Chapter 1

The Residence at 6 Sungreen Street was just like all the others next to it—tall, expensive, and fit for a wealthier middle-class family. Each home on the street had sprawling lawns, wide driveways, a four-car garage, and an even larger backyard with a pool.

But the occupants of this particular house did not match the sunny aesthetic the street exuded. Inside, most of the furniture consisted of heirloom pieces—gothic, expensive, and ominous. The lighting was dim, not out of necessity, but by choice, as if the residents preferred to remain hidden in shadows.

The Kurozawas sat at their surprisingly normal, small round oak dining table, eating steak. Around them, distorted clocks stared with warped faces, and unsettling sculptures loomed from various surfaces. Their family had been in Ashbourne for over three generations. And they all specialized in one thing: assassination.

"You know," a platinum-haired teenager, dressed in bright colors and heavily adorned in jewelry, began, poking at his food, "I was thinking about getting a new car. Something elegant, something refined. Maybe an imported convertible—sleek, European?"

Silence.

His mother sipped her wine. His father methodically cut his steak. His youngest brother scrolled through his tablet, entirely uninterested.

Even his twin, seated at the far edge of the table, didn't react. Unkempt jet-black curls obscured his face as he slowly, deliberately sharpened a steak knife against another knife. The scraping sound slithered through the room like a death knell.

The preppy twin blinked. "Wow. Tough crowd tonight."

The scraping continued. His twin flipped the knife in his hand, tested the weight, then pressed the blade against his thumb. A bead of blood formed. He tilted his head, watching it slide down his skin like he was admiring an art piece.

Their father finally exhaled through his nose. "Arato. Not at the table."

Arato licked the blood off his thumb before returning to his meal. "Hn."

The blonde twin chuckled nervously and turned to Nagi, the youngest. "Nagi, little brother, you believe in treating yourself, right? Back me up here."

Nagi didn't even look up. "You're financially illiterate."

He huffed. "Oh, come on, that's—"

"Shut up, Rei." Nagi kept scrolling.

"Mother, did you hear that?" Rei pressed a hand to his chest, affronted. "Your youngest son just verbally murdered me at the dinner table. Are you really just going to sip your wine?"

Silence. Again.

Rei drummed his fingers against the table. "Alright, so no one cares about my future sports car—"

The scraping resumed. Louder. Arato was now dragging the blade against the plate, eyes half-lidded, watching his brother like one watches an insect.

Rei sat up straighter. "Okay. Message received."

Their mother sighed and took another sip of her wine. "Can we not have one dinner where no one threatens my peace of mind?"

Nagi, still scrolling, replied without missing a beat. "No."

Rei returned to his meal, now downtrodden, pushing his steak around his plate with a dramatic sigh. His shoulders sagged, and his expression darkened as if the world had personally wronged him.

Their father kept glancing at him through his round glasses. Every few moments, he looked up, observing his son's pitiful face. Then, without a word, he turned his gaze to his wife.

 Their father kept looking up through his round glasses at his sad face every now and then. He then stared at his wife. "Reika." The single word was enough to communicate what he wanted. 

Reika slid a credit card to Rei.

Rei's face brightened up as he wasted no time in snatching the credit card. He then picked up his fork and ate heartily, not even bothering to thank them. 

As soon as the plate was empty, he grabbed his bag and stood. No explanations, no goodbyes—just the sound of his expensive footsteps retreating down the hall.

Nobody bothered to ask him where he went or even bothered to lift their eyes up from their plates. 

Renji Kurozawa adjusted his round glasses and cleared his throat. The silence at the table stretched. He glanced at his wife, who was calmly swirling the last of her wine, fully uninterested in whatever was about to happen.

Well. It was up to him, then.

He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the table. "So." He looked at the only two children still present. "How's school?"

Nagi's thumb flicked up the screen. "Fine."

Renji squinted. "That's it?"

Nagi finally looked up at him, dead in the eyes. "I got straight As." His tone was utterly devoid of pride, like he was stating a fact as dull as the weather.

Renji coughed. "Well. That's… impressive, Nagi."

Nagi hummed in response, scrolling. The conversation died immediately.

Renji turned to Arato, who was still hunched over his plate, absently tracing patterns in his leftover sauce with a steak knife. "And you, Arato?"

Arato had not moved a single muscle. His face was still downturned, his curls shadowing his eyes. The silence stretched.

"…Arato?"

Arato inhaled slowly. Then, in absolute silence, he reached one hand up from under the table and made a slow, deliberate thumbs-up.

That was it. That was his answer.

Renji's rubbed his temple. "Anything else?"

Arato turned his head at an unsettling angle, like an owl considering its prey. Then, still without a word, he raised the other hand and gave a second thumbs-up.

Renji just stared.

Nagi glanced at him. "He's having a great time, clearly."

Reika exhaled, setting her empty wine glass down with a soft clink. "Alright, you two. Off to bed. You have school in the morning."

Nagi shut off his tablet and stood without protest, as if he had been expecting the command the entire time. He turned on his heel and left with the smooth efficiency of a trained assassin—which, in fairness, he technically was.

Arato, however, remained seated.

Reika stopped at the doorway and looked back at him. "Arato."

No response. He was staring at his plate again, idly tapping his fingers against the table like he was keeping time to a song no one else could hear.

Reika stared at him briefly and turned to gracefully exit the room.

Renji, still sitting at the table, watched her go in quiet betrayal. He looked back at his remaining son.

Arato, sensing his gaze, slowly—so slowly—tilted his head up to meet his father's eyes.

Renji sighed. "Arato… . So…How's life been treating you??"

Arato's lips parted. For a second, it seemed like he might actually speak. His fingers twitched against the table. His throat bobbed in an attempt to form words.

Then, in a hushed, breathy voice, he murmured, "The walls are breathing."

Renji blinked. He glanced at the nearest wall, as if to confirm it wasn't breathing. His fingers drummed lightly against the table. "...What?"

Arato nodded solemnly, curls shifting. "They tell me things."

Renji took a slow, measured inhale. He opened his mouth like he was about to ask something, thought better of it, then sighed. "That's... nice, son."

Something flickered in Arato's expression. He straightened a little and started to smile, hands curling like he wanted to hold onto the moment. He opened his mouth, but then took one look at his father's worried face—

And then he stopped.

His face slowly fell. Ashamed, he dipped his head again, curls hiding his expression. Renji felt something sink in his chest.

"Arato," he tried gently.

Arato flexed his fingers. A shuddering inhale. And then—

He raised a single, stiff thumbs-up.

Renji just stared.

Arato, still looking down, slowly—mechanically—raised his other hand and gave a second thumbs-up and gave a wary and toothy smile. 

Renji rubbed his temple. "Go to bed, son."

Arato hesitated. Then, as if ashamed of even that response, he lowered both hands, got up without a sound, and slunk off into the hallway.

"That's not the direction of your room—"

The front door slammed.

Renji pressed his hands flat against the table and sat there in silence, staring at the spot where his son had been.

Then, with the weariness of a man carrying the weight of a thousand headaches, he reached for Reika's abandoned wine glass—only to find it empty. 

He stared at it for a long moment, then tilted it, just in case. Nothing. He swiped a finger along the inside, checking for a drop. Dry.

Slowly, he set it back down.

A sports car roared in the dealership.

The salesman, barely holding it together, was wondering if murdering a rich client was worth losing his job. It was nearly 10 PM, and this spoiled menace had made him walk through every high-end car, only to scoff and declare, "Not rich-looking enough."

Now, finally, he'd stopped in front of a bright red sports car.The car in question was a thing of beauty—sleek, loud, and an insult to financial responsibility.

Rei adored it.

Did he know anything about cars? Absolutely not. But it sparkled under the dealership lights, and it had an open roof. That was all that mattered. "I want this one."

The salesman, who had lost years of his life tonight, nearly collapsed in relief. "Let me get the paperwork for you."

"Oh," Rei said, already distracted. He whipped out his phone and made a call. "Talk it over with my lawyer."

Then—without looking—he tossed the phone to the salesman. The salesman caught it on pure survival instinct. He stared at the screen. Who the hell calls their lawyer at 10 PM over a car purchase?

He was too tired to care.

After a tedious round of paperwork and an obnoxiously smooth credit card swipe, the salesman handed over the keys, sweating slightly. "Mr. Kurozawa, this is a high-performance—"

Rei snatched them gracefully. "Yes, yes, I'm sure she's perfect." He ran a manicured hand along the dashboard and sighed. "I'll take good care of her."

He would not.

Sliding on a pair of designer sunglasses—despite it being very much nighttime—Rei settled into the driver's seat like a prince on his throne. Then he hit the gas.

SCREEEEEECH.

He immediately almost crashed into the fence. The salesman did not react. He had already mentally checked out. With one last dead-eyed stare, he turned on his heel and walked inside. His shift was over. Rei's fate was no longer his concern.

Rei laughed musically, fixing his mirror—not to check the road, but to admire himself. His phone buzzed. It was his friend group chat.

Party tonight at Penthouse. Bring something insane.

He smirked, tossing his silky hair. This was impromptu, and the perfect chance to show off his new car. A red light interrupted his dramatic moment. He sighed, rolled down the window, and stretched elegantly.

The car next to him—a battered minivan—was full of tired parents and screaming toddlers. They stared at him. Rei met their gaze. Then, slowly, he gave them his most dazzling, charming smile. The mother whispered something to the father. The father silently rolled up all the windows.

Rei frowned at the rudeness. Boring Boomers.

At the next red light, he snapped a quick selfie in the car and posted it on their school social. Their school's name was Kingsbridge, and the students often referred to themselves as Kings.

Every king needs a carriage. You just can't afford mine. 💋

Comments flooded in instantly.

🔥🔥🔥

"Bro casually driving my tuition"

"Rei, adopt me pls"

"You're so unserious lmao"

Rei smiled, satisfied. The car behind him honked, interrupting his illusion. He raised a perfectly sculpted brow, then lazily waved his hand out the window in an elegant, dismissive motion. They honked again. Rei sighed, rolled the window down fully, and threw money at them. "Patience is a virtue!" The light turned green and he zoomed off, not waiting for a reply from the driver behind him.

By the time he got there, The party was in full swing. Rei, unfazed, stepped out in slow motion. He adjusted his designer sunglasses (still on, still nighttime) and tossed the keys to the valet. "Scratch her, and I'll scratch you," he purred. The valet just nodded.

Rei strutted toward the entrance. The massive double doors swung open just as he reached them—because someone else was leaving. He immediately pushed them back shut and waited until someone opened them for him.

He strolled inside, heading to the elevator. The party was taking place in a penthouse. The school's richest kid, his friend, had a private penthouse and threw parties every other week here.

A DJ was playing something loud and obnoxious. People were either dancing, flirting, or completely drunk. He walked straight to the VIP Section like a celebrity and was immediately greeted by his friends.

"Rei, you made it! Always fashionably late."

"WHAT are you wearing? You're really too much."

Rei smirked, adjusting his diamond-studded cufflinks. "I know. It's my curse."

His best friend Adrian, who looked half-drunk, handed him a glass of something expensive. Rei took a sip without breaking eye contact, then gracefully handed it back. The alcohol content was too high.

His gaze flicked to Sanae, wrapped in silver, exhaling cigarette smoke like a scene from an indie film.

"I thought you didn't do low-class alcohol and drug parties," he said, tone light but edged.

Sanae sighed. "It's not my fault. I let Nynx from Biology organize it, and he went feral."

Rei side-eyed the chaos. Someone in the corner was doing something illegal off a diamond-studded mirror. Tragic.

"You guys have really killed the mood for me." He grabbed his phone. "I'm leaving."

Adrian, now dramatically sprawled across the couch, pointed accusingly. "What? Because of a few smokes?" He scoffed. "You're so lame, it's actually offensive."

Sanae leaned in, eyes twinkling. "You're so quick to criticize—but you've never hosted a party."

Rei, completely unfazed, pulled a mirror from his pocket and checked his hair. "Have you forgotten the inside of my house looks like the opening scene of a horror movie?"

"Oh yeah—" Adrian's drunk brain seemed to catch up. "It's actually crazy, Sanae."

Sanae giggled. "Why don't you just rent a penthouse like me? You have money."

Rei sighed, slipping his mirror back into his pocket. "No, I promised I'd keep a limit on my spending and stay under their care until twenty-one. My parents let me do whatever I want, and I'd rather not ruin it." Then he clutched his chest dramatically. "And are you sure you want me to plan something? Personally?"

Adrian grinned. "Our credit cards would shiver if he ever planned a party." Laughter. They all understood. Rei was a spendthrift, and he avoided responsibility like the plague..

Rei sighed, pressing a manicured hand to his forehead. "Enjoy your cheap vodka shots. I'm leaving." He turned toward the elevator, ready to make his grand exit, when—

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. Two uniformed officers stepped out, their expressions neutral, but firm.

"Whose penthouse is this?" the taller one asked, scanning the room.

A hush fell over the party. A few people discreetly shoved bottles under couches or pocketed suspicious substances.

Sanae, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, flashing a winning, practiced smile. "That would be me, officers. Is there a problem?"

"Got a few noise complaints," the officer said, unimpressed. "Mind turning it down?"

"Of course," Sanae said sweetly, already motioning for the DJ. "So sorry about that."

Rei was already reaching for the elevator button, not interested in whatever bargain Sanae was about to strike. He had no intention of getting involved.

Then the second officer's gaze swept the room—and landed on a guy passed out on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles.

Then another guy. And another. And—

A diamond-studded mirror, dusted with something that was very much not powder foundation.

The officer sighed. "We're gonna have to ask everyone to stay put."

Rei simply exhaled, adjusted his cufflinks, and muttered, "Oh, for heaven's sake."

The first officer pulled out his radio. "We're gonna need backup."

Silence. A collective breath was held.

Then—pandemonium.

Someone screamed. Someone else threw a bottle at the DJ booth. A girl in a designer dress bolted for the stairs, heels in hand. A guy actually vaulted off the balcony, disappearing into the night—someone peeked over the edge.

"He landed in the pool! He's alive!" A dramatic cheer. The officers immediately started grabbing people. "Nobody move!" Nobody listened.

Rei, utterly unbothered, run to grab Adrian by the collar. "Plan B."

Adrian, who had been debating playing dead, perked up. "Plan B?"

"The emergency elevator," Rei hissed. "Back exit. VIPs only."

Adrian grinned like an idiot. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

They took off. Adrian swaying dangerously, because he was very drunk now.

Rei weaved him through the chaos, dodging a flying champagne bottle, stepping over a guy pretending to be unconscious and they reached the emergency room of the penthouse.

The private emergency elevator. Sleek. Exclusive. For important people. Rei slammed the button. Nothing. The doors stayed shut.

Adrian furiously pounded on them. "Work, you overpriced piece of—!"

A ding. Relief washed over them—until the doors slid open and revealed two more officers standing inside. Three beats of silence. Rei blinked. Adrian blinked. The officers blinked. Adrian, the idiot, slowly raised his arms. "Uh. Room service?"

Rei slapped a hand over his face. The officers grabbed them both.