"Did the kid rob a bank?" His grandpa asked
Prim laughed.
"I don't know."
"But there were only thirty people."
"He bought food for everyone."
"Super rich."
His grandfather shook his head.
"Rich kids nowadays."
"They spend money like water."
Prim opened the containers one by one.
Mango sticky rice.
Honey-glazed pork belly.
Fried boneless chicken with three different sauces.
And a large melon soda float.
The aroma immediately filled the room.
His grandfather looked away.
"Eat quickly before your grandmother comes."
Prim paused.
The old man looked completely serious.
"If she sees it, she'll steal half."
Prim burst out laughing knowing his grandma would take it for her son
"And if your mother sees it?"
His grandfather added.
"She'll lecture you for three hours about unhealthy food."
"Then she'll confiscate the rest."
Prim laughed even harder.
His grandfather pointed at the food.
"Now hurry up."
"This old bag of bones doesn't need that much nutrition."
Prim's smile disappeared.
"Grandpa."
The old man instantly felt danger.
"You're making me sad."
His grandfather rolled his eyes.
"There you go again."
Prim looked genuinely offended.
"I specifically brought this back to share with you."
"And now you're acting like an outsider."
"Do you know how heartbroken I am right now?"
His grandfather laughed.
"You dramatic brat."
"No."
Prim stood up.
"Don't try to escape."
He picked up several plates from the kitchen.
"You need nutrients more than I do."
"I'm young."
"You're old."
"And you're sick."
"So stop arguing."
The old man opened his mouth.
Prim pointed at him immediately.
"No."
"I don't accept objections."
His grandfather stared at him.
Then suddenly laughed.
"Look at this kid."
Prim ignored him and began dividing the food equally onto two plates.
His grandfather watched quietly
.
The smile never left his face.
For a moment, neither of them mentioned work.
Or money.
The small dining table felt warm.
Comfortable.
Peaceful.
Just a grandfather and grandson sharing lunch together while the world continued spinning outside.
"Though this food is expensive, the portions are really huge."
Grandpa smiled as he looked at the containers filled with food.
Prim nodded while serving more food onto his grandfather's plate.
The two of them began eating.
A moment later, Prim leaned back in his chair and let out a satisfied groan voice seductive.
"This is good."
His eyes practically sparkled.
Grandpa burst out laughing.
Seeing Prim enjoy the food so much made the meal feel even better.
The scene felt natural.
Comfortable.
Warm.
Anytime Prim smiled, the small mole beneath his eye became even more noticeable, making him look almost angelic.
Grandpa shook his head.
"Back in my day, I used to cook meals like this all the time."
His chest puffed out proudly.
"People practically lined up outside my house just to eat my food."
Prim raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
"Of course."
Grandpa looked offended that his skills were being questioned.
"I only stopped cooking because of your grandmother."
Prim blinked.
"What does Grandma have to do with it?"
Grandpa sighed dramatically.
"I tasted her cooking."
"And I lost all hope in food."
Prim nearly choked.
He quickly grabbed his drink and covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing too loudly.
"Wow."
"So Grandma upgraded from witch to demon?"
"A demon in the kitchen."
Grandpa nodded seriously.
"I'm completely serious."
"And somehow you inherited her cooking skills."
Prim looked betrayed.
"Grandpa."
"What?"
"That's rude."
Grandpa snorted.
"The only person willing to take care of this old man can't cook."
"Your grandmother is even worse Where is she now?"
"At your uncle's house."
"Acting like a servant for her son and his family."
His expression darkened.
"As for my son..."
"He acts like I don't exist.
Prim quietly continued eating.
Grandpa's voice grew heavier.
"And your mother..."
"She spends all her time trying to control your life."
"Always wanting you to become someone who brings praise her praise not caring about your mental health."
"Always pressuring you."
"Always following after men with money."
"Trying to maintain that rich lifestyle she wanted after your dad left."
His chopsticks paused.
"And those relatives..."
"They only remember family when money is involved."
"When there is no money, suddenly nobody exists."
The old man's eyes lowered.
"If not for you working so hard to pay my hospital bills and medication while everyone else thinks I'm pretending to be sick..."
His voice trailed off.
"If not for you, I would've—"
"Grandpa."
Prim cut him off immediately.
The old man looked up.
Prim pointed his chopsticks at him.
"Enough."
"You think being sentimental will make me forget you haven't taken your medicine yet?"
Grandpa's lips twitched.
The emotional atmosphere instantly shattered.
"You really are no fun."
"Eat your food."
Prim pushed more meat onto his grandfather's plate.
"This old bone needs protein."
Grandpa immediately brightened.
"Now you're talking."
He quickly stole a large piece of pork belly before Prim could take it.
Prim stared.
"Grandpa."
"What?"
"You stole my meat."
"It was unattended."
"That's robbery."
"It was self-defense."
Prim looked speechless.
Grandpa laughed loudly.
The two of them continued eating while fighting over the best pieces of meat.
One old.
One young
Arguing over food like children.
For a brief moment, all the troubles outside seemed far away.
And the small house was filled only with laughter.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in a private dining room, a table overflowing with expensive dishes sat between Drew and his uncle
The atmosphere was cheerful.
At least for them.
Drew swirled the wine in his glass before grinning.
"Uncle, I'm officially working with Releam Studio now."
His voice was filled with pride.
"I sold two songs and finalized the deal."
"Tomorrow, I'm meeting one of the big shots personally."
"If he likes the lyrics I'm bringing, my future is set."
Drew leaned back comfortably.
"Oh, right."
"I transferred five million Zen to your account."
His uncle had just taken a sip of wine.
Pfft!
The drink sprayed straight out of his mouth.
"Five million Zen?"
His eyes widened.
"Are you serious?"
He immediately checked his account.
The moment he saw the balance, his eyes practically glowed.
Drew chuckled.
"Of course."
"You're my uncle."
"I sold the two songs for thirteen million Zen."
"You know I have to maintain my image now.
"So I kept seven million for myself and sent five million to you."
His uncle waved his hand.
"I don't mind."
"Not at all."
In fact, he looked delighted.
"The truth is, I used that opportunity to buy another twenty-five percent share of the company you used to work for."
Drew raised an eyebrow.
His uncle smiled proudly.
"I now own seventy-five percent of it."
"Don't underestimate that company."
"It earns around ten million Zen every year I can use it to build your reputation."
"Clear any bad rumors."
"Create influence for you."
"And with your new connections, the business might grow even larger."
Drew's eyes lit up.
"You're right, Uncle."
Inside, however, Drew sneered.
The truth was that he hadn't earned thirteen million Zen.
He had earned eighteen million.
But there was no way he was telling his uncle that.
His uncle was already greedy enough.
Giving him five million was more than sufficient.
Besides, he still needed the old man's connections.
There was no reason to reveal everything.
Drew took another sip of wine.
"So...How did things go with Prim?"
At the mention of the name, his uncle laughed.
"That idiot?He practically scared himself."
"A few words from Prim and your former boss nearly wet himself."
Drew frowned.
"What do you mean?"
His uncle shrugged.
"The boss was useless but I handled everything."His expression darkened slightly.
"Although...it seems Prim already suspects something."
Drew nearly dropped his glass.
"What?"
His uncle waved his hand dismissively.
"Relax."
"He hasn't connected all the dots yet."
"But he's smart enough to know something is wrong."
Drew's face paled.
"The hell?"
"That's even worse."
"What if he figures everything out?"
"What if he has proof?"
"What if he kept a backup?"
"What if he has some hidden move waiting for me?"
Drew's voice became increasingly anxious.
"If he exposes me after I start becoming famous, I'm screwed."
His uncle burst out laughing.
"You really are still a child."
Drew looked annoyed.
His uncle continued calmly.
"Think about it."
"You've already signed with Releam Studio."
"Your reputation matters to them now."
"Even if Prim somehow proves you stole the songs, what happens?"
"The studio protects you."
"They invested in you."
"They won't let some nobody ruin their image."
His uncle took a sip of wine.
"And from what I've heard, the young owner is a notorious playboy."
"The type who protects his people."
"The type who crushes problems before they become problems."
"If Prim causes trouble, they'll deal with him."
Drew slowly relaxed.
His uncle smiled.
"So why are you worried?"
"You should be happy."
"This means Prim still has value."
Drew blinked.
"Value?"
"Of course."
His uncle leaned forward.
"That kid is stupidly kind."
"He forgives easily."
"He believes people are good."
"He thinks the world is sunshine and rainbows."
The old man laughed.
"Use that."
"Play the victim."
"Act pitiful."
"Offer him a deal."
"He doesn't understand the true value of those songs anyway."
"Convince him he's helping you."
"Convince him you're in trouble."
"Then squeeze whatever value he still has left."
His eyes gleamed with greed.
"A fool like Prim is useful precisely because he doesn't know his own worth."
Drew slowly smiled.
The anxiety on his face disappeared
.
Replaced by confidence.
Perhaps his uncle was right.
After all...
What could a poor scholarship student possibly do against someone who now had money, connections, and the backing of Releam Studio?
Neither of them noticed the irony.
The people who looked the most confident were usually the ones standing closest to the cliff.
"Indeed, Uncle, you are so wise. I'm scaring myself silly. Prim is just a boy I can use to death," Drew said.
"If that still doesn't work, deal with him. Get rid of him. Give him problem after problem until he can't even think," his uncle replied.
They drank and laughed together, acting as if the world belonged to them.
Meanwhile, Prim walked home. He lived in a modest apartment nestled in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood.
Just rows of neat simple classy buildings that had seen better days.
Carrying his backpack Prim climbed the stairs toward his family's apartment.
When he unlocked his front door and stepped inside, he froze.
His mother and a strange man were on the couch, half-naked.
The most sickening part was that the man looked almost exactly like his father.
His mother was at it again—bringing home one-night stands who shared his father's face, all while dating entirely different, wealthy men.
She refused to marry any of those rich men simply because they didn't resemble the husband who had abandoned her to marry someone richer but sleep with the broke bastard that resemble him.
Right in front of Prim, his mother pulled the man back down on top of her
His mother's expression turned cold.
"You came home early."she snapped, not even bothering to cover herself
Her sharp eyes swept over him.
"Weren't you supposed to be at the library?"
"Why aren't you studying?"
"Have you finished this month's textbooks?"
"What about the new academic competition I selected for you?"
"And your piano lessons?"
"Your language classes?"
"Your fencing training?"
"You know perfectly well that grades alone aren't enough."
The barrage of questions came one after another.
Prim listened quietly.
To outsiders, it sounded like concern.
Like a mother worrying about her son's future.
Only Prim knew the truth.
The barrage of questions wasn't an attempt to change the subject, nor did she actually care about his well-being.
To her, Prim was simply a golden goose. He was the ultimate weapon to make his father regret abandoning her, to flash in front of their relatives as proof of her success, and to make other families burn with envy.
Academically, Prim was flawless. He lived in a perpetual cycle of studying, competing, and winning The boy who always ranked first.
The boy who won every competition.
The boy who earned scholarshipsWho spoke several languages. .
It didn't stop at academics; he played multiple instruments, painted, sang, practiced archery, fenced, and mastered coding and design and so on .
He collected elite talents and awards like trophies the way ordinary people collected photographs.
He didn't do any of it out of passion. He did it because his mother demanded it—having starved him, beaten him to the brink of death, and ruthlessly punished him for anything less than absolute perfection.
Because of her brutal conditioning, he was the flawless, gentle golden boy holding a full scholarship to the city's top elite private high school
Failure had never been an option.
Not when she had spent years shaping him into the person she wanted.
"The library closed early."
Prim smiled gently.
"So I spent the remaining time studying languages."
His mother nodded.
Satisfied.
"Good."
"Then stop standing around."
"I already prepared your study schedule for tonight."
"Go to your room.
Prim obediently nodded.
"Yes, Mom."
He bowed politely toward Man
The man had remained silent throughout the entire exchange.
His expression was strange.
Almost shocked.
As if he had just realized something.
Prim turned and began walking toward his room.
"Wait."
The man suddenly spoke.
His eyes followed Prim's retreating figure.
"Your son is ridiculously handsome halmost looks if he was one I would have....."
"Get out."
The temperature in the room dropped instantly.
The man froze.
Prim's mother stared at him coldly.
"My son isn't someone you get to talk about."
The man frowned.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"I'm already naked! I wasted my transport money to get here! So what if I talk to your kid? He's just the son of a whore anyway!"
A venomous sneer twisted his mother's face.
A sudden, violent urge to stab the man flashed through her; he was disgusting, behaving exactly like her ex-husband.
Prim, beat him up," she commanded coldly. "Don't leave any visible marks. I don't want anyone knowing you resort to violence which is bad for your image."
Prim paused at his bedroom door.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
His smile never disappeared.
The same warm smile.
The same gentle eyes.
The same harmless appearance.
The man burst out laughing mocking prim.
The next second
A fist slammed into his stomach.
The laughter vanished.
A brutal, precise fist buried itself deep into the man's stomach.
The stranger doubled over, coughing a spray of blood onto the floor. Prim pivoted on his heel, effortlessly dodging the splatter without breaking his stance.
The man collapsed to the carpet, clutching his abdomen, his mind reeling—he hadn't even seen the boy move.
Prim crouched beside him.
Still smiling.
Still looking polite.
Still looking like the perfect honor student.
"Please stop coughing blood on the floor."
His voice remained gentle.
"It makes cleaning harder."
The man stared at him in horror.
Prim tilted his head.
"Do you need water?"
"Or help getting dressed?"
The smile on his face remained bright.
"If you're finished, please hurry Otherwise I'll have to hit you again and trust me I would like to I hate your face."
The man mmediately stopped speaking.
He scrambled to collect his clothes.
His hands trembled so badly he could barely dress himself.
Several minutes later, he finally stumbled toward the door.
Prim even helped him stand.
Then politely escorted him to the elevator.
Like a considerate host seeing off a guest.
When the elevator doors finally closed, Prim returned to the apartment.
He picked up a mop.
Cleaned the blood.
Disposed of the tissues.
Wiped the floor.
And only after everything looked spotless did he return to his room.
As if nothing had happened.
As if he were still the perfect son everyone admired know one knows he learned martial art and still learning his mom learned elite sin know how to fight so prim must know how to.