Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]
Chapter 2 - 1.2 : A House Without Hugs

Chapter 2: Chapter 1.2 : A House Without Hugs

The car slowed down as they entered the private estate of the Virellano family. Beyond the ornate black-and-gold iron gates stood a grand house built on vast land. Tall pillars supported the front terrace, manicured gardens surrounded the main building, and large glass windows reflected the gloomy afternoon sky. Everything looked luxurious—and cold.

Al looked around, visibly impressed by the architecture and the layout of the estate. It wasn’t just the main house—there were several auxiliary buildings and facilities scattered throughout. One smaller building across the wide garden especially caught his attention.

Edward glanced at Al with a sharp look—like someone watching a country boy seeing a mansion for the first time. But he didn’t say a word. He simply turned away and checked his watch.

Moments later, the car came to a smooth stop in front of the main building’s grand entrance.

Without waiting, his father stepped out of the car. He stood tall, greeted by a butler who bowed deeply. Edward then looked briefly at Al, who was just stepping out.

"Go inside with Harun. Your mother is waiting," his father said curtly. "I have to head straight to the office."

He got back into the car and drove off—no hug, no smile, not even a word hinting that he looked forward to seeing his son again.

A well-dressed middle-aged man stood beside Al. He was the same man who had greeted Edward moments ago. The man gave Al a polite nod.

"Welcome to the Virellano residence, Young Master Al. My name is Harun," he said respectfully.

This was Harun, the family’s head butler. His voice was warm, yet laced with the caution of someone who had lived his life within strict boundaries and protocol.

Al nodded faintly. His eyes followed the car that carried his father away, watching until the sound of the engine faded in the distance.

He turned toward the grand entrance, following Harun. His footsteps echoed softly through the front hall of the massive house. Gleaming white marble floors reflected the warm light from a giant crystal chandelier overhead. Tall walls adorned with golden carvings towered above him, and the soft scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air, coming from porcelain vases arranged with perfect symmetry.

Al finally stood before the doorway of a house that was supposedly his home. But it didn’t feel like coming home. There was no warmth here.

This house felt like a living museum—beautiful, massive, expensive... and foreign.

Harun opened the door and motioned for Al to step inside. Once he did, the door slowly closed behind him. Now he stood on the threshold of a vast living room. His eyes immediately caught sight of a middle-aged woman standing at the center of the room, just a few meters away.

The woman was Sandra Virellano—his mother. She stood gracefully in a pastel-colored dress that elegantly draped over her slender figure. Despite her age, her face had hardly changed. Her skin was smooth, her eyes glassy—not from overwhelming emotion, but from a sudden wave of memory and guilt rising to the surface.

"My child..." she whispered, barely audible. "You... came back."

Her hand rose to cover her mouth, but she remained rooted in place. There was no rush toward him. No hug. No tears. Just... composed stillness.

Her gaze slowly moved over Al—his plain white shirt, slightly wrinkled; his simple black shorts; his clean but ordinary sneakers. A black jacket hung from his hand, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Everything about him looked... normal. Far too normal.

There were no luxury brands, no flashy labels, nothing that hinted he belonged to the Virellano family—the third richest family in Indorosia, living in a world built on prestige. His appearance wasn’t bad. But in this world, simple meant inferior.

Standing behind Sandra were three young women, their features carrying the unmistakable Virellano lineage—flawless skin, elegant posture, and beauty that radiated high-class socialite energy. They looked at Al the way one might examine an art piece that didn’t belong in their gallery.

The first girl stared directly and confidently, her face unreadable. The second seemed calm but kept a clear emotional distance. The third didn’t bother hiding her feelings. Her lips curled into a sneer, openly displaying rejection without saying a word.

Not far from them stood a young man. He wore a stylish yet casual outfit that fit him perfectly. His dark brown hair was neatly styled, his eyes deep brown. He was handsome, and his smile... a little too perfect to be genuine.

David Virellano—the boy the public believed was the family’s sole male heir. He stood casually, but his eyes told a different story. Suspicion. Rejection. Hostility. The position he had comfortably held for seventeen years was now threatened by the young man standing before him.

So... this is my home? My family? I guess it’s not that bad, Al thought to himself.

He looked around at all of them. Not one moved. No greetings, no hugs. Just stares that dissected every detail of his appearance.

Hmm, funny... or maybe I’m just overthinking it. I thought I’d be bombarded with questions. Turns out—nothing. Actually, that’s good. No need for dramatic family scenes. Hah... works for me, he thought, unfazed.

The room felt cold despite the warm lighting. The air grew dense with invisible social tension. Al inhaled deeply—not from nerves, but as if preparing himself for a new kind of challenge.

"A-a... are you... my... mother?" he finally asked, his voice low and awkward, stuttering as if unsure what to say or how to act.

Sandra remained silent for a moment. Then she took a shallow breath, composed her face, and gave a small smile—sweet, but not warm.

"Yes... I am your mother," she replied gently. She turned slightly, gesturing behind her. "And these are your sisters," she said, pointing to the three young women. Then she motioned to the young man, "This is David. He’s the one who grew up with us... the boy who was switched with you. But don’t worry, you’re both still... my children."

Al looked at her intently. He understood—even she felt awkward around him. And in truth, he didn’t know how to handle this strange tension either.

David, seeing the awkward silence stretch on, stepped forward confidently, as if to break the ice. A polite smile adorned his face, but his eyes held something else—sharp, calculating, and territorial.

He extended his hand and clasped Al’s in a seemingly warm handshake. But the grip grew tighter—subtle dominance. There was a faint tension in the handshake, like holding something unpleasant that must be tolerated for the sake of appearances.

"Your name is Al, right? I’m David," he said calmly. "I’m... the one who took your place."

Al nodded without saying a word.

David chuckled lightly, as if that was enough to assert dominance. His tone carried the subtle inflection of someone used to owning the room.

He then turned toward the three girls behind him.

"Oh right, let me introduce our sisters—the ones who happen to be home right now," he said with a smooth gesture. "These are probably the most brilliant women you’ll ever meet."

First, he pointed to the tall and graceful woman who gave a polite nod.

Aurielle Virellano, 25, wore a high-end neutral-toned business suit. Her makeup was light but flawless. Long black hair fell in elegant waves down her back. Her sharp eyes and composed expression gave off a professional, commanding presence. Beauty Level: A. Her elegance dominated the space—every feature meticulously sculpted.

"This is Aurielle, our eldest sister. She’s the family company’s CEO and Dad’s top business diplomat. Assertive, logical... and very allergic to chaos."

Next, he pointed to the second girl, who stood slightly behind, exuding a softer vibe while keeping her distance.

Sarah Virellano, 24, a well-known singer and actress from the capital. She wore a pastel flowy dress that moved gracefully with her steps. Her wavy hair framed her face, her bangs enhancing her cute and delicate image. Beauty Level: A, bordering on A+. Her beauty was soft and artistic—like a living painting.

"This is Sarah, our second sister. She’s a famous singer and actress—her voice is known internationally. She’s gentle... probably the least uptight one here. Hehe."

Then he gestured toward the third girl, who had a white lab coat draped over her shoulders and stylish oversized glasses perched on her face. She was absorbed in notifications on her advanced gadget.

Clarista Virellano, 22, a young medical researcher and biochemist. Beauty Level: A. Cold, intelligent, eccentric. Her beauty resembled a luxury lab—sterile but high-value.

"And this is Clarista, our fourth sister. A genius medical researcher who just patented a rapid-healing serum. She’s... well, more interested in molecules than people."

David gave a proud nod, then patted Al on the shoulder with a false look of sympathy.

"Unfortunately, three of our sisters couldn’t make it today," he added, casually but deliberately.

"Vianna, our third sister, is competing in an international martial arts tournament in Nipponia. Elena, the fifth sister, is in Zuriaska attending an international fashion festival. And Lysha, the sixth, is busy with university. That girl’s naive, but her mind’s always racing."

David turned back to Al with another smile—not warm, but laced with silent messaging. A map of dominance laid bare.

"Glad you’re finally here," he said softly. "Though... yeah, I’m sure it’ll take time to adjust."

But in his heart, David’s words were much sharper:

Look at you, Al. You show up in plain clothes, looking lost. This house isn’t yours. They may call you family, but I’m the one they raised. I’m the one they trust. And I’m the one they’ll keep choosing.

Suddenly, Sarah broke her silence with a sharp tone, pointing straight at Al.

"Seriously? This is the lost child everyone talked about? I thought he’d be like us—but look at him. He’s so... tacky." Her voice rang through the room, her expression hostile—a stark contrast to her sweet public image. "Sorry, but I can’t accept this. I only have one brother, and that’s David. Not this creature."

Sandra flinched, clearly shocked, but before she could speak, Aurielle turned to Sarah with a sharp glare.

"Sarah. That’s enough," she said firmly.

Sarah simply raised her brows and crossed her arms.

"What? I’m just being honest. This isn’t some TV drama where we pretend to hug strangers. He might be blood, but family isn’t just about DNA. Give him some money and cut ties. He doesn’t fit. He’ll just ruin our family’s image."

Aurielle and Sandra could only shake their heads. They knew Sarah was always blunt at home—very different from her carefully maintained public persona.

But Sarah said no more, sitting on a nearby sofa and twirling her hair. Her face showed clear discomfort with Al’s presence.

Seeing that, Al lowered his head—not out of shame, but uncertainty. A small ember of anger flickered within him, but he quickly extinguished it, too indifferent to let it grow.

Huff... This is already a mess. Am I going to get kicked out on the first day I meet them? he thought.

---

After the tension settled, Aurielle, the clear leader of the room, glanced at her expensive watch and gave her mother a small nod.

"Mom, I have a strategic meeting at four at the Indocorp Tower. The investors from Merlion are already waiting. I’m sure Al will adjust. I should go," she said calmly.

Sarah checked her phone for the first time since Al arrived. She frowned at the screen and said, "Excuse me, I need to make a call," before walking out without another glance at anyone.

Clarista calmly adjusted her bag.

"I need to head back to the lab. My lead researcher will scold me if today’s report is late." She paused briefly and gave Al a quick glance. "Well... nice meeting you, Al."

A few seconds after Clarista left the room, Sandra’s voice broke the silence—soft and uncertain.

"Forgive them, Al. Your siblings are just... very busy. The others wanted to be here too. But their schedules... I hope you understand."

Al simply nodded.

Good. This is better. The fewer people, the less drama. Let them be busy. he thought, leaning back into the sofa.

He looked over at David, who still stood by their mother.

There was something strange about him—something only Al could see.