Chapter 1: The Journey Begins
Leon Takeba hated mirrors.
The one in his hands was small—cheap, smuggled in by Shirly—but it was enough.
Gray hair. Pale skin. Sunken eyes. A body that looked like it might break if he breathed too hard.
He clenched his jaw.
Pathetic.
“You look better today than yesterday, Young Master!” Shirly chirped.
Leon blinked. The wordbetterfelt like a lie—but he still forced a smile.
“Thanks, Shirly.”
Her hand settled over his, warm. Real.
“To celebrate,” she said brightly, “how about my special soup? My masterpiece, just for you.”
For a moment, the mirror didn’t matter.
Shirly always did that—pulled him out of it. The room. The wires. The feeling that his own body was a cage.
Someday, he’d say it out loud.
Big sister.
Not here. Not where they could hear.
Shirly’s pinky finger lifted—just slightly.
Someone was listening.
Leon’s stomach dropped.
He slid the mirror under his pillow just as—
The door slammed open.
Four doctors in white lab coats and cold expressions rushed in. Then she entered. Blonde hair in a neat bun. A purple outfit as sharp as her scowl.
“How is the boy today?” The woman coldly demanded.
Leon knew it was coming before it happened. His mother never said his name.
She never wanted him to have one.
To her, he was “the boy.”
A thing, not a person.
Shirly was the only one who broke that rule—quietly, in secret, years ago. “Your name is Leon,” she had whispered one night, as if handing him a treasure he wasn’t supposed to hold.
“The Young Master is well rested and is ready for a blood withdrawal today” Shirly replied in a cold emotionless tone. Shirly mirrored Annalise’s contempt flawlessly. Leon knew it was an act, but still his chest ached. Her eyes—cold, rehearsed—cut deeper than any needle.
Annalise nods and demands the Doctors begin.
The doctors didn’t greet him.
Didn’t look at him.
“Keep your arms still.”
Leon already was.
Cold fingers locked around his wrist. The needle slid in—
Sharp.
The bag began to fill.
Leon stared at it.
One hundred.
His heartbeat stumbled.
Two hundred.
The room dimmed, just a little.
Four hundred.
His fingers tingled. Then didn’t.
Five hundred.
The ceiling stretched, light smearing across his vision.
“Aren’t you taking a bit too much, Lady Annalise?” Shirly said, her voice flat. Bored.
Leon forced his eyes toward her.
Nothing.
No warmth. No softness.
Just that same empty, rehearsed look.
It still hurt.
“If the boy dies,” she added with a sigh, “I’ll have to clean it up.”
Silence.
Then—
“He won’t,” Annalise replied calmly.
A pause.
“Even if he does, report it immediately. We’ll be transferring the boy to a new facility later this year.”
Leon’s vision snapped—
New facility?
The words hit harder than the needle.
His pulse lurched.
Six hundred.
The room tilted.
Shirly bowed her head. “Then I will accompany him, of course. The Young Master requires consistent supervision.”
A beat.
Annalise’s lips curved—just slightly.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Leon couldn’t see Shirly’s face anymore.
Only shadows. Blurred edges.
“When the boy is moved, you’ll receive your final payment,” Annalise continued. “After that, you’ll be dismissed.”
Leon’s chest tightened.
No.
“No contact. No communication. You’ll be under a five-year NDA.”
Five—
years?
“I trust you understand the consequences.”
“Yes, Lady Annalise.”
Shirly’s voice didn’t shake.
Not even a little.
Seven hundred.
Leon tried to breathe.
The air felt… thin.
Like it wasn’t reaching far enough.
The doctor adjusted the bag.
Eight hundred.
The number stared back at him.
Too high.
Way too—
The needle slid free.
Leon didn’t feel it leave.
Leon’s vision blurred. The room tilted. His heartbeat thudded weakly in his chest as Annalise stepped closer, her shadow swallowing what little warmth remained.
“It seems the boy needs rest” Shirly mutters as if commenting on the weather. Annalise nods and tells her to keep up the good work. She glares down at Leon, who’s too afraid to match her gaze and comments that
“Your father’s inferior genes are why you have a weak heart. Everything you have, you owe to me—your food, your life, even the genes that kept you alive. Not his. Mine.”
She continues with “Your father died the day you were born, you know. If he hadn’t caused such a scene, perhaps things would have gone differently.”
And with that, Annalise leaves, followed by the Doctors. After the door to the Apartment slams shut.
Shirly waited.
She always did.
Counted the seconds after the door shut. Listened for footsteps. For voices. For anything that meant they weren’t alone yet.
Only when the silence held—
did she move.
Her hand trembled as it touched his.
“Leon…”
The name slipped out before she could stop it.
Her voice broke.
“I’m so sorry.”
She pulled him into her arms, holding him tighter than she ever dared when they might be listening.
For a moment, she just stayed there.
Breathing him in.
Like she was memorizing it.
Then—
something in her stilled.
The tremor left her hands.
When she pulled back, her eyes were different.
Clear.
Decided.
“Rest, Young Master,” she said softly, brushing his hair back into place.
The title was there again.
The mask.
But it didn’t feel the same anymore.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Not bright.
Not playful.
Certain.
“…Sleep well.”
Her fingers lingered for just a second longer—
then she stood.
“Tomorrow,” she said quietly,
“you’re leaving.”
Leon wakes up in a haze in a completely white sterile room strapped to an Operation table. He’s surrounded by men wearing all white and holding scalpels. As a scientist is about to make the first incision into his flesh, Leon wakes up in a cold sweat from his nightmare.
Leon woke to the sound of the alarm—and the weight of his own body.
Everything felt… wrong.
Heavy.
His fingers twitched.
Slow.
Unresponsive.
For a second, he didn’t remember why.
Then—
Needles.
Blood.
800
His stomach lurched.
Shirly was already moving.
The alarm cut off mid-beep. She was on her feet in an instant, like she hadn’t slept at all.
“Glad to see you awake so early, Young Master!”
Leon pushed himself up—
—and the world dropped out from under him.
His vision smeared. The walls bent, tilting sideways as if the room had forgotten which way was down.
Shirly caught him before he could hit the floor.
“Easy,” she said, softer now.
“I’m fine,” Leon muttered.
The words came out thinner than he meant them to.
He wasn’t.
She didn’t argue.
Instead, she dragged the table closer and spread the map across it.
“We don’t have much time,” she said.
Her finger tapped the paper.
“We’re here.”
Leon leaned in, forcing his eyes to focus.
The lines wouldn’t stay still.
They slid, doubled, refused to settle into anything he could follow.
“Shinjuku,” she continued. “Ten minutes to the station. From there, the Keio Line. Straight to Takaosanguchi.”
He nodded—
then paused.
The words slipped.
“Wait—say that again.”
Shirly’s gaze snapped to him—sharp, assessing.
Good.
She repeated it. Slower this time.
“Ten minutes. Keio Line. Takaosanguchi.”
Leon mouthed the words under his breath.
Again.
Again.
Like if he stopped, they’d vanish.
A yellow envelope slid into his hands.
It dragged slightly against his fingers—he almost dropped it.
It felt heavier than it should.
“Escape funds,” Shirly said.
Leon stared at it.
“…Where did you—”
“Don’t ask.”
Her tone cut the question clean in half.
Silence stretched.
Then—
“Once you reach the mountain,” she said, quieter now, “they’ll protect you.”
Leon’s grip tightened.
Will they?
His mother’s voice echoed in his head.
Inferior.
Useless.
Broken.
He swallowed hard.
“…I won’t tell them who I am.”
Shirly blinked.
Leon met her eyes.
“I won’t use his name.”
For a moment, she just looked at him.
Then—
a small smile.
“…Alright,” she said softly. “Then you’ll earn it.”
She took his hands.
Just for a second.
Warm.
Real.
“I’ve done everything I can,” she whispered. “The rest is on you.”
Leon nodded.
He didn’t trust his voice.
“I’ll distract them,” Shirly said, stepping back. “You have ten minutes.”
She hesitated.
Then—
“Be safe… Leon.”
The door closed.
And just like that, he was alone.
Leon pushed himself to his feet.
Bad idea.
His legs buckled immediately, a violent tremor running through them before he caught himself on the table.
For a second, he thought they’d give out.
Not now.
His fingers tightened against the edge, knuckles whitening as he forced himself upright.
One breath.
Then another.
“Thank you… Big Sis.”
He pulled on the hoodie, movements slow and unsteady.
Grabbed the bag.
Crossed the room.
Each step felt… off. Like his body was half a second behind his thoughts.
He reached the door.
Paused.
Then opened it.
The morning air hit him—
cold.
Sharp.
Real.
CHAPTER 1 END..
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