After returning to his room, Prim didn't sleep immediately.
Instead, he sat at his desk and opened another book.
Then another.
And another.
The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated the room as page after page turned.
For most people, studying was a task.
For Prim, it had become a habit.
A compulsion.
A fun time.
His brain could not tolerate mistakes
Could not tolerate failure.
Could not tolerate being anything less than perfect.
Years of pressure had carved those thoughts into his bones.
So he studied.
Languages.
Mathematics.
History.
Music theory.
Advanced programming.
Anything that could improve him.
Anything that could make him better.
He was still not exhausted he had to force himself to sleep , it was already three in the morning.
At eight o'clock, Prim woke up.
Five hours of sleep.
More than enough.
He cleaned the apartment.
Swept the floor
Prepared the living room.
Organized the kitchen.
By the time his mother woke up, everything was spotless.
She prepared breakfast while Prim set the table.
The two ate quietly.
Prim ate while answering questions.
His mother treated every meal like an examination.
"What chapter did you finish yesterday?"
"How many new vocabulary words did you memorize?"
"What rank are you aiming for in the next competition?"
The questions came endlessly.
And Prim answered them one by one.
If he hesitated too long, his mother's expression darkened.
If she became dissatisfied, the amount of food on his plate mysteriously decreased.
A punishment he had experienced countless times growing up.
Then suddenly
Her phone rang.
His mother frowned.
She glanced at the screen.
"Mom?"
She answered immediately.
The irritation in her voice vanished within seconds.
Her expression changed.
Shock.
"What?"
Prim looked up.
"What do you mean Dad is in the hospital?"
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"What happened?"
"What kind of thug would break into a old house to steal things?"
Her voice rose in disbelief.
Prim was already standing before she finished speaking.
His heart sank.
Grandpa.
Something had happened to Grandpa.
Without a word, he rushed toward the door.
His mother rolled her eyes.
As if realizing she would have to go too.
After a moment of hesitation, she returned to her room to retrieve her car keys.
Meanwhile, Prim quickly cleaned the table.
Placed the dishes in the sink.
Wiped everything down.
Only then did he leave.
The drive to the hospital felt endless.
Neither spoke.
When they finally arrived, they immediately found Prim's grandmother waiting outside the ward.
Her eyes were red.
His uncle stood nearby looking annoyed.
"What happened?"
Prim asked.
"Your grandfather fainted."his mother said
Prim's chest tightened.
According to her, several thieves had broken into the old house during the night.
Most of the valuables had already been moved years ago.
There wasn't much left to steal.
But the sudden intrusion had frightened his grandfather.
Combined with his already fragile health, the shock had triggered a relapse.
He had collapsed shortly afterward.
The doctors managed to stabilize him.
But the treatment wasn't cheap.
Very expensive.
Painfully expensive.
Years of savings disappeared overnight.
Money his grandfather had secretly been saving for Prim's was used as neither his wife nor kids wanted to pay.
Just like that.
A doctor soon arrived holding a medical report.
"The patient's condition is stable for now."
"But his immune system has deteriorated significantly."
The doctor pointed toward several treatment options.
"He requires a new medication regimen."
"In addition, I strongly recommend a healthcare assistance robot."
The doctor continued professionally.
"It will monitor his vital signs twenty-four hours a day."
"Administer medication on schedule."
"Alert emergency services if anything goes wrong."
"It can significantly reduce future complications."
The technology was advanced.
Expensive.
But effective.
The doctor finished explaining and waited.
Prim's grandmother immediately frowned.
His uncle's expression became ugly.
"A robot?"
"What nonsense."
"You people are just trying to squeeze money out of patients."
His uncle snorted.
"The hospital already charged enough."
"Now you're trying to sell machines too?"
His grandmother nodded in agreement.
"Exactly."
"Everything costs money."
"You're treating patients like walking wallets."
The doctor's expression remained professional.
Clearly, he had heard similar complaints before.
Meanwhile, Prim stood silently beside the bed.
The hospital room felt colder than before.
Prim's mother stood with her arms crossed, listening as Uncle Edward Varel and his wife Brigid argued with the doctors.
His grandmother sat stiffly nearby, her face tight with frustration.
The atmosphere was heavy.
Prim didn't stay long.
The moment he confirmed his grandfather was stable, he quietly left the room.
He walked down the corridor and entered the doctor's office.
The doctor looked up and immediately sighed when he saw him.
Not annoyance—fatigue.
He had already repeated everything to the family multiple times.
But when he saw Prim, his expression softened slightly.
This was the boy who had been handling everything.
The boy paying the bills.
The boy holding everything together.
"Your grandfather's condition is stable for now," the doctor said gently.
Then he pulled out the report again.
"But the full treatment plan is expensive."
He pointed at the breakdown.
"Eighteen million zen total."
Prim stayed quiet, listening carefully.
"The robot system is ten million."
"It includes monitoring, medication administration, exercise assistance, dietary regulation, and minor emergency surgical support."
"The medication package is three million."
"It can last up to a year."
"And the optional advanced care upgrade is five million."
The doctor looked at him directly.
"You don't need the upgrade. Thirteen million alone will stabilize him long-term."
Prim blinked slowly.
"So… I only need thirteen million zen?"
The doctor nodded.
"Yes."
Then his phone rang.
He excused himself politely and stepped outside.
The moment he saw the caller ID, his expression changed slightly.
"Uncle Drew?"
His voice softened instantly.
"I was actually going to call you…"
His tone carried pitiful.
"Didn't you say I should call you when I'm in trouble?"
There was a short pause on the other end.
Then Drew's uncle laughed warmly.
"Of course I said that."
"Come meet me. I'll send you the location."
The call ended before Prim could ask anything else.
Later that evening.
Prim stood in front of a building that did not match the word "meeting."
It was a luxury underground club.
Dim lighting.
Expensive architecture.
Security that scanned him before allowing entry.
They stared at him the moment he walked in too handsome.
Prim ignored the looks and walked deeper inside.
It took him ten minutes to find the private booth.
And when he did
Drew's uncle was already there.
Laughing with friends.
Like nothing in the world could touch him.
When he noticed Prim, his smile widened.
"Ah, there he is."
He wrapped an arm around Prim's shoulder casually.
"This is him."
His friends looked Prim up and down.
"Pretty boy," one of them chuckled.
"Still a student?"
Another whistled lightly.
He smiled and leaned closer to Drew's uncle and leaned in.
Then whispered.
"Sending people to my grandparents' house… to scare them into making me ask you for help."
His voice was soft.
Almost polite.
"Did your nephew know about the recording?"
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Drew's uncle froze.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
His smile returned quickly—but it was forced now.
Prim looked up at him innocently.
Drew's uncle slowly stood up.
"Let's talk outside," he said smoothly.
Prim nodded.
And followed him without hesitation.
"What are you talking about?" Drew's uncle said sharply, trying to regain control of his voice. "That's ridiculous."
Prim didn't answer immediately.
He simply lifted his phone.
And played the recording the recording of them talking about prime music script how they would deal with it how Kai stole it and other stuff.
Private conversations.
The kind spoken when people believe they are untouchable.
The uncle's expression darkened instantly.
"…Where did you get that?" he demanded.
Prim leaned casually against the wall, calm as ever.
"Did your nephew know you were recording conversations," Prim asked calmly, "so you could threaten him later?"
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"And still call it family?"
The uncle let out a short, forced laugh.
"So what? A few recordings mean nothing. I can say they're fake. Edited. You think anyone will believe you over me?"
Prim's smile didn't change.
Drew's uncle laughed, trying to sound unbothered.
Prim smiled without answering. He tapped the screen and played a new clip: Drew's uncle arranging payments, coercing people, making them owe him, and sleeping around.
There was footage of him pimping people out—even scenes with the wife of Prim's former boss. Drew's uncle went ashen, like he might faint.
"If I post this and Sweet Boss sees it, do you think he'll kill you?" Prim asked, voice low and steady. "Especially after he finds out the real thief is Drew—that you used him to deal with Sweet Boss, pushed him into debt, and slept with the woman whose children he raised but never acknowledged?"
Prim's angelic smile was gone; his eyes were cold and amused. "Oh, and I have your tax evasion, and records of the officers you pay. If I spread those, won't they come for you?"
Drew's uncle sank to his knees.
Drew's uncle's legs nearly gave out.
"Please," he said quickly, voice cracking. "I have a family… this is mostly Drew's fault, go to him—"
Prim tilted his head slightly, almost disappointed.
"Silly man," he said softly. "Why would I do that?"
"I don't care about the music script. That's just one thing."
He stepped closer.
"One thing you stole. Another thing you lied about. Another thing you tried to use to hurt me."
His smile stayed gentle.
But his eyes didn't.
"You even tried to harm my grandfather."
That line made the air change.
"So let's make a deal."
He lifted his phone slightly, showing the files again.
"Money makes the world go round."
"For stealing my identity as the ghost songwriter."
"For my songs."
"For emotional damage."
"For trying to touch my family."
"For my transport."
"For keeping me quiet about what I know."
"For deleting these videos."
"And for staying away from me."
He paused.
Then said, almost casually:
"Twenty-five million zen."
The uncle's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Prim tapped his index finger lightly against the uncle's forehead once.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind him he was there.
"I want it now."
A pause.
"I don't care if you sell everything you own."
His smile returned.
Still soft.
Still polite.
But completely empty of warmth.
"You have five minutes."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Every minute you waste… I post something."
The uncle swallowed hard, sweat forming instantly on his face.
Prim stepped back.
Hands in his pockets now.
Relaxed.
Like he was waiting for a bus.
Not deciding someone's financial collapse.
The silence between them stretched.
And for the first time—
Drew's uncle understood something very clearly:
This wasn't negotiation.
It was sentencing.
The man felt like vomiting blood. And true to what Prim had said, every minute he posted the damaging content, he was forced to take out another loan—28 million, then 3 million extra each time—just to pay Prim to delete the information.
After collecting the money, Prim savagely beat him as punishment for trying to harm his grandfather.
Before leaving, he tossed the man's phone onto the floor. The phone contained only the evidence against Drew's uncle.
When Drew's uncle dragged himself back, determined to take revenge, he ordered his men to investigate Prim.
They couldn't find anything. In fact, they ended up getting harmed themselves.
The only lead they uncovered was that Prim was a student at Number One Elite High School—the school whose name was synonymous with Crownside High School, one of the top elite schools in the world.
It was a school where only those worth millions to billions in
CU dollars could attend.
Drew's uncle nearly peed himself.
No wonder Prim didn't care about the music script. He was rich. He'd actually wanted to harm someone like that. Every trace of revenge evaporated. Him being alive was a miracle.
So Prim's father must be that rich—and backing him up even the releam studio owner had to lave way for attending such school
But what Drew's uncle didn't know was this: yes, Prim's dad was rich, but not that rich.
And they weren't even in contact. Prim's mother's insane obsession with making him excel in everything had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
She'd managed to get him accepted into the school that didn't allow scholarship students.
The school had covered his background so no one would discover he was a scholarship student—or poor.
They even funded him, backing him so no one can investigate or know his background
All thoughts of revenge vanished from Drew's uncle's mind.
He no longer cared that he was drowning in debt.
He didn't care that he had borrowed money everywhere just to pay Prim.
Compared to what he had just learned, money was nothing.
Number One Elite High School.
Did people know what that name meant?
The tuition alone cost twelve million CU dollars per semester and that depends on which grade you are the higher the grade the higher the school fees.
And that was only the tuition.
There were uniforms.
Vaccination fees.
Dormitory fees for students who wanted a place to rest during holidays.
Boarding fees for those who lived on campus.
Activity fees.
Monthly fees.
Yearly fees.
Weekly expenses.
Everything was charged in CU dollars.
CU dollars!
The more Drew's uncle calculated, the paler his face became.
In the end, he spat out a mouthful of blood and fainted on the spot.
His friends noticed he never returned to the club and eventually found him unconscious. They rushed him to the hospital.
Meanwhile, the culprit responsible for all of this had already returned home cheerfully.
When Drew's uncle opened his eyes again, his wife and children were gathered around his hospital bed.
Ignoring their worried expressions, he immediately sat up and grabbed his phone.
The first person he called was the Boss.
At that moment, the Boss was in a miserable state.
After several rounds of bargaining, he had finally reached an agreement with Songwriter Dragon
.
The compensation had been reduced from eight million zen to seven million zen.
The three and a half million zen he received from selling twenty-five percent of his company to Drew's uncle had already been paid as the first installment.
He still owed another three and a half million.
To gather more money, he had emptied his savings, sold his car, and even sold his wife's jewelry.
In the end, he only managed to gather another two million zen.
His wife had been so furious that she kicked him out of the house.
Now he was sitting alone in the office.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to vomit blood.
Three and a half million zen sounded like a lot.
But in reality, it was only one hundred and seventy-five thousand CU dollars.
He had sold twenty-five percent of his company for that amount.
The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became.
What if everything had been planned by Drew's uncle from the beginning?
Why was he the only one suffering?
His eyes darkened.
Prim.
That little bastard was dead.
Just as he was thinking about how to deal with Prim, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller ID, his expression became even uglier.
He answered immediately.
"What do you want now?" the Boss asked coldly.
On the other end, Drew's uncle spoke without hesitation.
"Stop."
"Stop any thoughts of attacking Prim."
The Boss laughed in anger.
"What do you mean stop?"
"You want me to suffer all these losses and do nothing?"
"Are you kidding me?"
His eyes were practically spitting fire.
A few seconds of silence followed.
Then Drew's uncle spoke in a cold voice.
"If you think you can survive offending a student from Number One Elite High School..."
He paused.
His voice still carried traces of fear.
"Then go ahead."
"Good luck."