The man strode forward with arrogance, gripping a shovel as he marched straight toward Al. Something that should never have happened seemed to be waiting for Al's fate—or perhaps the reverse. His heavy footsteps pounded against the ground, and with each strike the atmosphere around them grew tense. Several of the other workers instinctively held their breath, their anxious glances darting at one another.

Mudi quickly stepped in, blocking the worst from happening. His hand shot out, seizing the man's arm, with several other workers following his lead. The muscles in Mudi's forearm tensed like coiled steel, his expression grave, his eyes flashing a stern warning.

"Let me go," the man snarled, thrashing violently. Veins bulged across his neck, and his breath came in ragged bursts of fury.

"Enough. I know you're angry, but what you're doing has already crossed the line," Mudi barked back, his deep voice reverberating in the air, striking the man's awareness like a slap.

"I don't care! This brat must pay for what he's done. Does he think we're nothing but lowly laborers?" the man roared, still thrashing, spit flying from his lips, his eyes blazing wildly.

This man's emotions are even worse than DIAR's, Al thought inwardly, watching the scene unfold before him.

Then Mudi slapped him.

The crack echoed sharply, freezing everyone in place. The man fell silent in shock, eyes wide, the sting of the blow cutting through his madness. The other workers lowered their heads, some staring in disbelief—none of them had expected Mudi to actually go that far.

"Enough. We are here to work, not to cause trouble. Whether he's truly a member of this family or merely a servant, whatever you do impulsively will only bring ruin upon yourself."

"I don't care!" the man barked again, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. His eyes flickered with doubt.

"Huff… Even if he really were just a servant, do you have the faintest idea how much it costs to maintain a servant of the Virellano family? Are you certain you could bear that burden yourself?"

Mudi's voice had grown calmer, but each word landed like a nail being hammered straight into the man's chest.

That single question was enough to leave the workers in a dilemma. A loss to one's pride could still be ignored, but a loss to one's income? That was another matter entirely.

The man faltered, stumbling over his own fury. His resistance weakened, cold sweat beading on his temples. His jaw tightened, yet no words came. After weighing his options for a long moment, the brawny worker finally clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Tch… You're lucky, brat."

Shrugging free from his companions' grasp, he stomped back toward the construction site. The others began drifting after him, leaving Al sitting there calmly as if the entire ordeal had been no more than a passing distraction.

The tension gradually thinned, though faint ripples of hostility still lingered in the air. Several workers cast Al sidelong glares filled with restrained malice.

But before they had gone far, Al spoke under his breath.

"So that's it? I expected more from you lot. All brawn, but the moment money enters the picture, you shrink. Hehe."

His tone was casual as he took another sip of his warm milk coffee, thin steam rising lazily from the cup. His lips curled into a smirk—deliberately mocking, not just aimed at the man from before, but at every one of them.

In an instant, every head snapped back toward him.

"What did you just say, brat?" one of them demanded.

"How dare you?" another snarled.

Their eyes now burned with fresh fury, fists clenching, their synchronized steps pounding the ground like the beat of war drums, as though they intended to tear Al apart then and there.

Even Mudi was momentarily at a loss. He cast Al a disappointed look, thinking that he had tried to help this boy, but the boy had no sense of gratitude at all. His brow furrowed, his hand half-lifted as if to intervene—but then he let it fall, weary of the trouble.

Al merely smiled, raising a brow without replying. That faint smirk only fanned the flames further, as if he were summoning the storm himself. His intent now was to provoke them into striking first, so that he would have every excuse to deliver punishment afterward.

Several of the men began closing in on Al, their movements loud and aggressive, their voices erupting in a chorus of curses and heated threats. Boots thudded against the dirt, harsh shouts blended together, until the air itself seemed to quiver with menace—like a pack of wild beasts closing in on prey.

Good, Al thought.

Subtle energy was already beginning to spark at his fingertips. His eyes flicked toward the CCTV camera, ensuring the blind spot was sufficient to disguise his hidden strike. His gaze narrowed. His fingers twitched slightly beneath the table, nearly invisible. A faint flicker appeared, like embers about to ignite into flame.

Come closer. Come closer… he urged silently.

But—

Huh?

The men stopped.

They froze.

And silence descended.

Their faces flushed red, their expressions twisted into something strange—no longer rage, but something else entirely. Their eyes widened, mouths slightly agape. Their postures shifted, awkward and oddly self-conscious. Some puffed out their chests, others smoothed their hair, or brushed dust from their clothes.

Mere seconds ago, they had been roaring with anger. Now, an awkward hush blanketed the air. It was as if the very atmosphere had shifted—heavier, yet strangely captivating.

What is happening? Al wondered, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head as he tried to make sense of the sudden, drastic change.

"SO HERE YOU ARE!!!"

The shout cracked through the silence like a whip. Sharp, commanding, dripping with dominance—it struck the air so fiercely that every worker's hair stood on end.

Al turned, and there before him was the one person he least wanted to see.

Yura.

The woman who had purchased his service just the night before now appeared within the Virellano residence.

"Huh?! You?" Al muttered in disbelief, stumbling to his feet. His body stiffened, his step faltered halfway, as though he could not believe what his eyes revealed. "Why are you here, so early in the morning? No—how are you even here at all? Are you… spying on me?"

Yura stood tall and imperious before him, wearing the same casual clothes from last night—simple, yet effortlessly radiant. Her eyes were faintly swollen from staying up all night at the hospital, and yet her presence alone was enough to make anyone there feel her overwhelming aura. Her gaze was sharp, but her beauty remained undeniable—a combination that left every worker spellbound.

Behind her stood Devy, also in casual attire, exuding a more relaxed yet equally commanding presence. Neither of them had returned home, having spent the night at the hospital.

Before either Yura or Devy could even speak, several workers were already stepping forward, their demeanor suddenly shifting into something uncharacteristically suave and sickeningly sweet. Their clumsy attempts at charm stood in stark contrast to their rugged appearances. All of them seemed utterly entranced by Yura and Devy.

"Am I dreaming? Or am I really awake? I never thought I'd meet an angel in real life."

"My mother always told me to rise early for work, because fortune would come to those who did. After seeing you two… now I finally believe her."

"…"

A barrage of flirtations and shameless praise filled the air, enough to make Al feel sick to his stomach. He rolled his eyes, slouched back in his chair, and wore a disgusted look, as though watching a cheap, nauseating drama unfold before him.

Yura and Devy, accustomed to such behavior, ignored them entirely.

The atmosphere thickened, heavy and charged, as if every gaze in the area was drawn to the two women. The whistling, the crude remarks, and even the murmured admiration gradually died away, replaced by the thudding of nervous hearts audible in the hush.

Yura advanced toward Al, who still looked bewildered by their sudden presence.

The heels of her shoes struck against the gravel, each step resonating like a deliberate rhythm, her hair swaying with the morning breeze. Her gaze was unwavering, piercing, as though the world contained no one else but him.

"What are you doing here?" Al asked, confusion thick in his voice.

His tone was rough—not born of fear, but from a jumble of astonishment and wariness. His hand instinctively brushed the rim of his now-cold coffee cup, a feeble attempt to steady himself.

Yura's expression remained unreadable as she spoke.

"Why shouldn't I come to see my boyfriend?" she said casually, her lips curving into a faint smile—sweet to the workers' eyes, but unbearably irritating to Al's.

Her words alone were enough to leave the workers reeling in disbelief. This boy, whom they had assumed was nothing but a servant, actually had a girlfriend this breathtaking? Some of them even thought themselves more worthy than Al.

The burly man from earlier surged forward again.

"Miss, you must be mistaken. How could you possibly be dating this servant?" His voice was loud, though it trembled beneath the strain. His fists clenched, veins bulging at his neck, desperate to fight against the logic that had just crumbled.

His words sparked Yura's irritation. Her eyes snapped to him, sharp and merciless. An oppressive aura unfurled, heavy and suffocating, her cruelty bleeding through that stare. The workers recoiled instinctively, shuddering and stepping back, realizing that whatever came next was not something they wished to endure again.

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