Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]
Chapter 6 - 1.6 : The Small Building and The Big Beginning

Chapter 6: Chapter 1.6 : The Small Building and The Big Beginning

They walked down the side corridor of the estate toward the dimming garden. At the end of a narrow stone path, a small structure came into view, faintly illuminated by the rising moonlight. Moss crept along its walls, and the wooden window frames were rotting. Overgrown grass curled around its foundation, and an old garden lamp flickered weakly, barely clinging to life.

Al followed behind Harun in silence, footsteps echoing faintly along the corridor. The distant sound of the other servants faded, leaving only stillness.

He closed his eyes for a moment. A flicker of memory surfaced—

a cramped orphanage with a leaky roof, spoiled rice, children’s laughter echoing through dusty halls, and the promise of a kind old woman he once loved:

"You’ll find your home someday..."

Now, he was here.

But to him, this place already felt colder than that orphanage.

When they arrived, Harun stood before the old door and pulled out a slightly rusted iron key. A heavy click echoed as he turned it in the lock.

"This is it," he said, without any preamble, and slowly pushed the door open. He stepped inside and turned on a dim light.

The room was dark, thick with dust and cobwebs. The floorboards creaked underfoot. The air smelled of damp wood mixed with the faded sting of old mothballs. Broken crates and discarded planks littered the corners. It looked more like an abandoned shed than a former cat house.

Al stepped in, paused, then turned toward Harun.

"This is better than I expected. I’d like to clean it myself. Where are the cleaning tools?"

Harun didn’t respond immediately. He simply gazed at Al calmly, his eyes subtly distant despite the polite smile on his lips. He knew that, between the two of them, he should be the one cleaning this room. But hearing Al volunteer felt like a relief—not out of laziness, but because he still hadn’t grown comfortable with Al’s presence in this household.

How could a street kid like Al ever become his master?

"They’re in the storage room behind the kitchen, near the service staircase. The staff knows the place," Harun finally replied.

"All right. Thank you," Al said briefly.

Harun nodded.

"I apologize," he added softly, "Normally, I prepare everything for the young masters... but since you expressed a desire to clean it yourself, I assumed you wished to begin building independence."

His words sounded professional, but there was a subtle note of reluctance beneath them—not rude, but unmistakable.

Al merely nodded.

"No problem. Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t be too comfortable taking orders from me anyway. I understand."

Harun’s eyes widened slightly.

He knows?

This kid... he’s sharper than I thought.

Is he going to confront me about it? The thought sent a flicker of panic through him.

Al, seeing Harun’s stunned silence, smiled lightly and gave his shoulder a casual pat.

"Relax. I’m not the kind to make a fuss over something this small."

Harun exhaled quietly. Maybe there wouldn’t be a problem after all.

But then...

"However..." Al continued, his tone casual but edged with steel. "You’d better decide soon who your master is."

Harun froze, eyes wide. A cold sweat broke on his skin. He didn’t fully understand what the boy meant.

"You may go," Al added, breaking Harun’s stunned silence.

Harun snapped out of it, stumbled slightly, then bowed politely.

"Th-Then I’ll excuse myself. If you need anything, just call a servant. But... male servants only."

Al blinked at that, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Even while panicking, he still had time to slip that in.

Letting that rumor fester will only hurt my image here, he sighed inwardly.

Once Harun was gone, Al lingered at the doorway for a moment before fully stepping into the dim room. Dust floated in the air, stirred by the evening breeze seeping through a cracked window. Inside, he could feel the faint pulse of an energy he had sensed earlier in the day—subtle, ancient... and unmistakably abnormal.

He muttered softly to himself,

"A small, dusty house... and something’s here."

His eyes narrowed—not in fear, but curiosity.

Stepping slowly toward a corner of the room, his mind began mapping out a plan—how to deal with the strange things in this house, how to decipher the mystery behind that aura... and eventually, how to uncover the truth behind David and the dark magic that clung to him.

Once he was sure Harun was long gone and no footsteps echoed nearby, Al gently closed the old door behind him. The creak of the hinges was the only sound, and silence soon returned.

He stood in the center of the room. Moonlight spilled through the window, merging with the soft glow of the lamp, casting floating dust particles into sharp relief. The magical energy in the room now pulsed more clearly.

Al closed his eyes. Slowly, he knelt and placed one palm against the cool, slightly damp wooden floor.

This resonance... it’s not wild aura. Not a disturbance. It’s something embedded—deep.

He could feel it faintly coursing from beneath the earth.

It was old. Buried. Stable. Like something slumbering beneath the ground—not a living being, but perhaps an artifact. Something left behind by a previous generation... or maybe someone from this household had intentionally placed it here.

Al opened his eyes slowly. His gaze was calm, but focused.

"I don’t know how important this thing is..." he murmured. "But for now, I’ll leave it be. Stirring this place up while I’m being watched would be a pain."

He looked toward the window. Outside, faint silhouettes—dark shadows—stood around the estate, all facing one direction:

This place.

He scanned the room.

"This space is wide enough—two or three people could fit comfortably," he muttered. "But... it’s not enough for the dozens of eyes trying to pierce into it."

Al smiled faintly and brought his hands together. A subtle pulse of magical energy shimmered around him, flowing to his palms. He interlaced his fingers and whispered:

Skill: Illusion Barrier

Fwussshhh!

A wave of arcane energy swept outward, enveloping the small building. It was a light illusion barrier—undetectable by most, enough to distort the perception of anyone watching from afar.

But not from up close.

Luckily, no one would dare get that close.

"And now, the finishing touch," Al said calmly.

With one smooth motion, he raised his right hand. The air grew a little colder, a soft breeze sweeping gently through the room. A silvery white light began to glow in his palm—subtle, not blinding, but enough to softly illuminate the space. With a lazy flick of his wrist—

CLEAN!

A quiet swirl of cleansing magic burst forth from his body, sweeping through the entire room in a single pulse. Dust lifted, cobwebs vanished, and the dull wood gained a faint sheen. The damp air turned crisp, replaced by the fresh scent of mountain air at dawn.

No need for mops and brooms. Magic was far more efficient.

The floor now sparkled. A large fur rug lay neatly in the center—likely once used to keep David’s childhood cat warm. No bed. No pillow. Just one soft spot on the floor.

Al turned off the light, set his backpack down at the edge of the room, and settled onto the rug. He took a deep breath and slowly lay down, resting one arm under his head.

The tall window, curtainless, allowed the moonlight to pour freely inside. The night outside was dark—but peaceful.

He gazed at the light streaming through the rusted bars.

"So... this is what they call home and family," he muttered, his voice flat but tinged with quiet irony.

He didn’t feel warmth. Didn’t feel wanted.

But still—this was his home. His origin.

And deep within, he knew...

This was the beginning of something big.

He didn’t know what yet,

but he was sure of one thing—

This wasn’t the end. It had just begun.

Slowly, his eyes drifted shut.

---

Meanwhile, in David’s room...

Far from the evening’s lingering tension and the now-quiet dining hall, David’s private room stood in chilling silence. Located on the second floor of the eastern wing of the Virellano main house, the room was vast, but held a cold, unwelcoming aura—like something unseen lurked beneath the surface.

The walls were draped in dark blue fabric with gold trimming, lending an air of restrained luxury. A crystal chandelier flickered faintly above, offering barely enough light to fill the space. The only true illumination came from a single candle, glowing quietly atop a black lacquered table in the corner.

At the center of the room, David sat motionless in an obsidian leather chair. His nightwear—black silk with silver trim—looked more like a military uniform than sleepwear.

His eyes were sharp, controlled.

He stared toward a shadowy corner of the room, one untouched by light—where a man stood silently.

Dressed in the formal uniform of a Virellano servant—black coat, white gloves—he might have looked ordinary, if not for the fact that his face remained completely hidden in shadow. As if he weren’t part of this world at all, but a shade that consumed both light and sound.

The antique clock ticked slowly, creating a tense rhythm in the silence.

David crossed his legs and spoke—calm, yet commanding. The voice of a young noble, not just another teenager.

"What do you think of that man?"

The shadow gave no answer.

David looked toward the heavy velvet curtain covering the window.

"He’s no ordinary orphan. Too quiet. Too composed. His eyes... they hold something. Like he’s waiting."

He turned his gaze back to the shadow, his eyes colder now.

"I don’t like things I can’t predict."

Then, in a low, steel-edged voice:

"Watch him. Find his weakness.

If necessary... eliminate him."

The shadow nodded once—barely visible. Silent and lethal, like a being from another realm.

David rose from his chair. His posture was straight, movements fluid but resolute. He stepped to the window, pulling back a sliver of curtain to peer toward the small building in the garden—Al’s new residence.

"He’s sleeping there tonight.

The place I once shared with my cat... before it died, years ago," he whispered. A trace of sentiment, perhaps, but none in his eyes.

"Sleep well tonight, my misplaced brother..." A faint smile curled on his lips.

"Because tomorrow... you’ll begin to disappear.

Slowly.

Silently.

Like a shadow when the sun dies."

He let the curtain fall shut.

When he turned, the shadow was gone—vanished as if it had never existed.

David didn’t flinch.

He simply smiled again.

This time, thinner.

Colder.

"Let the game begin."

---