Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

”What’s wrong, Uncle Acok?” Edward asked as he hurried outside to meet the man. His footsteps were brisk and restless, each one carrying the weight of urgency, as if every second that slipped away might bring disaster upon them. Sandra followed right behind him, her expression already uneasy.

There, in the soft morning light streaming through the corridor windows, Uncle Acok and Butler Harun were already waiting. Both men stood firm, their faces tense and grim, shadows stretching behind them.

”There’s a strange energy coming from the eastern side of the house,” Uncle Acok explained in a low, serious voice. ”It would be wise for you to take shelter first. Dedy went to check it out, and I pray it isn’t something that poses a threat to this household.”

”The east side?” Sandra gasped, clutching her hands tightly to her chest. Her body trembled, her voice unsteady. ”That’s David’s room!”

Edward froze, the realization striking him like a heavy blow. His face shifted, worry carving lines across his features. Cold sweat began to bead on his temples, and his eyes were suddenly filled with unease.

”Honey, we have to go there. We need to check on him!” Sandra blurted, her voice breaking with panic. Their beloved son might be in danger. Her tone was sharp, almost cracking, and her trembling fingers clung tightly to Edward’s arm as if she would never let him go.

”No, Madam Sandra,” Uncle Acok intervened firmly. ”It’s best if you stay sheltered. We will make sure young master David is safe.”

”How can you expect me to stay still while my son could be in danger?!” Sandra’s panic sharpened into anger. Her breathing grew ragged, tears welling in her eyes, as though her heart was on the verge of shattering.

”Madam, I understand your worry,” Uncle Acok pressed urgently. ”But please, leave this to us. If you get involved, it will only endanger you. You must take shelter right away.”

”But—” Sandra tried to protest, her voice rising.

”Calm down, Sandra,” Edward cut her off, his voice steady though his heart trembled inside. ”Uncle Acok is right. It’s safer for you to take shelter. I’ll go with him and check it out.” He locked eyes with her, trying to pour reassurance into his gaze even though his own chest was heavy with dread.

”But Honey... it’s David,” Sandra whispered again, clinging desperately to her plea.

”Sandra, please. We can’t waste time like this,” Edward urged, his hand resting firmly yet gently on her shoulder.

Sandra faltered, lowering her head slightly. Her lips quivered, her eyes shimmering with frustration. Every instinct of a mother screamed at her to rush toward her child, yet reason whispered the bitter truth—there was nothing she could do even if she went. At last, her shoulders sagged, her strength dissolving into despair, and she gave a small, reluctant nod.

”Then... what about the other children?” she asked faintly.

”Young Miss Vianna has already secured them with a few guards. They should be safe,” Uncle Acok replied promptly.

Sandra exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling heavily. Relief washed over her in small waves, though the uncertainty surrounding David’s safety still gnawed at her heart.

Edward signaled Harun to escort Sandra to safety, while he himself prepared to move with Uncle Acok. Sandra’s tear-filled gaze followed her husband until he disappeared into the darkness, unwilling to let him go yet powerless to stop him.

Though Edward was no mage or wielder of mystical energies, he was no stranger to combat. The harsh training he had endured from his father in his youth resurfaced in his mind, rekindling a spark of courage amidst his fear.

Uncle Acok, knowing Edward could not be stopped once he had made his choice, resolved himself to protect him while also facing whatever danger lay ahead.

The morning wind grew stronger, rustling the leaves with a chilling whisper that made the night even more unsettling. Together, they hurried toward the eastern side of the house.

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Meanwhile, outside—

David stood frozen, clutching his cheek where Yura’s hand had just landed. A red mark spread across his skin, the stinging burn seeping deep as if fire itself had branded him. His chest heaved with fury, his jaw clenched hard, and his left fist trembled with restrained violence.

Yet he held himself back. From the darkness surrounding the main house, a faint but chilling aura seeped out—his shadow troops were enraged. That suffocating wave of dark energy made the hair on his arms stand on end. If even one of those beings revealed themselves and attacked Yura, things would turn disastrous.

Fools... I know you want to protect me. But why act now of all times? David cursed silently, seething inside.

He spun on his heel and ran into the house, leaving behind an unfinished storm of emotions. His hasty departure was like shattered glass scattered in the air—jagged, unresolved, and dangerous.

”Yura, I’m sorry. I have something to deal with. We’ll continue this later,” he called out hurriedly, his words spilling carelessly as he fled, though his heart still writhed in denial at the thought of Yura being with Al.

Yura blinked, stunned by his odd reaction. David hadn’t shouted, hadn’t lashed back, hadn’t even seemed furious. Instead, he acted as if they still had unfinished business. Her brows knitted faintly, irritation flickering in her gaze, but she brushed it aside.

Still, like the others, Yura felt the uneasy pressure of the strange energy swelling in the air. Fortunately, the discomfort was softened, almost drowned out, by the gentle warmth of Al’s presence right in front of her—especially with her hand still touching him.

She glanced at Devy, silently asking if everything was truly fine.

Devy gave a small nod, calm and composed, her steady gesture signaling that there was nothing to fear.

Reassured, Yura returned her attention to Al and helped him up.

”Ugh... my waist. He was way too aggressive,” Al groaned lightly, his tone casual even as his body visibly tensed in pain. To the eyes of others, it looked genuine, though in truth, it was nothing more than his well-practiced act.

Clarista, meanwhile, stood frozen, utterly baffled by David’s behavior. Just moments ago, he had been rejected and slapped by the girl he liked, and now he had fled inside without another word. Her sharp eyes narrowed, then softened in disbelief, torn between wondering if her brother had simply lost control or if he was just a coward.

A bitter thought gnawed at her: was David’s mind... unstable? Like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy he could not have. Weak, pitiful, utterly lacking dignity before women. Was this truly the mentality of a son of Virellano?

But annoyance surged stronger within her chest as she recalled the sight of her precious younger brother being struck by Yura. Her protective instincts flared. Clarista stepped forward, her heels striking the ground with commanding force. Fani followed closely, her expression grave. The air around Clarista sharpened, an aura of cold, protective fury radiating from her frame.

”Yura, what do you think you’re doing? Why did you slap David?” she demanded, her voice laced with displeasure.

Yura only smiled faintly, still supporting Al’s body with calm poise.

”It was nothing much, Sister Clarista,” Yura replied casually. ”He hurt my boyfriend. And you know how it feels when someone you love gets hurt.”

Clarista froze for a moment, her breath catching at the unexpected reply.

”Even so, how could you raise your hand against David? And especially... over that boy?”

”And what’s wrong with that?” Yura shot back without hesitation. ”Al is my boyfriend. Of course, I’d choose him over David. Why should David’s pain matter to me? At the very least, I didn’t act recklessly. I only returned what he did to Al. Isn’t that fair?”

Her sharp retort made Clarista’s chest tighten. Her heart pounded with a strange conflict—logic acknowledged Yura’s point, yet her blood rebelled at the idea of David being harmed, especially because of Al.

”I don’t get it,” Yura pressed on, narrowing her eyes. ”You’re way too sensitive when it comes to Al. Is there something about him? Wait... now that I think about it, why is Al even here? What’s his relationship with your family?”

Clarista’s irritation melted away in an instant, replaced with unease and dread. Her pupils widened, her shoulders stiffened, and her lips trembled faintly. How could she possibly explain that Al was her blood brother? Her brilliant mind, usually capable of solving complex equations and cutting through dilemmas, now faltered. She found no answer.

Fani, standing protectively by her side, noticed Clarista’s hesitation. Her chest tightened with disappointment. She shot her friend a sharp glance, then exhaled heavily, suppressing the bitter words that almost slipped out.

Clarista, I never thought you could be this cold to your own brother. You can’t even acknowledge him? He is your blood. Hmm... If it weren’t for our long friendship, I’d almost feel disgusted guarding you like this, she thought bitterly.

Still, Fani chose silence. Her hands glowed faintly with gathered magic, ready to react if things spiraled out of control.

Yura, however, grew even more restless at Clarista’s silence. Her voice rose, her eyes drilling into Clarista, unwilling to let her slip away from the question.

But Clarista gave nothing. Her lips parted as if to speak, only to close again, trapped in hesitation. The air thickened, the atmosphere suffocating, as silence pressed upon them like a crushing weight.

But...

”I’m the youngest child of this family.”

The flat, weary voice came from Al, who had grown thoroughly irritated by the endless back-and-forth. His words sliced through the tension like a blade, sharp and final.

Spoken with casual indifference, his admission nevertheless struck the crowd like thunder. The morning garden, once filled with the soft scent of dew and leaves, was suddenly drowned in the heavy silence of revelation.

So now—even someone like Yura had learned the truth. A truth the Virellano family had not yet made public?

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