Serian followed Adrian as they walked through the hallways of the residence. The house was vast, far larger than the room Serian had been given, and the echoes of their footsteps seemed to stretch forever. The walls were decorated with paintings of landscapes and important figures, each one telling its own story—stories that were foreign to Serian but that he observed with an almost detached curiosity.
Adrian led him into the dining room, where a long table was set, laden with plates, utensils, and glasses. Sitting at the table were Adrian's stepfather and biological mother. They were already eating, their faces calm and composed. Adrian walked up to them, giving a brief nod of acknowledgment, before taking his seat at the opposite end of the table.
Serian hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to sit. Adrian gestured toward the seat next to him. "Sit here," he said curtly.
Serian sat down without saying a word, his hands resting lightly on the table. He glanced around at the fine China and silverware. Everything looked perfect, but he couldn't help but feel out of place. His eyes lingered on the food in front of him. It was the first time he had seen such a meal up close, and he found himself intrigued by the variety of dishes.
"Eat," Adrian's mother said softly, though her voice held no warmth. It was a simple command, one that expected no response. She continued to eat, her attention never straying from her plate.
Serian picked up the fork, holding it awkwardly in his hand, unsure of how to use it. He glanced at Adrian for guidance, but his stepbrother was already absorbed in his meal, eating with practiced ease. Serian's fingers flexed around the fork, trying to mimic the motion, but it felt unnatural.
His biological mother, who had been watching him from across the table, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Adrian's stepfather, a tall man with sharp features, continued to eat in silence, his eyes never leaving his plate.
Serian didn't mind the silence. It was almost soothing in its own way. There was no need for conversation, no expectations. Everyone ate, absorbed in their own thoughts. To Serian, it felt as though the room existed in its own bubble, separate from the world outside.
As he ate, he tried to observe the customs, the way the others held their utensils, the way they chewed and swallowed. For someone who had never needed food in any of his past lives, the experience was curious. Food had never been a necessity for him—he was a god, a watcher. But now, in this human body, it was a strange but intriguing experience. The food was fine, though he couldn't quite place the flavor. It tasted like... sustenance. Not much more.
Adrian's stepfather cleared his throat. "I heard the Guild has a new recruit. Any progress?"
Adrian glanced up, his eyes momentarily leaving his plate. "Still training," he replied. "Nothing worth mentioning." His tone was flat, disinterested, but there was an edge to it—a sharpness that made it clear he wasn't particularly fond of the conversation.
Serian's attention drifted. He could see how Adrian interacted with his parents—how they spoke, how they barely seemed to acknowledge each other's existence beyond the bare minimum.
There was no warmth in the room. No sense of family, just people fulfilling their roles. Adrian, though he was often distant, still seemed closer to them than Serian had ever been to his own parents. The original Serian's parents had never shown him care or affection. They were more concerned with their status than their son.
But here, in this house, things were different. Adrian wasn't alone. He had a family—however cold and distant they might be.
"Are you finished?" Adrian's voice broke into Serian's thoughts, and he blinked, realizing he had been staring at his plate.
Serian nodded slowly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Yes."
Adrian glanced at him before pushing his plate away. "Good. We can leave when you're ready."
Serian didn't mind. He was used to being alone, to observing from a distance. His role in this world was still unclear, but he knew one thing for sure—he wasn't going to get attached. Not to this family. Not to these people. They were all part of the world that would eventually fall, just like everything else.
The dinner ended in silence. Adrian's stepfather and mother barely exchanged words, leaving the table without a word of farewell. Serian didn't mind. He watched them leave, noting their lack of emotional connection.
Adrian stood up and walked toward the door. "Come on," he said. "Let's go. I'll show you to your room."
Serian followed quietly, leaving the dining room behind. They walked through the hallways again, this time without any distractions. The air was cool, and the house was quiet. It was only when they reached Serian's room that Adrian stopped.
"Your room's here," Adrian said. "You can sleep, read, whatever you want. Just don't cause any trouble."
Serian nodded, his eyes scanning the room. It was small, but it was his. The bed was neatly made, and a small window allowed a view of the sky. He didn't have much to his name—nothing to call his own—but he didn't mind.
Adrian hesitated before leaving. "I'm serious about the Hero Academy. Don't think it'll be easy. The world isn't kind, and neither are people."
Serian looked at him, his eyes calm. "I understand," he replied softly.
As Adrian left, Serian moved to the window. He opened it slightly, letting the cool night air flow into the room. He leaned against the frame, staring out at the starless sky. The world was so vast, so full of life, yet so fragile.
Humans would die. It was inevitable. Serian had seen it happen countless times, in worlds far beyond this one. But in this world, there were still people who clung to life, who fought to survive. The weather changed, the seasons passed, and yet, some struggled against the inevitable.
But it was strange. Even as the world moved forward, as life continued to unfold, some lived in the slums, dying in silence. The rich lived in luxury, while the poor withered away. The contrast was so stark, so... unfair.
Serian couldn't help but wonder: Why did it have to be this way? Why did some live, while others perished without a second thought? Was it just fate? Was it the way the world was meant to be?
He didn't have the answers. He never would. But as he looked out at the dark sky, he felt a strange emptiness. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, this world could be different.
But he didn't have time for such thoughts. There were more pressing matters ahead. The Hero Academy was waiting. The trials, the tests—it was just another part of the puzzle. And Serian, as always, would watch, detached and curious, as it all unfolded before him.
Adrian stood in his room, his hands busy with hanging his clothes on the rack. The sounds of water running from the bathroom were muffled by the thick walls of the house. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, a lingering feeling that wouldn't go away. His mind kept drifting back to Serian—the strange, silent boy who now occupied the same space as him.
It had been a long time since Adrian had thought about his own family. When he was five, his parents had divorced. He could still remember the cold, hollow feeling he had when his mother and father told him they were separating. At that age, he didn't fully understand why, but the hurt had still been there. His mother had remarried his current stepfather soon after, and his father, in turn, remarried Serian's mother.
But Adrian had never felt like he truly belonged to either family. His father had been distant and cold, and his stepmother even colder. He had spent more time away from home than at it, finding solace in his training, his guild, and eventually in the vast expanses of the outer districts where he could escape the family drama. After he graduated, he'd been able to live on his own, away from both parents, and he had chosen his mother's side. At least there, things were... easier.
But even though he rarely saw Serian, even though their paths had barely crossed, Adrian had always known about him. The boy had been a shadow, never truly seen or heard. The moment he'd heard that his biological father and stepmother had died in an attack, Adrian knew what was coming. He had a sinking feeling that Serian would be alone, miserable, and lost.
Adrian had found out from the neighbors about the boy living alone. No family. No support. Just Serian—silent and isolated. Adrian didn't know what to make of it. The boy had been neglected, pushed aside by the very people who should have cared for him. That was why Adrian had gone to find him, to make sure the kid wasn't left completely alone, abandoned by the world.
But even then, when he saw Serian in the empty house, the boy hadn't shed a tear. No crying, no wailing, no signs of grief at all. Serian had just stood there, looking at him with those cold, violet eyes, as if he hadn't just lost both his parents. And that's when Adrian's emotions had started to twist. He had gone there thinking he'd find a broken child—someone who needed care, someone who needed him. But instead, he'd found a child who didn't seem to need anything.
Adrian pulled the shirt over his head, his fingers absently brushing through his wet hair as he continued his thoughts. Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Maybe Serian didn't need anyone. Maybe he didn't even need me.
But that wasn't what Adrian truly wanted to believe. There was a part of him that still hoped Serian would show some kind of emotion, that the boy would at least acknowledge the tragedy, acknowledge that someone was there for him now.
It wasn't that Adrian was looking for gratitude or some kind of recognition. No. It was something deeper—something instinctive. A need to feel connected, even if it was just in the smallest way.
The crash of the shower's door opening interrupted his thoughts. Adrian sighed, walking toward the window. He glanced out at the skyline, his mind still on Serian.
Was he really just cold, indifferent? Adrian couldn't stop wondering. There was no warmth in the way Serian spoke, no trace of the usual grief or even acknowledgment of the situation. It was as if Serian had already accepted his fate long before.
He followed Adrian to his new home without question, like a puppet on strings, moving as instructed. Even in the dinner that night, when the family barely spoke, when everything was so rigid and quiet, Serian hadn't reacted. His eyes had been far away, focused on nothing—like he was looking at something unreachable, something beyond the world they lived in.
Adrian ran a hand over his face, finally pulling his thoughts together as he turned toward the mirror. He stared at his reflection, the water droplets on his face still fresh.
Maybe it's not so much about the family anymore. Maybe it's about survival.
He knew how to survive. He'd trained for it all his life. As one of the top five guild master hunters in the Third Base, survival was second nature. But Serian? Serian didn't seem to care for survival at all. There was a certain... inhumanity to the way the boy moved through life. It was like he didn't have a true attachment to the world anymore, as if everything was beneath him.
Adrian could almost see it in Serian's eyes, a look that was both distant and calculating. Was it the trauma of his parents' neglect?
Adrian had no answers. He could only watch as the boy moved silently through the house, standing by the window, watching the starless sky.
The dinner had only made Adrian more unsure. He watched Serian take in his surroundings, observing everything but reacting to nothing. It was like Serian had already moved past the point of caring. No gratitude. No anger. Just a blank expression.
"Are you going to just sit there?" Adrian had asked him during dinner, trying to break through the cold silence.
When the meal ended, Adrian hadn't pressed any further. He knew better than to push. Serian wasn't someone who could be easily reached. But that only made Adrian more confused.
Adrian shook his head, dismissing the thought. No, he's just a kid. He's just... different.
He couldn't figure it out. He didn't know what to do with Serian.
The boy was too detached. Too cold. Too indifferent.
Adrian couldn't stop himself from thinking, Why wouldn't you just cry, Serian?