Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

After all the exhausting ordeals that had taken place inside the principal’s office,

Sebastian guided Al through the narrow rear corridor of the school building.

”I honestly didn’t expect the principal to be in cahoots with those three just to set you up, Master,” Sebastian said while carefully scanning their surroundings, his tone sharp and watchful.

Al let out a faint sigh, the corners of his lips twitching in mild annoyance.

”That’s pretty much how my life has been lately. For some reason, ever since I returned to the Virellano family, irritating problems keep showing up like they’re magnetically drawn to me,” he muttered in a voice that blended fatigue and sarcasm.

”For more than six years, we’ve fought together and faced only physical dangers... and now I’m dealing with emotional ones instead. The kind of danger that’s the most lethal—for DIAR.” His tone deepened on the last word, a hint of dry humor underneath.

Sebastian chuckled lightly, the sound low and knowing.

”You’re absolutely right, Master,” he replied with a faint, almost amused smile.

Al nodded, eyes narrowing as he mused aloud.

”It’s kind of ironic, really. Norvalien and Tamarvich were supposed to be our initial targets to strengthen social connections. I never even thought of touching the Virellanos—mainly because of how few family members they had.”

He shook his head with a helpless expression, his voice carrying a trace of irony and melancholy.

”And yet now, I’m living under the same roof as the Virellanos... while ending up as enemies with Norvalien and Tamarvich. How poetic.”

That last remark also marked the end of their small talk, for they had already reached their destination.

A dilapidated storage house stood at the far back of the school, hidden behind the overgrown botanical garden—a place rarely visited by anyone.

The air around it was unsettling, especially considering it was part of an academy as prestigious as Hazandeen International High School. It felt like a fragment of the grounds that simply shouldn’t exist—a forgotten, eerie corner of reality.

Wild creatures slithered through the shadows, insects nested in the cracks, and faint spiritual disturbances lingered—minor spirits and weak djinns that could only manifest enough to frighten ordinary humans.

Al and Sebastian stopped in front of the corroded steel door. Though rust covered most of its surface, the structure still looked sturdy, almost unnaturally so.

Faint streams of magical energy shimmered across the walls—forming a barrier that enveloped the building, both preventing outsiders from entering and containing whatever might happen inside.

”So, what did you find?” Al asked quietly.

Sebastian glanced at him. ”I think it’s better if you see it for yourself, Master.”

Al merely nodded once.

Not long after, the door creaked open slowly—moving on its own without anyone touching it. Or more precisely, the person inside had manipulated it using magic.

Inside, a harsh beam of spotlight illuminated a wide yet suffocatingly dusty space cluttered with abandoned items.

At the very center stood Michaelis, still wearing his worn-out security uniform, his demeanor calm and steady.

Behind him were two individuals, both bound tightly to chairs.

Their bodies were clad entirely in black, the same robes covering them from head to toe. Their faces were swollen and bruised, their mouths gagged with cloth, and faint traces of dark energy seeped through their skin like mist.

Near their feet lay two identical bear-shaped masks and, on their chests, crimson emblems depicting what looked like a beast’s fang devouring a human arm.

Al studied the scene in silence and activated his Dimensional Eye. The moment he did, recognition flashed in his gaze—one of them was the same person who had been observing him that very morning.

He stepped inside, his pace calm and deliberate—not heading straight toward the captives, but stopping in front of Michaelis instead.

The memory of the leave permit letter Michaelis had placed on the principal’s desk earlier still lingered faintly in Al’s mind, teasing his curiosity. But he chose not to bring it up for now.

Michaelis immediately stepped forward and bowed deeply.

”Master,” he greeted with absolute respect.

Al motioned lightly with his hand, signaling him to rise.

”Good job, both of you,” he said with a calm nod of approval.

”Thank you, Master,” Sebastian replied.

”This wasn’t anything big, Master,” Michaelis added, scratching the back of his head with an awkward grin. ”They weren’t that strong—just mildly annoying. Haha... still, thank you, Master.”

Al patted Michaelis’ shoulder lightly, a rare gesture of acknowledgment, before moving toward the restrained men.

”Wasn’t there supposed to be only one who was watching me?” he asked, glancing at Sebastian.

”That’s correct, Master,” Sebastian confirmed. ”However, right when we were about to capture him, two others suddenly appeared to help. It turned into a two-versus-three fight.”

”Even so, we managed to defeat them with ease. But one of them escaped using a Teleport Stone, leaving only these two for us to capture.”

Al rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

”A Teleport Stone, huh? Why does that thing seem ridiculously easy to find around here lately? Daraka had mountains of them, and now these people have them too?” His tone carried genuine disbelief.

”Even Axis had to create specialized talismans just for teleportation, and we struggled so hard to find even one. Yet they can just casually use it? This world really isn’t on our side,” he sighed, shaking his head in mild exasperation.

Sebastian and Michaelis merely nodded in agreement—they both understood well how rare such stones were supposed to be.

Al then approached the one who had been spying on him. His eyes sharpened as he examined every detail—the man’s attire, posture, and aura.

The uniform was made from ordinary fabric reinforced with external mana. The large robe seemed to possess both anti-detection and passive defense enchantments.

The bear-shaped mask had an unusual motif, the kind that likely served a concealment purpose, and the crimson emblem—depicting fangs chewing on a human arm—radiated an unsettling, violent symbolism.

”I’ve never seen any organization that uses this emblem before,” Al murmured to himself.

”That’s true, Master,” Sebastian replied. ”Neither Michaelis nor I are familiar with it. For now, we’re waiting for a report from the investigation team. They should be contacting us soon.”

Michaelis nodded silently beside him, confirming the statement.

Al gave a slow nod in return, his gaze still locked on the captives—expression unreadable, but his eyes gleamed faintly with a dangerous curiosity.

Al inclined his head once, then extended a slender finger and exuded a pallid, pearlescent stream of energy from its tip.

”Very well — while we await their report, let us commence the interrogation of this individual.” he intoned.

And—

PWSHHH!!

A filament of faint arcane current surged into the crown of one captive’s head, instantaneously dragging him back from the fog of unconsciousness into jagged shards of awareness.

”Ugh... ah...” the man croaked as he resurfaced, breath hitching; his lucidity had not yet fully reassembled.

Al applied two brief, purposeful slaps across the man’s cheeks, rapping him into sharper consciousness.

”Wake up,” he ordered tersely.

”Ugh... uhukk... what... happend... where am... I?” the man rasped, his scattered senses slowly reconvening.

He took in the dim chamber—only a few bleak spotlights pierced the gloom—and the three figures before him: a teacher, a security guard, and a... student?

The student’s face registered immediately in his memory—the very one he had targeted that morning.

”Ah... you?!” he spat, panic snapping through his voice.

His body flailed in sudden desperation, struggling against bindings, only to discover the futility of movement—his arms shackled to the chair.

”Argh... what is this? What are you doing?! Kid... let me go!” he howled.

Al regarded him with thinly veiled disdain, then delivered a single slap—harder this time.

SLAP!

”Don’t make a scene. This is still school hours. Maintain order,” Al admonished with icy calm.

The man groaned in pain, rage igniting in his eyes.

”You brat... what do you—!” he thundered.

Before he could finish the outburst, another blow landed.

SLAP!

This second strike carried greater force; the man toppled with his chair, pain rupturing into a raw scream.

”Arghhh.” he bellowed.

Michaelis stepped forward immediately and murmured close to the man’s ear, voice low and punitive.

”You’d better be quiet and obedient. Or he’ll slap you again. I actually pity how pathetic you look right now.”

The captive’s gaze flicked from Michaelis to Sebastian to Al—each silhouette an embodiment of menace for reasons he could not rationalize.

When his eyes alighted on the other bound figure—his colleague—he recalled the two assailants who had attacked him that morning; the realization of his precarious predicament tightened like a noose.

At last his voice fell to a trembling, guarded stammer.

”W-what are you doing? Why did you capture me? And why did you attacked me this morning?” he asked.

”Finally, you’re talkative,” Al said, his voice a low reprimand.

”But the one who should be asking questions here is me. Your role now is simple: answer.” He fixed the man with an intimidating stare that left no room for evasion.

The man bowed his head in resigned acquiescence, nodding meekly.

”Good,” Al observed. ”So it’s true — you were the one watching me this morning. Tell me, where are you from, and what exactly was your objective?” he inquired softly.

The man blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question; he hesitated, uncertain how to reply.

”I... cannot answer that,” he admitted after a tense pause.

”Huh? You agreed just a moment ago and now you refuse?” Al snapped.

The man inched backward, fear etching his features. He stood at a terrible crossroads: remain silent and risk death at Al’s hands, or speak and guarantee his elimination by his own organization.

He lifted his chin slightly and responded with brittle determination.

”You should know that questions like that are perilous to leave unanswered during interrogations. I think you understand what I will choose.”

Al inclined his head in acknowledgement.

”Fair point. But if I bargain you safety, would you speak?” he offered.

The man shook his head stubbornly.

”I’m not even sure you could save me if my organization marked me. My organization is not that trivial for you to contend with,” he replied.

”Three people like you—an ordinary high school student, a teacher, and a campus guard. Tch... don’t make me laugh,” he added with scorn.

”Ohoo... so you think we’re weak, even though it was us who left you bruised earlier? Brave words.” Al’s tone bore an amused edge.

”This isn’t about bravery; I’m merely stating facts,” the man shot back.

”Hmph... you simply lack comprehension of our true power. The organization you take pride in? We could obliterate it with a mere snap of our fingers,” Al countered, his voice cold and unembellished.

The man bristled at the provocation but prudently fell silent, wary of slipping into a fatal confession.

Al resumed in a measured voice.

”Anyway... I don’t particularly care about your organization right now. What concerns me is that you emitted a significant Helos signature this morning and targeted me. What was your purpose?”

”Helos? Do you mean—dark energy?” the man asked, incredulous.

Al sighed, exasperation flickering briefly across his features.

”Haah... call it whatever appeases you. The essence is the same: malevolent power originating from another dimension.”

He raised two fingers near the man’s throat and summoned a filament of violet energy, shaping it into a slender blade that nicked the man’s neck, drawing a thin ribbon of blood.

”And you’d better answer this, because it’s what I’m curious about: why did you attempt to kill me?” Al demanded.

The man felt the full weight of Al’s intimidation settle over him; his body rippled with cold as if electricity crawled along his spine, and he perceived his existence to be poised precariously on the edge of oblivion.

His eyes locked on Al’s, which glinted faintly crimson—predatory, patient, and unyielding.

Whatever words he chose next would determine the verdict on his life.

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