Two weeks passed.
Paperwork was finalized, signatures stamped, names written in ink that couldn't be erased.
From that day onward, the boy officially had a name.
Light.
"Hey!!! It's five in the morning, son!"
Daniel's voice cut through the quiet room like a punch.
A rough shake. Blankets tugged. No mercy.
Light groaned and turned his face into the pillow.
Why…
Let me sleep…
"Get up before I throw you into the cold-water pool myself."
Daniel leaned closer, grinning.
"I'm serious. You're gonna get wet."
Light slowly opened one eye and stared at him—flat, annoyed, unimpressed.
A swim… in winter?
This man is insane.
With a sigh, he pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes.
"That's more like it," Daniel said, satisfied.
After the morning chaos finally ended, Daniel left for the gym, leaving Light alone in the quiet house.
The servant waited near the dining table, hands folded nervously.
"Y-Young master… breakfast is ready."
Light sat down stiffly as plates were arranged before him.
Rice. Meat. Bread. Warm food.
It's been two weeks…
I still can't get used to this.
He ate fast. Too fast.
"Good heavens—!" the servant exclaimed. "Where are your manners, young sir?"
Light didn't answer.
Instead, he tapped his fork against the table three times.
The servant blinked. "Is that… mute language? I'm afraid I don't speak mutism."
Light sighed, then shaped his hands like a sheet of paper and a pen.
"Oh—!" The servant nodded quickly and hurried away.
He returned with a notebook and placed it gently in front of Light.
Light wrote slowly in messy Russian. The letters were shaky. The grammar worse.
name?
"Bosvel," the servant said with a soft smile.
Light wrote again.
Who is my father?
Bosvel paused.
Then he pulled out a chair and sat beside him.
"Your father," he said quietly, "is a good man. The purest I've ever met."
Light looked up.
"He's a fighter. A professional one. Not just any fighter."
Bosvel leaned back slightly. "They call him the King of Heaven. He's not Russian… but even I don't know where he truly comes from."
Light listened without blinking.
That evening, Daniel returned bruised and tired.
He ate with Light. Laughed loudly. Made terrible jokes. Bosvel shook his head more than once.
That routine continued.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Light began to change.
He laughed sometimes. Cried when he fell. Frowned when Daniel left too early.
For the first time, his emotions had a reason to exist.
And just when things felt settled—
A knock came at the door.
Bosvel opened it and froze.
"Sophia?" he said, stunned. "It's been almost a year! Too bad your brother isn't home right now."
He stepped aside. "Please, come in."
"I've been busy, Bose," she replied casually.
She glanced around the house.
"My idiot brother just told me he adopted a kid four months ago."
Her expression hardened.
"Is he really that stupid?"
Bosvel barely held back a laugh.
"Hmph. Anyway," Sophia continued, "is the kid here, or did he drag him off to the gym too?"
"Don't worry," Bosvel said. "The young master is here."
"Young master?" she scoffed. "Let me guess—Daniel told you to call him that."
Bosvel stiffened.
How did she—
Footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Light came down quietly, eyes half-lidded.
Sophia turned.
She stared.
Her brows slowly pulled together.
"…I've seen this kid somewhere before."
The room fell silent.