Chapter 3: Always my Fault

Three days after Axel woke from his coma, he was already able to stand, if only for a few moments at a time. The ever-cheerful doctor—whom Axel had internally dubbed "Mr. Always Smiling"—was visibly surprised.

"You must really have a strong will to be on your feet so quickly," the man said, beaming brighter than the overhead lights. "If you stay diligent with cardio and take rehab seriously, I think you'll be back to normal within a month."

Axel, still adjusting to the strangeness of having a new body and life, stared at the doctor and wondered if his facial muscles had been permanently configured to smile. It was disconcerting.

On the fourth day, Axel received visitors: his grandmother and the man who was supposed to be his father.

The moment his grandmother entered the room, she rushed to his bedside, her face already crumpling with sorrow. She took one look at him and burst into loud, heartfelt sobs.

"I'm so sorry, my boy! Why did you have to suffer like this? I told your parents not to adopt that wretched girl, but no one listened to me! And now look! She nearly killed my only grandson!"

Axel's brows furrowed instinctively at her words, but when he saw the woman trembling with genuine grief, his irritation ebbed.

Despite how harsh her words were, she truly cared for the original Axel. Guilt began to gnaw at him. After all, her grandson was dead. Dessie had succeeded in her cruel intentions.

Axel was merely a stranger in the boy's body, an impostor occupying a space that wasn't his.

He hadn't allowed anyone else to visit after his bandmates came by. Jayvaughn, that damned perceptive demon of a man, had already picked up on something being wrong.

If even Jayvaughn had noticed, Axel knew it was only a matter of time before Axel's family members did too. Hence, he instructed the doctor to block all visitors.

But his grandmother had been too stubborn. No amount of excuses, medical restrictions, or polite refusals could deter her. Axel had even rehearsed several plausible explanations in case she questioned his strange behavior.

He was prepared for suspicion, maybe even accusations. What he hadn't anticipated was raw, soul-wrenching tears.

Axel could face pain, blood, and death—but not tears. He had no training in emotional comfort. As an assassin, family didn't exist.

The people he knew as "relatives" had all been trafficked children, raised as tools. He didn't know the first thing about affection.

He watched her sob uncontrollably and, uncertain of what to do, hesitantly reached out and patted her hand.

"Grandma, please don't cry. I'm okay now. Really. Please stop crying."

The word 'grandma' felt foreign on his tongue, but to his relief, it worked. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and smiled through the remaining tears.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Draco, hand me the recovery soup I made for my grandson."

Draco—the man Axel now had to call father—reached into the insulated container he had brought and handed over a small thermos.

Axel watched the man closely, studying the hesitant way he moved, the subtle guilt in his posture.

Draco caught Axel's gaze and looked slightly startled. Still, he gave a small smile and asked, "How are you feeling today?"

Truthfully, Axel wanted nothing to do with these people. But he needed Draco for his plan. Revenge against Dessie wasn't something he could achieve alone.

And perhaps, if he played the role well enough, the original Axel might find peace.

"I'm okay, Father. How have you been?"

Draco's eyebrows rose in astonishment. He hadn't expected a response, much less a polite inquiry. His son had stopped speaking to him and his wife long ago.

No matter how they pleaded or scolded, Axel had always responded with silence or a disgusted look. After Axel moved out three years ago, they'd only seen him three times.

Now, the boy he thought he had lost was speaking to him.

"I'm fine. You're the one we're worried about. Did the doctor say when you'll be fully recovered?"

Axel nodded while sipping the soup his grandmother had handed him. "He said I should be back to normal in a month."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "That's good. That's very good. Your mother wanted to come today too, but your sister had a performance overseas, so she accompanied her to the airport."

He said this cautiously, watching Axel's reaction. In the past, any mention of Dessie would send Axel into a storm of visible disgust. When Axel's expression remained neutral, Draco relaxed.

"Maybe he's finally letting go", he thought.

Axel didn't respond, but he didn't need to. His grandmother wasn't finished.

She smacked Draco hard on the back, glaring daggers at him. "How dare you talk about that good-for-nothing girl here? Is it right for a mother to abandon her son who just woke from a coma just to drop off that wretched girl? She's an adult—what, is she going to get lost at the airport? And you don't even feel guilty, you're still talking about it like it's normal!"

Draco flinched at the reprimand. Now that she said it, he did feel guilty. His wife had insisted that Dessie needed her more at that moment, but looking at his son, obediently sipping soup in silence, Draco realized how wrong that decision had been.

He glanced again at Axel. The boy looked... different. Calmer. More thoughtful. Less filled with rage.

As the hours slipped by, the hospital room grew quieter. Axel lay on the bed, his complexion still pale.

Despite his silence, Draco had made a silent decision: he would start paying closer attention to Axel's well-being, both physically and emotionally.

Axel's father and grandmother had stayed by his side for over six hours. They hadn't spoken much, but their presence was a comfort. The room was cast in the warm shadows of twilight when Draco finally turned to his son.

"Axel," he said quietly, his voice carrying a soft tone it rarely did, "we will have to leave now. Your grandmother needs to get some sleep soon."

Axel, understanding the concern, nodded at his father. "Okay. Be careful on your way home."

Draco nodded in return. Axel's grandmother stood slowly, her reluctance written all over her face. She leaned forward slightly and said in a warm, affectionate voice, "Eat on time, okay? So you can get back on your feet quickly."

Axel gave a faint smile. He could feel the sincerity in her words, and it warmed something inside him. "Okay, Grandma. You can go with Father now."

The old woman gave him a lingering look before turning to leave with Draco. But just as Draco reached the door, he paused. Something had crossed his mind.

Turning around, he said, "When you're discharged three days from now, will you be coming home to recuperate? I personally think it's the best option. That way, we can take care of you properly and monitor your recovery."

Axel looked at his father and spoke with a calmness that carried years of the original Axel's unspoken pain.

"I would like to come back, I really would. But every time I come home, something always happens, and it's always my fault. Even if I'm only there for half an hour or a day. Somehow, it always ends with me being blamed. So I'm sorry, I can't come home. I'll recover at my apartment, but don't worry. I'll be fine, and I'll visit once I'm better."

He hadn't said it out of anger. He knew Draco cared—that was clear from the invitation. But Axel also knew Draco would think about those words.

And indeed, on the drive home with his mother, Draco couldn't stop thinking about it. Axel's voice echoed in his head. Every visit turned into an accusation, every return home brought blame.

Now that he was reflecting, the pattern was unmistakable. It was as if Axel couldn't step through the door without something going wrong.

And the person always reporting these supposed misdeeds was his adopted daughter, Dessie. She was always the victim, always pitiful, while Axel remained silent, never defending himself.

Draco sighed deeply, regret weighing on his chest.

"It looks like the daughter we adopted is not so innocent after all," he murmured.

His mother heard him despite his low tone. She gave a loud huff.

"Of course she's not. I've been saying that for years, but you and your wife kept brushing it off like I was picking on her."

Draco didn't respond immediately, but a quiet resolution took root in his heart. From now on, he would observe more closely. He wouldn't blindly back Dessie anymore.

And although he didn't yet know how to broach the topic with his wife—who adored Dessie—he decided to take things one step at a time.

___________________________________

Three days later, as scheduled, Axel was discharged. James and Noah came to assist with the process, handling paperwork and packing up his belongings while he sat quietly, conserving his strength.

They helped him into a private car and drove him to the band's exclusive building—a luxurious structure owned entirely by the Syren boys.

Their fanbase called them "The Wealthy Boy Band," and not without reason. Each member came from a privileged background.

James, the sharp-tongued drummer, was the son of an acclaimed lawyer who'd never lost a case. Noah, the easy-going bassist, was the mayor's only child.

Jayvaughn, their enigmatic leader, was the CEO of a corporate empire. And Axel—despite his timid personality —was the son of a very wealthy man.

Each member had their own apartment in the building, while the lower levels housed their practice studios, storage areas, instrument rooms, and recording booths.

As they entered the main lobby, Noah nudged Axel playfully.

"Welcome home, princess. The leader's not home right now; he had something to handle at the company."

Axel gave a tired nod, then suddenly frowned.

"You guys seriously need to stop calling me that," he grumbled.

James, carrying Axel's bags, simply shrugged. Noah, however, slung an arm casually over Axel's shoulder.

"We've been calling you princess for so long now," he said with a teasing grin, "there's no way we're changing that."

He disappeared into the building with a laugh, leaving Axel scowling at his retreating back.

"How can a manly assassin like me allow myself to be called a princess?" Axel muttered under his breath. "Just wait until I recover completely. I'll beat that ridiculous nickname out of your head."

He sighed and followed them inside, albeit at a slower pace.