Strength is All That Matters

Night had fallen, draping the mansion's backyard in silence. Eryon stood there, motionless, his vacant gaze lost in the distance as if his soul had wandered far from his body.

But the stillness didn't last long.

"FUCK!"

His furious roar shattered the night, followed by the sickening crack of his fist slamming into the tree before him.

Crack!

The trunk shuddered, its bark splintering beneath the sheer force of his gravity-infused punch. A surge of violet energy pulsed from Eryon's body, distorting the air around him as if the world itself trembled in response to his rage.

Ever since his return, he had been drowning in apathy. Everything he had built in this world—his hopes, his dreams, the future he had envisioned—was now nothing but dust.

Candice had left him.

In his past life, he had never known the warmth of love. But in this world, he had felt it. He had truly loved Candice, convinced that he had finally found happiness. Yet, the girl he once cherished, the one he had held close to his heart, had betrayed him—for another man.

The delicate beauty and shy charm that had once captivated him now only served as a jagged wound that refused to heal.

All because of someone else.

His fists clenched tighter, his breath ragged, his eyes clouded with unspoken agony. His heart pounded violently, igniting a firestorm of emotions he could no longer suppress. He wanted to destroy something—anything—just to drown out the storm raging inside him.

But before he could lash out again, a soft voice called from behind.

"Eryon?"

The sound stopped him in his tracks. He turned, finding a woman standing at the mansion's doorway.

Helen.

Concern shadowed her delicate features as she gazed at him with worried, yet gentle eyes.

Eryon didn't answer. Without a word, he brushed past her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Go home, Helen."

He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to feel.

And with that, he disappeared into the mansion, leaving Helen standing there—her expression filled with unspoken questions.

....

The second-floor bedroom felt unnervingly cold, though the night air wasn't particularly harsh.

Eryon collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow.

Silence.

Then, the soft creak of the door.

Helen stepped in without hesitation, her movements light yet purposeful. She crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed, her warm fingers trailing gently over his back.

"Rough night, huh?"

Eryon didn't respond.

But after a long pause, his voice emerged—low, almost inaudible.

"She left me."

Helen stiffened for a moment. Her eyes widened, then, as if understanding something, a sly smile tugged at her lips.

"Candice?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Eryon remained silent, refusing to answer.

"I warned you to choose wisely, didn't I? But you didn't listen."

Eryon let out a low, frustrated growl. "Shut up, Helen."

She only chuckled. "And now you're being rude."

Shifting closer, she opened her arms.

"Come here."

Eryon turned slightly, blinking in confusion.

Helen smiled softly, her voice a whisper of warmth. "Let me hold you."

He buried his face back into the pillow, resisting. But the warmth radiating from her was too inviting, too familiar.

Before he could decide, Helen closed the distance.

She wrapped her arms around him.

The embrace was… warm.

Warmer than he ever imagined.

Helen's fingers traced delicate patterns along his back, her voice a quiet murmur in his ear.

"Don't let someone else define your worth, Eryon. You have dreams, don't you? Don't let one woman steal them from you."

Eryon didn't reply. But his body—so rigid, so exhausted—slowly melted into her touch.

For the first time since Candice had walked away, he felt at peace.

And without realizing it… he drifted into sleep.

In the far corner of the room, unseen, a holographic message flickered to life.

[Your luck has increased significantly]

....

The soft light of dawn spilled through the curtains, casting a faint glow over the room.

Eryon's eyes fluttered open… and the first thing he saw was her.

Helen.

Only inches away.

He could hear her steady breathing, see the soft rise and fall of her chest. The gentle curve of her lips, the way the morning light caressed her features—it made his heart stutter.

Her arms were still wrapped around him.

A slow realization crawled through him. If he wanted to… if he dared… he could lean in and steal a kiss.

But he wasn't that kind of man.

Instead, he shut his eyes again, selfishly savoring the moment for just a little longer.

.....

The distant call of birds reminded him that the world had already awakened.

With a quiet sigh, he slowly sat up. The bed felt strangely empty.

"So, she's gone…"

A strange, unfamiliar ache settled in his chest. Longing.

But he quickly buried it. Helen was his aunt, wasn't she? Then why did it feel like there was something… more?

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away.

What mattered now was that he felt lighter, clearer, and calmer.

He moved toward the bathroom, intent on preparing for the day. But as he stepped into the hallway, he paused.

The smell of food drifted through the air.

His brows furrowed.

Someone was in the kitchen.

He walked forward—only to stop in his tracks.

Helen.

Standing by the stove, effortlessly at ease.

She turned, offering him a gentle smile.

"Eryon, you're finally awake."

He hesitated before exhaling.

"Thank you, Helen. I… I feel a lot better."

Her smile deepened. "That's what I'm here for."

He gave her a small nod. "Still, I appreciate it."

Helen chuckled. "It's nothing. Now, get ready—I'll have breakfast waiting."

Eryon nodded and headed to the bathroom.

....

Ten minutes later, after taking a shower, he stood before the mirror, his upper body bare, a towel slung low around his waist. His reflection stared back—eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

Bang!

His fist met the mirror—not to shatter it, but to ground himself.

"Strength… that's all that matters."

His voice was steady, his resolve unwavering.

"Candice… and everything else—let them disappear."

The fire in his chest burned brighter.

After a moment, he dressed swiftly—a crisp white shirt beneath a tailored black jacket, paired with fitted black trousers.

One last glance at his reflection.

Then, he stepped into the dining room, where Helen waited.

"Come on, Eryon, have some breakfast," she called, her voice warm and inviting.

A small smile played on his lips. "Alright."

And for the first time in a long while… breakfast tasted like home.