

In the training yard behind the large family villa, eleven-year-old Nairo tried to keep his balance on uneven ground, legs trembling, hands covered in dust. Facing him, imposing, inflexible, his father Kagan — head of the Yui mafia clan, veteran of a hundred underground conflicts — stared at him as if judging a barely sculpted statue.

"Your guard is too low. Again."

"But… Dad, my leg—"

"Guard. Low."

A moment later, a brutal blow. The bone cracks with a dry snap. Nairo collapses, a scream of pain tearing through the yard. His left leg is broken. His fingers clutch the dust. Tears burst uncontrollably.

"AAAAAH… AAAAH!"

Quick footsteps. His mother, Lina, alerted by the screams, runs across the garden.

"What… NO! Nairo!!"

She falls to her knees beside him. Her panicked eyes land on the twisted leg, swollen flesh, her child screaming in agony.

"YOU!"

Her gaze turns to Kagan, a flame in her eyes.

"What did you do to him, you monster?!"

Kagan, arms crossed, expression frozen:

"It wasn't me. He misstepped."

"You know very well that's a lie!"

She screams, face red, fists clenched.

"He's only eleven, damn it! You're breaking him!"

Kagan remains impassive.

"He must learn to endure pain. He is a Yui. The future king."

Lina whispers, desperate:

"He's just a child, Kagan… A child…"

But Nairo's cries don't stop. Like a scream seeking help and finding only emptiness. Then, in an unexpected gesture, Lina turns to him, looks at him, and shouts:

"Nairo… YOU! Stop crying!"

A sudden silence. Like a slap to the soul.

Nairo stops. His tear-filled eyes open slowly. But something has gone out in that gaze. He no longer screams. No longer whimpers.

He no longer cries.

And that day was the last time.

One year later.

The wind blows gently on the terrace of the Yui manor. Night has fallen, and Nairo, now twelve, sits silently, his back against the wall, eyes lost in the darkness.

His body is covered in bruises. His nose seems broken again. A bandage crosses his forehead, and his left eye is swollen. But he says nothing. He just looks straight ahead, toward an invisible horizon. As if what made him a child had been absorbed, drowned in the sea of paternal expectations.

The door opens quietly. Lina steps out and sees him.

"My baby…"

She approaches gently. Seeing her, Nairo faintly smiles, slowly stands, and nestles into her arms.

"Are you okay?"

He closes his eyes, smiling weakly:

"Yes, Mom… when you're here, I feel good. See? I'm not crying."

Lina smiles. But her heart tightens. It wasn't a child's smile. It was the mask of an adult too young, too broken.

"You're a man now…"

But in her mind, a fear takes root. This is not normal. Not natural. She feels her son changing, becoming something cold, silent. She talks to him one evening, while he still draws despite everything.

"You still don't like your father, do you?"

Nairo remains silent. A silence heavier than a thousand words.

Lina stares at him, then whispers a phrase softly in his ear. A single sentence, piercing Nairo's soul like a sword of fire.

"Don't let hatred make you what he wanted you to become."

Nairo opened his eyes, deeply moved.

And that day came. Chaos.

A surprise attack. The "Black Wolves" gang launches an assault on the Yui estate. Explosions tear through the walls. Bullets whistle through the halls. Kagan shouts at his men to defend the territory. Lina takes care of bringing Nairo to the basement, to safety.

"Don't move, no matter what happens."

Five hours. That's how long hell lasted.

When calm finally returns, Nairo emerges, legs trembling. The villa is in ruins. He walks, step by step, through the debris.

"Mom…? Mom…!"

He searches every room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Training room. Terrace.

And then the garden.

His heart stops.

She is there. Lying still. Her body bathed in a pool of blood. Her eyes closed. A trickle of blood still flows from her lips.

"…Mo…m?"

He falls to his knees, unable to believe it.

"Mom… look at me…"

He clenches his fist against his chest.

"Look… I'm not crying… it hurts, but I'm not crying. I'm grown now."

A sad smile slips across his lips, then fades. A shadow covers his face. The sky rumbles. Thunder cracks. Rain begins to fall.

Kagan finally appears, wounded, exhausted, covered in ashes. He sees Lina's lifeless body. He sees his son kneeling, soaked by the rain, frozen.

Nairo stands.

He passes by his father without looking.

"I'm grown now…"

His voice is low, absent.

"I won't cry, Mom. I promise… I'll stay strong. Even if it hurts."

Kagan tries to move forward, but his legs tremble. He screams into the rain:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

But it was too late.

That day, he lost his wife.

And his son too.

After his mother's death, Nairo lived only with his father.

He became a beast.

No tears.

No smile.

No emotion.

He was there, but empty. A hard, impenetrable shell, breathing without living. He ate, he slept, he obeyed, but nothing shone in his eyes anymore. His name, however, began to run through the dark streets. In the underground. Among men with blurred faces, long cigars, and bloodied hands.

He was called the Phoenix.

Not because of beauty. But because for those who knew Kagan, there was no doubt. At the king's death, his son would be reborn as an even crueler, colder, hungrier version.

He would be the living ashes of Kagan. Pure fire. Without tenderness. Without forgiveness.

Three years of silence. Three years of spiritual and brutal training.

At fifteen, Nairo returns.

A body so dense you'd swear it was sculpted from living metal. A gaze that makes adults look away. An aura that suffocates.

His car stops in front of his father's manor. The soldiers, lined up in two perfect columns, all bow as one.

— "Welcome back, The Phoenix!!!"

He doesn't answer.

He walks. His bag on his shoulder. A simple black bag, unbranded. Like him.

He passes between the men without a word, without a glance.

The manor hasn't changed. He has.

He enters, looks around. The living room is empty. The bedroom too.

He knows where to go.

He goes out the back, where the garden built for her is.

There, in the center, under the tree with eternal flowers, stands his mother's grave.

And there, kneeling silently in front, is Kagan.

No tears.

Just a broad back, bent, tense.

Nairo stops a few meters away. Says nothing.

His father, without turning, speaks.

— "You've finally come back..."

— "So, how was it?"

— "Simple." replies Nairo, cold.

— "And did you bring what I asked for?"

Without a word, Nairo opens his satchel. He takes out a notebook. Heavy, closed with a leather tie. He throws it.

Kagan catches it without even looking.

— "Thank you."

Nairo turns on his heels.

But Kagan's voice stops him one last time.

— "Son…"

He doesn't turn around.

— "I'm proud of you... my son."

Silence. No answer. Nairo moves on. He no longer even knows what the word son means.

One week later.

Nairo is in his room. In front of the mirror. He shaves his hair. Leaves it short, medium afro. He no longer wants to wear the braids of his past. He no longer wants to look like anyone. Especially not himself.

He stands. Opens the door.

And goes to where it all began.

In front of his mother's grave.

He kneels. Looks at the stone. And just behind the stone, he knows what was done. The coffin. The body. Preserved like a relic. Her skin has not rotted. Her face remains calm, peaceful. As if she were still sleeping.

— "Mother… Do you see what I've become?"

He lowers his head. A sigh.

— "I'm a man now. But I no longer want to be just a man."

He clasps his hands.

— "I want to be a king."

He says a short prayer. Stands up.

— "I have to go. Goodbye… Mom."

That night, the manor is a red sea.

Nairo beats them all. One by one. The generals. The loyalists. The elders.

He doesn't use firearms. He doesn't need to. His hands are hammers. His feet, blades. His breath colder than death.

When he enters his father's office, he is covered in blood.

Not his own.

Kagan is there. Sitting. Calm. But his fists tremble.

— "Why, Nairo? Why attack my people?"

— "It's simple." he says, advancing slowly.

— "Here, you are king. But there can't be two kings in the same territory."

Kagan stands abruptly.

— "So that's it? You want my place? You think you're ready?"

— "I've been ready since you stopped being a father."

— "Enough!" shouts Kagan, slamming the table.

His eyes are red with rage. He grits his teeth.

— "I'm your father, damn it. Stop talking to me like I'm a stranger."

But Nairo doesn't back down. His gaze is black.

— "You were my father when I was a man."

— "But between two kings... there is no father. There is no son."

He turns. Cold. Detached.

— "Bye. Until next time."

And he leaves, leaving his father alone in the office, standing, trembling.

Since that day, Nairo has become a whispered name.

A nightmare for the living.

He sank. Massacred. Tortured.

He spoke almost no more. He acted.

His name, The Phoenix, finally took on its full meaning.

He was captured one winter night, after killing three rival families in one night.

They sent him where even the worst criminals pray never to go:

the desert prison of Monor City.

A black hole on the map.

A kingdom without light.

And yet… it was there that Nairo would truly be reborn.