It had happened again.
Young Master Adrian Hayes of the Hayes family had scratched Lady Eleanor.
For a cub with an S-rank bloodline, this frequency wasn't the worst—but it wasn't safe either.
Adrian was only two years old.
His bloodline—feline—was considered relatively docile.
But when his emotions spiked, the claws that emerged were anything but harmless.
They could tear through a household robot like paper.
After long deliberation, his father, Colonel Victor Hayes, made a decision.
Adrian would be sent to the Imperial Military Academy's affiliated Nurturing Center.
"Lady Eleanor won't take this well."
The adjutant, Marcus Reid, stood beside the desk, a file in one hand. With the other, he adjusted his thin-framed glasses, his voice calm but firm.
"Please don't forget the warning she gave you seven years ago… after you secretly sent the Second Young Master away."
Victor said nothing.
Fate had played a strange game with him.
Forty years of marriage.
Three children.
Only three.
And yet, aside from the eldest—already serving in the Third Military Region—the remaining two were both uncontrollable S-ranks.
By Imperial law, any child confirmed to possess an S-rank bloodline had to leave their family before the age of six and undergo standardized training.
There were no exceptions.
Victor leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.
"I know, Marcus."
His voice was quiet—tired.
"But Eleanor is too fragile."
He opened his eyes again.
There was steel in them now.
"She can't even handle normal children at play… let alone Adrian."
A pause.
Then, colder—
"He can't stay."
Victor acted quickly.
By that afternoon, Adrian was gone.
And before returning home, Victor followed Marcus's advice.
He went to an orphanage.
If Eleanor couldn't have a child who might hurt her…
Then she needed one who wouldn't.
Someone gentle.
Obedient.
Safe.
Something like…
A doll.
That was how Miles Reed was chosen.
He was quiet.
Soft.
Beautiful in a fragile, almost unreal way.
His hair fell like silk, his skin pale enough to flush at the slightest touch.
He looked expensive—
Even though the clothes he wore were cheap, mass-produced orphan garments.
Marcus spoke with the orphanage director, verifying every detail.
The woman, clearly fond of the boy, didn't hold anything back.
"He was rescued from the black market two weeks ago," she said softly. "He remembers nothing."
"But he's… a good child. Gentle. Never fights. Never argues."
Miles was ten.
But malnourishment had stunted his growth. He looked smaller. Thinner.
Breakable.
The kind of child that stirred instinctive protectiveness.
And at this age—he could take care of himself.
No trouble.
No danger.
Perfect.
No need for changes.
But he was too quiet.
Too withdrawn.
He stood in the center of the room, head lowered, eyes fixed on his own feet.
Everything here was unfamiliar.
Strangers.
Voices.
Language.
And yet—
He understood.
It didn't matter where he stayed.
Orphanage or family.
As long as there was somewhere to sleep.
That was enough.
Miles lowered his gaze.
He hadn't slept properly in a long time.
Honestly…
He still wasn't sure what this was.
A dream?
An afterlife?
Something in between?
He didn't care much either way.
His previous life had been short—but complete.
He had been a doctor.
He had done his duty.
He had never abandoned a patient.
That was enough.
Death had been peaceful.
Living again…
Just felt tiring.
Victor had been watching him.
Silently.
Carefully.
Then he spoke.
"Do you know my name?"
The director stiffened.
"Answer him, child."
Miles didn't respond immediately.
He blinked slowly.
Thinking.
Searching for the right words.
But before he could speak—
Victor was already walking toward him.
The man carried weight.
Authority.
Danger.
His dark military uniform was immaculate, silver buttons gleaming. A cloud-crested insignia rested over his chest.
His coat remained on.
A holstered weapon was visible at his thigh.
His boots echoed sharply against the floor.
Step.
Step.
He stopped in front of Miles and looked down at him—
Like observing a stray kitten trying not to tremble.
After a moment, he reached out.
His hand rested gently on Ethan's head.
His voice softened.
"It's fine."
"If you don't want to speak… you don't have to."
Then he crouched.
Met his eyes.
And placed a small, fluffy teddy bear into Miles's arms.
Before entering the house, Victor paused.
He adjusted his collar.
Smoothed Miles's hair.
"Don't be nervous."
Marcus glanced over.
"You're the one who's nervous."
Victor shot him a look.
Took a breath.
And stepped inside.
Lady Eleanor was waiting.
Victor explained everything.
Adrian.
The decision.
The necessity.
Then he gently guided Miles forward.
"For now… let this child keep you company."
Silence.
Then—
A laugh.
Cold.
Sharp.
"No one replaces anyone."
Eleanor's voice cut through the room.
"This child is not a substitute."
"He is a person."
Her gaze hardened.
"You already took Lucas and Daniel away from me."
"Why must you take the last one too?"
Victor remained steady.
"Adrian can stay with you for five years at most."
"He's S-rank."
"He will leave."
"They can visit once they learn control. This is temporary."
Even as he said it—
He knew.
It wasn't convincing.
Because S-rank control wasn't simple.
It took years.
Even then, instability lingered.
Childhood.
Adolescence.
Adulthood.
War.
Each stage carved away at them.
And if they survived long enough…
They became something like him.
A shell wearing a uniform.
Victor placed a hand on Miles shoulder.
"He won't hurt you."
"He's gentle."
"He's… beautiful. Like you."
Eleanor's expression turned icy.
"Don't."
Her voice dropped.
"Don't talk about him like a pet."
Victor stiffened.
Then immediately lowered his head.
"I apologize."
Miles stood quietly to the side.
Holding the teddy bear.
Watching.
Listening.
He pinched the bear's ear absentmindedly.
He didn't feel sad.
Just…
A little irritated.
If they could hurry this up, he might still make it back in time for dinner.
"Not in front of the child."
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, regaining control.
Then she spoke to Marcus.
"Take him to another room."
She exhaled.
"We'll handle this slowly."
"He's not going back to the orphanage."
"He won't be abandoned twice."
A pause.
"We can keep him."
"But Adrian doesn't have to leave."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Have you forgotten what happened before?"
"From Daniel to Adrian—it's been ten years."
"I thought you understood."
Daniel.
Their second son.
At three years old, during a Bloodline Surge—
He had bitten Eleanor.
The injury never fully healed.
Eleanor's voice softened.
"I just want more time."
Victor's reply came quietly.
"But they're not just children."
"They're… ticking bombs."
"You never know when they'll lose control."
The slap echoed.
Clean.
Precise.
Eleanor lowered her hand slowly.
"I won't allow you to speak about them like that."
And just like that—
The fragile peace in the room shattered.