The celebrations from earlier that evening had filled the house with an unusual warmth. Jack, Clara, and Victor—the ever-loyal guard—had shared a hearty meal, laughter, and a rare sense of triumph. For once, Jack felt like he belonged to something more than the weight of ridicule and despair.
"Jack, you've done something incredible today," Clara said, her usually stern face softened by genuine pride. "But don't let this go to your head. Tomorrow is another day, and we'll need to think carefully about your next steps."
Victor nodded in agreement, but he couldn't resist adding, "Still, tonight, you're the hero. Enjoy it while it lasts, young master."
Jack smiled but said nothing. He wanted to bask in this moment for as long as possible. Yet, a faint unease lingered at the back of his mind, like a storm cloud on the horizon.
As the night deepened, Jack insisted that Clara and Victor retire to their rooms. "You both have done enough for today," he said. "Get some rest. I'll clean up here."
Clara hesitated, but Victor tugged her gently away. "The boy's earned some quiet time," he said. "Let him be."
The house was quiet now. Jack sat alone in his room, staring at the pile of cash he had earned from the jade gamble. The reality of it all still felt surreal. Just yesterday, he was a nobody, mocked and dismissed by everyone. Today, he had a chance to rewrite his story.
But as he sat there, that unease from earlier crept back, stronger this time. He tried to shake it off, convincing himself it was just paranoia. Maybe I'm not used to things going right for me, he thought.
The sound of shattering glass jolted him from his thoughts. Before he could react, the door burst open, and three masked figures stormed in. Jack's heart sank.
"Where's the money?" one of them growled, brandishing a knife.
Jack tried to fight back, but he was no match for them. They knocked him to the ground, landing blow after blow. Pain seared through his body as one of the thugs landed a brutal kick to his ribs.
"Please… don't…" Jack gasped, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
The leader of the group rummaged through Jack's belongings and found the cash. "Got it," he said, waving the bundle of money in the air.
"Let's go," another thug urged, but not before delivering one final kick to Jack's side.
As quickly as they had come, they were gone, leaving Jack battered, bleeding, and penniless.
Clara was the first to find him. She had woken up to use the bathroom and noticed his door ajar. The sight of Jack lying on the floor, barely conscious, sent a chill down her spine.
"Victor!" she screamed, rushing to Jack's side.
The guard burst into the room moments later, his face darkening as he took in the scene. "What happened here?" he demanded.
"They… took everything," Jack murmured, his voice barely audible. Tears welled in Clara's eyes as she helped him sit up. Victor cursed under his breath, his fists clenching.
"This is my fault," Clara said. "I should've stayed with you."
Jack shook his head weakly. "It's not your fault… They were sent for me. This was Neville's doing. I know it."
Victor's face hardened. "That bastard won't get away with this."
But Jack didn't hear him. The pain, both physical and emotional, was too much to bear. The world around him blurred as tears streamed down his face. He cried silently, the weight of his despair crushing him.
No more. I can't take this anymore.
He cried until he didn't realize when sleep overtook him.
In the stillness of the night, the dream came again, like a haunting melody he couldn't escape. This time, it was clearer, more vivid. The faint silhouette of a woman appeared before him, her voice soft but filled with warmth.
"My son, I love you deeply, but I have to go. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."
Jack's heart ached. He tried to reach out to her, but his body felt heavy, immovable.
"I know that one day, we will meet again," she continued. "Your father, too, loves you deeply. There is a cause bigger than all of us that demands our absence from your life. I am still alive, and so is your father. He is very much around. You are not a bastard child, my son. You are loved, very much, by the both of us."
Jack's tears flowed freely as the woman's words pierced through the darkness in his heart. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"I am your mother, Lilia," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "And this message… is part of the first memory ball I left for you. It would only activate after your sixteenth birthday and in a moment of great distress. If you're hearing this, then I know you're suffering. But worry not, my son. Your moment is here. Seize it."
As her image began to fade, a rush of energy filled Jack's mind. The other two memory balls, one left by his mother and one by his father, unlocked in a flurry of jumbled information. It wasn't overwhelming but felt like a trickle of knowledge steadily integrating into his subconscious.
One memory ball promised the secrets of commerce and business, while the other carried the wisdom of martial arts, healing, and survival. Jack's head throbbed, but with it came clarity—a sense of purpose he had never felt before.
Then Jack woke, the pain in his body was still present, but his spirit felt renewed. Clara sat by his side, her face lined with worry. Gregory stood by the door, his expression unreadable.
"How are you feeling?" Clara asked softly.
Jack managed a weak smile. "Better."
But deep inside, he knew the truth. He wasn't just better. He was different.
End of Chapter 4