Chapter 180: Valra’s Father Hates him too?
The gates slowly creaked open as a sleek black car slowly slid forward with a smooth turn, entering the mansion grounds. Its glossy finish shimmered under the pale glow of the rising moon.
Hmmmmm!
With a low, steady hum, the car rolled to a halt before the entrance of the mansion.
The silence around the mansion pressed in on it until the door clicked open. A brown-haired man stepped out, his slick black suit clinging to his frame with practised precision.
Straightening his collar with one hand, he glanced up at the mansion with narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable.
"Not bad..." he muttered, voice low, carrying the faint weight of nostalgia. His gaze lingered on the towering walls, the carefully trimmed hedges, the neat stone paths. "She still took care of it all... every detail, not a single day ignored."
He lingered a moment, then moved closer to the door, taking a small key from his pocket—
Shh~
The man froze mid-step. His head tilted, eyes flicking back sharply. A faint rustling came from the garden. His gaze scanned the tall trees swaying under the whisper of the breeze.
His brows drew tight... After a pause, he turned back, exhaling through his nose.
His hand twisted the knob once... locked. A quiet hum escaped his throat. Without hesitation, he slid the key into the slot and turned.
Thud!
As he stepped into the dark entrance, he snapped his fingers.
A small flame sparked alive in his palm, its glow trembling like a candle in the darkness. In the next breath, the entire house illuminated, lights turned on all at once, as though the mansion itself had been waiting only for his return.
"Still obeys me..." he muttered under his breath.
He cracked his neck, the sound echoing faintly as he bent down to place his shoes neatly along the line by the wall. The shoes were already arranged in perfect order.
Turning back, he stepped further inside, the soft press of his socks muffled against the polished floor.
With a tired expression, he drifted into the living room.
His eyes scanned every corner, lingering over the familiar furniture, the draped curtains, the faint marks of age etched into the walls. He moved toward the sofa and sat heavily as it creaked slightly.
Another snap of his fingers followed.
Snap~
A yellow spark flickered at his fingertips.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator door creaked open with a mechanical groan. A cold mist spilled out as a chilled bottle floated free, sliding into the air as if an unseen hand carried it. The door shut with a dull clap, and the beer drifted across the room in a straight path toward him.
Settling deeper into the sofa, he extended one hand lazily. The bottle landed against his palm with a solid weight. Inside, the liquid swirled back and forth, the sound of splashing echoing faintly in the stillness. A hiss followed, the glass sweating under sudden condensation as droplets ran over its surface. Heat from his fingers clashed against the frozen chill, sizzling faintly.
His lips curled as he bit down on the cap, cracking it open with a sharp twist before spitting the metal piece to the side. He raised the bottle high and tilted it back, letting the beer rush down his throat in heavy gulps.
Gulp... Gulp... Gulp...
"Arhh!" The man groaned with satisfaction, lowering the empty bottle and thumping it against his knee. He let out a loud burp, then dragged his palm across his chest as the icy trail of liquid spread through him. His shoulders eased as though a great burden had briefly lifted.
"Drinking after work..." he whispered, voice gravelly, "...always hits the spot." He gave a small nod to himself, then snapped his fingers again.
The television buzzed alive instantly...
The first broadcast that flashed across the screen was the day’s news, a stern voice narrating destruction. He leaned forward, watching the aerial footage of a ruined street, buildings split and broken.
"Hmm... the cut?" He frowned, eyes narrowing as he stared at the image of the building cleaved apart. The edges were sharp, clean, effortless.... as though the structure had been sliced by a blade rather than shattered by force.
"Whoever did this... must have some talent. Hmm..." He muttered as he lifted the bottle again, swallowing another mouthful of beer. His tired expression didn’t fade, but his gaze grew more thoughtful as the news droned on.
"Haha... look at them," he chuckled darkly, watching the screen as reporters swarmed like insects, shouting over one another while policemen desperately tried to hold them back.
"Asking questions like pests. Always amusing to see how they scramble to clean up after the mages make a mess of things."
His lips curled into a faint grin, but it quickly faded. "But to think... this time, even Eden itself didn’t get involved. Interesting."
Then his eyes caught sight of the two books scattered carelessly on the table. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, stretching out one hand to lift them.
"Hmm... looks like she’s been doing her homework," he muttered, a strange pride flickering across his face. He flipped through the first book, the pages falling open to a section already marked.
"Camazotz... ah, that one." His tone shifted as he stared at the illustration of the monstrous bat.
"Not bad. I’d like to fight him one day," he hummed with a faintly eager expression before tossing the thought aside and reaching for the second book.
"Nergal?" His eyes narrowed as he scanned the passage.
"Interesting... the fire techniques he wields are almost similar to ours. A perfect opponent... yes, perhaps not bad for her to face it after becoming a Master." He nodded with a trace of satisfaction.
But then his face hardened. The flicker of pride was crushed by a surge of rage. His eyes blazed, his grip tightening until his knuckles went white.
"Until she encountered that useless thing!" His hand clenched around the bottle, glass snapping beneath the pressure.
Crack!
Thud!
The bottle shattered, fragments scattering across the floor, beer spilling in a foamy wave beneath the sofa. Droplets splashed against his shoes, but he didn’t even flinch.
His teeth ground together,
"If only she hadn’t involved herself with that thing... she would have won the damn war! She could have been the first in our family ever to be chosen! And yet—" his voice broke into a growl, "all of it went to waste because of that useless thing! Even more almost died because of that useless fucking asshole!!"
His chest heaved as his face twisted into a snarl. "If only that thing came before me..." His voice rose into a roar. "...I would strangle it with my own hands and burn it to ash before her eyes!"
The shout tore through the room, shaking the walls. The sofa itself trembled under the force of his rage.
Meanwhile, beneath that trembling sofa, two pairs of reddish-black eyes flickered in horror behind the shadows.
Leo crouched there, drenched in the spilled beer, his face dripping as he rubbed the liquid from his cheeks.
As he swallowed his dry throat in horror,
’H-He’s her father?’
This was so messed up.
Leo wasn’t sure what he meant by that "thing" that had harmed her and stood in her way... but Leo more or less could guess.
The description fit too well... The thing he was talking about was almost certainly him.
What had Leo done?
In a way, he was responsible for her loss in the war.
He had been part of the chain of events that led to the devastation, and now she almost died because of the choices he had made.
His face slackened with sorrow, but he could not afford to drop his guard now.
He was so fucked.
His last visit to his girlfriend’s house had nearly collapsed into disaster and self-doubt; now this man was deadly serious about killing him. If the man discovered him here, if he stepped in the wrong place at the wrong time... Leo knew he would be dead without question.
Was he truly destined to be despised by the families of the women he loved, no matter what he did?
He swallowed, eyes flicking around the dim space for a way out that would not look suspicious. There might be a chance to leave without drawing attention if he moved carefully and fast.
He needed to act. Otherwise he would either remain trapped here until the man left, or the man would find him and the end would come.
Just as he tried to plan a route... just as he bent his mind around the smallest escape—
"Tsk, arh... again my anger got the better of me," the man muttered. He crouched and began picking up the broken glass.
Leo’s face went pale.
Shit.
He watched the man’s head lower slowly towards him.