Old Fu sat comfortably in the living room, or at least, he tried to. The warm aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of polished wood and incense that Lana often burned to freshen the home. The atmosphere was homely, welcoming—yet, there was an unshakable tension in the old physician's chest.
Lana, seated gracefully across from him, was mid-conversation, recounting a lighthearted tale about Kazel's childhood, though Old Fu only half-listened. His focus was on the surroundings, the way Noel's absence stretched a little too long for comfort, the way Lana's smile seemed just a touch too natural—as if rehearsed.
Then, Noel entered.
He walked in with measured steps, carrying a tray with an extra cup of tea. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something about the way his shoulders squared, the way his fingers curled slightly against the edges of the tray, that made Old Fu uneasy.
Noel approached with a warm smile, his voice steady. "Thank you so much, Old Fu, our child has never been better!"
Old Fu forced out a chuckle, accepting the cup with careful hands. His fingers trembled slightly as he wrapped them around the porcelain. "Y-Yes, of course. It's all due to your part as well."
Lana blinked, tilting her head in curiosity. "My part?"
"Ah, I meant… reminding him to take his medicine daily," Old Fu quickly corrected himself, his lips twitching into what he hoped was a convincing smile.
"Yes, of course," Noel agreed, lowering himself onto the seat beside Lana. He picked up his own cup, swirling the tea absentmindedly. "But he wouldn't have gotten better without your direct help."
The words hung in the air for a second longer than necessary.
Old Fu let out a dry laugh, attempting to keep the conversation light. "Hahaha… well, I only did what was needed." He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling as if the once-comfortable cushions beneath him had turned stiff.
Then, he cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, where is Kazel?"
Noel placed his cup down gently, his eyes lifting to meet Old Fu's. "Oh, he should be joining us shortly. He just finished his training."
The silence that followed felt thick, heavy.
Then—footsteps.
They were unhurried, deliberate. Each step echoed faintly, growing louder as they neared. The room felt smaller with each approaching sound.
Then, a voice—calm, casual, yet carrying an undercurrent of something unreadable—broke through the air.
"Hello there."
Kazel stepped into the room, the dim afternoon light from the window catching against his figure. He wasn't in his training robes but in something more presentable—an outfit of deep navy, accentuated by silver trims that lined the sleeves. His dark hair, damp from exertion, clung faintly to his forehead, yet his composure remained effortless.
His smirk was small, subtle—but the sharp glint in his blue eyes sent an unmistakable chill down Old Fu's spine.
For a moment, the old physician forgot to breathe.
Kazel did not merely enter the room.
Kazel didn't bother to sit down. Instead, he stepped forward with a polite smile, his posture relaxed yet poised.
"Old Fu, why don't we take a short walk in the backyard? I'd love to hear more about your expertise firsthand." His tone was light, inviting, with not a single hint of malice.
Old Fu hesitated. The tea in his hands suddenly felt heavier, the room a little warmer than before. He glanced at Noel, who simply offered a calm, unreadable smile. Lana, however, opened her mouth as if to object.
Before she could speak, Noel's hand reached under the table, his fingers pressing gently against her thigh. A small shake of his head stopped her words before they could form.
Lana swallowed, her gaze flickering between her husband and son, before finally sighing and leaning back.
Old Fu, catching the exchange, felt something unsettling in his gut. He had been invited here as a guest, but for the first time, he felt like prey stepping willingly into the hunter's den.
Still, declining would only raise suspicions.
Forcing a smile, he slowly set his teacup down, pushing himself up with deliberate slowness. "Ah… of course, young Kazel. A bit of fresh air will do these old bones some good."
Kazel nodded, gesturing toward the door. "After you."
Old Fu stepped forward, but as he passed by Kazel, he couldn't shake the feeling that with every step he took, he was walking toward something he wouldn't be able to turn back from.
The air around them shifted. The once serene backyard, with its neatly pruned trees and soft grass, now felt like a battlefield.
Kazel stood with his hands still behind his back, his gaze lazily following the drifting clouds. "Old Fu…" he mused, voice steady, almost nostalgic. "I've been visiting some interesting people lately."
Old Fu stiffened. His eyes flickered toward Kazel, his wrinkled face showing only a slight twitch of unease. "Kazel?" he asked, his tone measured, uncertain.
Kazel finally turned around, his expression warm—grateful even. "It's all thanks to you," he said with a smile. "I am truly grateful."
Old Fu hesitated. Something in his gut screamed at him, but he forced a chuckle. "I… but you're still in recovery, Kazel. Have you taken the ten pills I gave you?"
"Yes," Kazel nodded. "And they're incredible."
Relief flickered across Old Fu's face for the briefest moment. "Good. Then, here—" He tossed a small pouch forward.
Kazel caught it midair, his fingers moving with casual ease as he peeked inside. The pills were different this time—a deep, unnatural purple, the color dark and foreboding. Even through the thin silk of the pouch, they carried a faint medicinal scent, laced with something bitter... something... wrong.
He smirked.
"That's the afterpill," Old Fu explained, his voice regaining some of its usual authority. "It'll mellow the stress on your meridians. Consume it after eating."
He turned, ready to leave, but then—
"Tell me, Old Fu…"
Kazel's words froze him mid-step.
"Did Salma… is she involved?"
The old physician's breath hitched. A sudden, uncontrollable shiver ran down his spine, his skin prickling with goosebumps. His pupils shrank to tiny dots as he slowly turned back, his lips parting slightly but no words coming out.
Kazel tilted his head, watching him with the same polite smile, but something else lurked in his gaze—something Old Fu couldn't place.
"Like I said," Kazel continued, his voice dropping to something deeper, something colder. "I've been visiting interesting people."
A slow wave of pressure filled the air. It wasn't physical, yet it crushed down on Old Fu's shoulders like a massive weight.
"One of them is an alchemist," Kazel added.
The air turned suffocating.
Old Fu felt a trickle of sweat slide down his temple, his clothes clinging to his skin as the scent of fear seeped from his pores.
A flash of rage burned behind Old Fu's eyes. For a split second, his feeble frame tensed, his fingers twitching as if ready to act—
But then—
A wooden sword came crashing down.
Noel's strike was precise, swift, and merciless. The moment the wooden blade connected with the back of Old Fu's head, the air cracked with a sharp, splintering sound. The impact didn't just shatter the frail architecture of the veranda behind him—it shattered Old Fu's balance, his thoughts, his very grip on reality.
His body crumpled like a marionette with its strings severed, slumping forward as the world around him blurred into senseless shapes. His limbs felt heavy, his breath shallow, his vision flickering like a dying candle.
From the fragments of his fading consciousness, he saw a figure approaching—Kazel.
There was no rush in his steps, no aggression in his movements. Just the slow, deliberate approach of a hunter closing in on his prey.
Old Fu tried to move, tried to speak, but his body betrayed him.
Then, suddenly—he was lifted.
Like a kitten seized by the scruff of its neck, his weightless body dangled in the air, held up by a grip as unyielding as iron.
His blurry vision adjusted just enough to make out Noel's face.
A hateful glare bore down on him, eyes burning with the fury of a man who had once been fooled—who had once trusted.
The last thing Old Fu saw before his consciousness slipped was the undeniable wrath of a father.