Depths of Death

"Wake up!!, ———. How long do you plan to sleep?"

Sitting at the edge of his bed was a woman of striking beauty, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders and her black eyes sharp yet warm. She reached out to shake him softly, trying to rouse him.

The room was vast, befitting the stature of the family who lived there. A luxurious bed dominated the space, flanked by carved mahogany furniture. To one side, a tall window stretched nearly to the ceiling, letting in streams of bright sunlight that painted the polished floor in shades of gold.

A groggy murmur came from beneath the covers. "W-What do you mean? It's…" The boy peeked out, his dark hair disheveled, eyes squinting against the light. He glanced toward the window and groaned. "The sun seems a bit brighter than usual, doesn't it?"

"It's two in the afternoon," his mother said, disappointment evident in her tone.

"Oh…" He paused, stammering as he tried to think of an excuse. "B-But, Mom—"

"No buts," she cut him off sharply, rising from the bed and straightening her dress. "You've skipped school three times this week, including today." She reached for the rumpled blankets, pulling them off him with practiced efficiency.

"It's all P.E. classes anyway!" he protested, clutching at the air as his cocoon of warmth was taken away.

"Lies," she retorted, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "I spoke to your teacher last night. She told me you've been failing classes. Since when did this start?"

The boy averted his gaze, his earlier bravado evaporating. He had no answer, and his silence hung heavy in the room.

His mother sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "Freshen up and be downstairs in thirty minutes, or may God protect you from me." Her words were stern, but the underlying care in her voice was unmistakable.

She left the room, her elegant figure moving with practiced grace. As she descended the grand staircase, her hands gripped the railing tightly, the tension from her conversation with her son still lingering. She headed toward the kitchen, where the family chef was cleaning the morning dishes.

"Has Master ——— awakened, Miss?" the chef asked, pausing in his work to glance at her.

She walked to the stove, lighting it with a flick of her wrist. "Yes, finally," she replied with a weary sigh. "If you people weren't so pampering about him, he would've woken up much earlier."

"Miss, why do you bother cooking? Please, leave it to me," the chef said, stepping forward to take over.

She waved him off with a faint smile. "That brat likes my cooking better." Her tone carried a mix of affection and resignation.

The boy's voice suddenly rang out from the dining hall, loud enough to make the nearby staff wince. "SARGENT! Where is my food?"

"Wait, wait!" his mother called out, hurrying to place the plate on the table. "Stop shouting so loud!"

The boy looked at the dish with a mix of suspicion and horror. "W-What is this?" he asked, poking at the neatly arranged crumbs.

"It's protein," she replied proudly. "Don't you think I did a good job?"

"When did a vegetable named 'protein' get discovered?" he said mockingly, his lips curling into a smirk.

The two began to argue, their voices echoing through the large hall. But their banter was cut short by a sudden, heavy knock at the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The room fell silent.

"May I enter?" a deep voice called from beyond the threshold.

Her composure faltered instantly. "Ah… Brother-in-law…" she stammered, her voice trembling. "What brings you here?"

The boy froze, his earlier defiance draining away as the door creaked open. A tall man stepped inside, dressed impeccably in a dark suit. His hair, jet black and neatly combed, framed a face that bore an unsettling resemblance to the boy's.

"———," the man said, his voice smooth but laced with quiet menace, "it seems you've grown quite… comfortable in my absence."

The boy stiffened. "U-Uncle, I—"

"Silence." The man's tone sliced through the boy's words like a blade. He lowered his gaze to the table, his courage retreating into the shadows.

The boy's mother stepped forward, summoning every ounce of composure. "Brother-in-law, what brings you here unannounced? ——— was just about to attend to his studies." Her tone was light, but her knuckles whitened where they gripped the table.

The uncle shifted his piercing gaze toward her, a smile curling on his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, dear sister-in-law, always so… nurturing. But you coddle the boy too much. The world outside our estate is far less forgiving."

She didn't flinch but pressed on, her voice steadier now. "He's young. Boys his age make mistakes. These are lessons he will learn in time."

The man hummed thoughtfully, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his dark sleeve. He then gestured subtly toward her. "Would you mind fetching me some water? It's been a rather long day."

Her composure faltered briefly, but she nodded quickly. "Of course. Please, have a seat. I'll return shortly."

She hurried toward the kitchen, leaving the boy and his uncle alone in the vast dining hall.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the uncle turned his sharp gaze back to the boy, who was still standing stiffly by the table. He leaned in closer, the air between them growing tense. "You've disappointed me, boy."

The boy flinched, his throat tightening. "I-I didn't mean to—"

"Enough," the man snapped, his voice low but cutting. "Your excuses mean nothing to me. Do you think this life, this privilege, comes without responsibility? You waste your days sleeping, skipping school, and failing your studies. Is this what you call the future of our family?"

The boy's lips parted, but no words came out. The weight of his uncle's presence crushed any attempt to defend himself.

"You're weak," his uncle continued, his tone dripping with disdain. "A boy of your standing has no room for weakness. If you cannot hold your ground here, how will you survive out there?" He gestured vaguely toward the towering windows, where the light of the afternoon sun spilled into the room.

"I'm trying…" the boy whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Trying?" The uncle let out a bitter laugh. "Trying isn't enough. Effort without results is meaningless. If you fail, there will be no second chances. No one will care for your excuses. Not me. Not the world."

The boy's hands clenched into fists at his sides, tears threatening to sting his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

"You embarrass this family," his uncle added, his voice lowering further. "And if you embarrass this family, you embarrass me. Do you understand, boy?"

Before the boy could muster a response, his mother returned, a crystal glass of water in hand. "Here you are," she said, placing it delicately on the table.

The uncle straightened immediately, his demeanor shifting seamlessly back to one of polite civility. "Thank you, dear sister-in-law," he said smoothly, lifting the glass and taking a small sip. "You've always been most accommodating."

She offered a tight smile, her eyes flickering briefly toward her son. The tension in the room was palpable, but she chose not to address it.

"Well," the uncle said, placing the empty glass down with a deliberate clink. "I believe I've made my point clear." His gaze swept between the boy and his mother. "Consider this visit a reminder."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the door. The sound of his polished shoes faded as he exited, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

The boy's mother exhaled shakily and turned to him. Her hands, still trembling, rested gently on his shoulders. "———," she murmured, her voice soft yet firm, "you have to be careful. Your uncle is not someone to cross lightly."

His wide eyes met hers, confusion and fear swirling within them. "Why does he… hate me, Mom?"

Her fingers brushed a lock of his black hair away from his forehead as she hesitated, her gaze distant for a moment. "He doesn't hate you," she said softly, though the edge of uncertainty in her voice made it hard to believe. "He… has expectations. High ones. That's all."

The boy didn't fully understand, but he nodded slowly. She pulled him into a tight hug, her warmth wrapping around him and soothing some of the fear that gripped his heart.

"Now," she said, " eat fast, you're already too late" while tapping on his shoulder vigorously 

"I'd like to skip school today" his mouth filled with food

"I kept your uniform on your bed, be quick, you don't want to be later" she completely ignored him 

As she hurriedly leaves, leaving him no choice.

The boy stepped out of the sleek black town car, his polished leather shoes clicking against the cobblestones of Rosewood Academy's entrance. He adjusted the cuff of his tailored blazer, his movements deliberate and precise, exuding the confidence of someone accustomed to being the center of attention—even when he wasn't particularly wanted there.

He looked up at the towering gates and sighed dramatically. "Late again. Not that it matters," he muttered to himself, brushing his disheveled hair back with an air of nonchalance.

As he sauntered into the grand hall, his presence turned heads. Whispers rippled through the crowd of students, but he paid them no mind.

"Late again, huh?" a passing student sneered under his breath.

The boy stopped, shooting the offender a sharp glance. "Why don't you worry about yourself instead of my schedule?" he replied coolly, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. The other boy looked away, flustered, and the young heir continued on his way.

When he finally arrived at his classroom, he pushed the door open lazily, earning a few curious glances. The teacher looked up from the whiteboard, her lips twitching as though she wanted to scold him but didn't dare.

"Ah, Mr. ——," she greeted with a strained smile. "Glad you could join us."

"Traffic," he said simply, sliding into his seat at the back. "And my breakfast was cold. Couldn't just let it go to waste, could I?"

The teacher's eyebrow twitched, but she let the comment slide, quickly turning back to the lesson.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand tucked into his blazer pocket as he scanned the room. Everyone else scribbled notes diligently, while he simply stared out the window, utterly uninterested.

When lunch finally came, he made his way to the cafeteria, where the same thing happened as always: people whispered, stared, and kept their distance. Not that he cared. 

He walked past the line of students waiting for their turn, stepping directly to the front with the sort of ease that came from knowing no one would challenge him.

"Excuse me," a voice piped up. "There's a line, you know."

He turned slightly to find a girl glaring up at him. She looked vaguely familiar—probably the daughter of some second-rate businessman. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is there? Didn't see it," he said, his tone dripping with faux innocence. "But since I'm already here…" He gestured to the chef behind the counter, who immediately handed him a tray of food.

The girl huffed but said nothing more, and he walked off, satisfied.

As he settled into his usual corner table, Lila appeared, dropping her tray unceremoniously across from him.

"Seriously?" she said, eyeing him. "Cutting the line again?"

He shrugged. "Not my problem"

Lila rolled her eyes, stabbing at her salad. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Only to people who don't appreciate efficiency" he shot back, smirking as he took a bite of his filet mignon.

"Right" she muttered, flipping open a book.

Despite his bravado, the rest of the cafeteria was the same as always: laughter and chatter in every direction, none of it involving him. For all his wealth and confidence, he was still on the outside, watching.

After lunch, he made his way to the library, where Jonas, one of his only friends was already waiting by the chessboard.

"You're late," Jonas said without looking up.

"Fashionably," the boy corrected, sitting down and stretching lazily. "You don't start a game without me anyway."

Jonas smirked faintly but didn't argue. "Your move."

The boy leaned forward, as he focused on the board"I'll beat you today," he said confidently, moving his knight.

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "You? Beat me? Sure."

The boy smirked. "I'm full of surprises."

But as they played, the earlier tension of the day melted away. Here, in the quiet of the library, surrounded by nothing but the soft rustle of pages and the faint ticking of the clock.

Each moved their prices, one after another, one after another. They're lost in their own world, as the match seemed never to end- 

"Checkmate," Jonas said, leaning forward.

The boy froze, his bravado crumbling as he scanned the board. The loss stung more than usual, and he tried to hide the heat rising to his face.

"How do you do that?" he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.

Jonas shrugged. "You get distracted. You focus too much on looking good and not enough on the game itself."

The words hit harder than they should have, echoing the uncle's earlier accusations. The boy's jaw tightened, but he forced a laugh.

The boy glanced at the chessboard, the pieces scattered in a pattern of defeat. He opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Instead, he stood abruptly, brushing off invisible dust from his blazer.

"I've had enough of this," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Jonas. Next time, I won't go easy on you."

Jonas only smirked. "Sure."

As the boy turned to leave, the weight of the day pressed down on him. His uncle's sharp words echoed in his mind. Weak. Responsibility. Embarrassment.

He walked out of the library and down the school's grand corridor, past students who either ignored him or whispered behind his back. For all his confidence, his place felt unsteady—like the pieces on a chessboard, teetering at the edge of collapse.

When he stepped outside, the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the pristine lawns of Rosewood Academy. He stopped for a moment, watching the light fade.

You're weak. His uncle's voice rang in his ears again, but this time, he clenched his fists, pushing the thought away.

"I'll show him," he muttered to himself. "I'll show all of them."

The boy straightened his blazer, putting on his mask of indifference once more. The town car waited for him at the gates, the driver opening the door with a bow.

As he slid into the seat and the car pulled away, he stared out the tinted window

For now, he didn't know what his next move would be. But he knew one thing for certain: the game wasn't over yet.