Morning crept in like an uninvited guest.
A thin sliver of light pushed its way through the crack beneath the door, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air. Kael's eyes opened slowly. He hadn't slept much—again. His body ached. His neck felt like it had been twisted into a knot. But it was nothing new.
He sat up, rubbed the crust from his eyes, and reached for the small plastic basin at the corner of his room. The water was cold—ice cold. But Kael didn't flinch as he splashed it onto his face. He welcomed the jolt. It was the only thing that kept him awake lately.
His roommates were already gone, probably off to their part-time jobs or early lectures. One had left a pile of laundry in the corner. The other, a half-eaten cup of noodles with flies buzzing around it. The room smelled like sweat, instant coffee, and resignation.
Kael didn't complain. He couldn't afford to.
He brushed his teeth using bottled water, put on his cleanest dirty shirt, and folded his tattered uniform neatly into his delivery bag. He wouldn't need it until noon. Mornings were for school. Afternoons were for deliveries. Evenings were for cram work or night shifts if he was lucky enough to be called in.
His stomach growled, reminding him he had skipped dinner. Again.
---
Downstairs, the landlady sat in her usual spot by the broken gate, half-asleep and fanning herself with an old magazine.
"Kael," she croaked, her voice as dry as her lungs. "Rent's due tomorrow."
"I know, Auntie Tess. I'm picking up extra shifts today," Kael replied with a respectful bow of his head.
"You always say that."
"I always mean it."
She waved him off with a grunt, not unkindly. She was harsh, but she liked Kael. Everyone did, really. Even if they didn't understand why he worked himself to the bone, why he barely smiled, why he rarely joined them for dinner or drinks.
He was polite. Quiet. Mysterious.
But not even his landlady knew the truth of who he was, or what he once had.
---
The campus was already alive with the hum of students when Kael arrived. He slipped through the crowd like a ghost, head down, ears open. Conversations floated around him.
"Did you hear? Professor Laurenz is retiring next month."
"Ugh, group project again? I swear if Carl doesn't do his part—"
"Midterm grades are posted. I failed again…"
Kael walked into the business building, his folder tucked under one arm, and headed for his favorite spot: the back corner of the third-floor library. There, surrounded by the scent of dusty books and peeling leather chairs, he could breathe.
He wasn't just a deliveryman here.
Here, he was Kael, the top student in Strategic Business Analysis.
---
"You again."
Kael looked up to see Mia, the girl who messaged him last night, standing with two cups of coffee. Her ponytail was messy, but she still somehow looked like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.
"I brought you this," she said, offering the smaller cup. "No offense, but you looked half-dead last night."
Kael blinked. "Thanks. You didn't have to."
"I wanted to. You always help me with my case studies."
He accepted it and took a sip. It was hot. Strong. A luxury.
Mia dropped her bag and sat across from him, frowning a little.
"You're always tired, you never hang out, and you always disappear after class. You live in a boarding house, don't you?" she asked.
Kael hesitated. "Yeah."
"Alone?"
"Roommates."
"Do you… need help?" she asked carefully.
Kael's jaw clenched. He looked at her, saw the concern in her eyes, and felt the urge to lie.
But he didn't.
"I'm okay," he said, gently but firmly. "I appreciate it. Really."
Mia stared at him for a moment, as if trying to see past his calm exterior. Then she nodded and changed the subject.
"I submitted the outline you helped me with. Prof emailed me this morning. He said it was the best strategic breakdown he'd read in five years."
Kael allowed himself a small smile. "That's good."
"You should be in consulting already. You're better than half the graduating class."
Kael didn't reply. Because once, long ago, he'd been told he'd inherit an empire.
Now he was just trying to earn enough to afford lunch.
---
That afternoon, Kael was back on his bike, pedaling hard across the city.
His boss had doubled the delivery quota, and the kitchen was understaffed again. Kael didn't complain. He took three jobs in a row, riding from midtown to uptown, to an industrial complex across the river.
The last delivery was to a private clinic in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away behind stone walls and pine trees. Kael parked outside and walked in, greeted by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the distant beep of heart monitors.
As he waited in the lobby, his eyes drifted to the television hanging on the wall.
A news report was playing: *"The Virelles Conglomerate continues to dominate the Asian market as shareholders speculate on the company's next chairman after Alexander Virelles' death three years ago..."*
Kael froze.
His hand tightened around the plastic bag. The screen showed a clip of the old man—the same man Kael once called Father—smiling coldly at a press conference.
The report continued:
> "Many believe that the next in line is Elias Virelles, the late chairman's nephew, who has been acting CEO since the incident. However, some speculate the existence of a hidden heir, possibly disinherited after a family scandal ten years ago…"
Kael's jaw locked.
He turned away just as the receptionist called his name.
---
Night fell hard. A thunderstorm rolled in, soaking the streets and flooding the gutters.
Kael stood under a bus stop shelter, his hoodie drenched and his bag soaked. He had just finished his final delivery when his phone rang. It was an unknown number.
He almost didn't answer. But something made him pick up.
"Hello?"
There was silence on the line for a moment. Then a voice spoke.
"You don't know me, but I knew your father."
Kael's heart stopped.
"I need to meet you. Tonight. Come to the old botanical garden near your university. Midnight."
The line went dead.
Kael stared at the screen, rain pounding on the pavement around him.
A storm had truly begun.
And the forgotten heir… was about to be remembered.