Breakfast

Navies stepped into the house with a relaxed stride, despite the dried blood on his forehead and the small cuts at the corners of his lips. The dim chandelier light cast a glow over his face, highlighting the unshaken coldness in his expression. Every movement remained graceful, as if the wounds were nothing worth acknowledging.

The warmth that once filled the room had frozen, replaced by the thick tension hanging in the air. The servants who saw him widened their eyes, some unconsciously holding their breath. Their gazes met, but not a single one dared to speak, as if afraid that any word might trigger something far worse.

From the kitchen, Balqis appeared, carrying a silver tray that nearly slipped from her grasp the moment her eyes landed on Navies. Her gaze locked onto the wounds on his face and hands, sharp like an eagle's, scrutinizing every detail with unwavering precision. Her jaw tightened, and the air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Still, she did not speak right away.

For a moment, only the ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.

"Who dared to lay a hand on you, Master Navies?" she finally asked, her voice low but carrying an undeniable firmness.

Navies did not answer immediately. Instead, he casually removed his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. His eyes did not turn to Balqis. "I'm fine," he replied lightly, then walked past her toward the stairs, as if the wounds were nothing more than insignificant scratches unworthy of discussion.

But Balqis was not someone who could be easily ignored. Her sharp gaze followed Navies' every step, studying his movements, searching for any hidden signs of weakness. Her expression remained cold, yet in her eyes, something else stirred—a quiet, restrained fury, pulsing beneath her composed exterior.

"Master Navies." Her voice was firmer now, echoing through the grand hallway.

Navies' steps halted momentarily at the first stair. He turned slightly, just enough to glance at Balqis from the corner of his eye. There was indifference in his gaze, but also an undeniable authority. "I'm tired," he said shortly. "Summon Albert tomorrow morning. I have something to discuss."

Balqis crossed her arms, not responding right away. "About what?" she asked, her tone laced with displeasure at how easily he dismissed her concern.

Navies looked at her for a moment, then descended one step until they were nearly at eye level. The light cast shadows over his now sharper, darker gaze. "Teaching someone a lesson," he said, his voice cold and unwavering.

Balqis did not reply immediately, but in her eyes, it was clear she understood what he meant. The air between them grew heavier, as if something unseen was shifting beneath the surface of their words.

Tonight, Balqis let Navies rest.

But tomorrow… someone would regret their actions.

—

The next morning, Navies sat upright at one end of the long dining table, dressed impeccably in his school uniform. His hair was neatly styled, every crease in his clothing perfectly in place. The morning sunlight streamed through the grand windows, casting his composed silhouette onto the gleaming marble floor. The opulent dining room was silent, the only sound the quiet clinking of silverware as he methodically cut his food with precision. Every movement was controlled, as though each action had been carefully calculated beforehand. His gaze remained fixed on his plate, his expression calm—almost devoid of emotion.

At the other end of the table, Albert sat with composed patience. His posture was upright, but there was a subtle tension in his face. His eyes couldn't stray far from the bandage on Navies' forehead and the faint bruises peeking from his pale skin. Something had happened last night, but he knew better than to ask without permission. As always, the unspoken rule remained between them.

Albert waited respectfully, but just as he was about to speak, Navies' steady voice broke the silence first.

"Do you know who owns the best five-star hotel chain in this country?"

His tone was flat, almost rhetorical, yet Albert knew that every word his master uttered was never mere small talk.

Straightening his posture, Albert replied with measured precision. "Yes, Master. It's one of the companies we're planning to invest two billion dollars in for a 37% stake. The owner is Kellery. He has been quite successful in this business and holds a network of five-star hotels worldwide."

Navies gave a small nod, his movements almost imperceptible. His hands continued their steady rhythm—cutting, chewing, repeating—as if the entire conversation was nothing more than a minor distraction in the midst of his morning routine.

Albert observed his master's unreadable expression, then asked in a slightly sharper tone, "Did you summon me to take over the company, Sir?"

Navies did not immediately respond. He slowly placed his fork on the plate, his slender fingers tapping the surface of the table briefly before he finally posed another question.

"Then, who owns the second-best hotel?"

Albert answered without hesitation. "The second-best hotel is Hotel Vilaria. Its building is luxurious and grand, with ten floors. However, due to Kellery's cunning, Hotel Vilaria has always remained in second place."

For a moment, silence was the only response. Then, Navies murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself.

"The Western Party is immensely powerful with overwhelming support. We certainly cannot cut off its branches, limbs, and trunk all at once. Let's start with the smaller plants surrounding it that provide its support. With power that vast, if we uproot the minor ones, it may not be immediately felt, and their reaction may seem insignificant. But little by little, the numbers will add up, and eventually..."

Navies ended his sentence in a low tone, almost a whisper, yet sharp enough to pierce into the mind of anyone who heard it. He didn't need to elaborate further; Albert already understood. Like poison slowly seeping into the body, this strategy was not about direct confrontation but an inevitable process.

Albert remained silent, listening intently. His sharp eyes observed Navies as he finished his breakfast with unhurried movements. Every bite, every sip, seemed like just part of an ordinary morning routine. But Albert knew that behind that calmness, a storm was being meticulously crafted.

"You will remain a loyalist of the West to ensure your cover isn't blown," Navies stated, his voice flat but full of calculation.

Albert nodded, but he couldn't suppress his curiosity. His gaze lingered on his master's face, which bore the marks of a fight—bruises shadowing his temple and a faint cut at the corner of his lips. Albert's eyes burned with fury.

"Sir Navies, who dared to do this to you? Is there a fool bold enough to lay a hand on you in this country? By tonight, I will make sure their flesh becomes a feast for the sharks in the open sea, no matter how influential they are."

Navies merely gave a faint smile, almost amused by his subordinate's reaction. "I appreciate your loyalty, Albert. However, there's no need for such drastic action. There are far subtler and much more effective ways. Thank you, but focus on your task and execute it well."

Albert nodded, suppressing the rage still boiling within him.

Navies placed his spoon and fork calmly on the porcelain plate. He reached for a white napkin, dabbing the corner of his lips with elegant precision, then looked at Albert with an unreadable gaze. It was as if he was contemplating something far greater, deeper—something that could not be shared with anyone but himself.

"Alright, Albert," he finally said, his voice so steady yet carrying an undeniable weight. "Arrange a meeting with the owner of Hotel Vilaria. Inform me immediately."

Albert inclined his head slightly—a small yet meaningful gesture. "Understood, Sir."

Navies rose from his chair and walked out of the room with an unwavering aura. His steps were light, yet they left an impression as if each footfall was part of a grander scheme, one beyond the comprehension of ordinary people. The silence left in his wake was heavy, hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to break at any moment.

Albert remained in place, watching his master's retreating figure. He knew full well that in Navies' world, a simple command was never just a request. It was the beginning of something far greater—something that would shake Kellery to its very roots. And one thing was certain: when Navies made a move, nothing could stop him.