After dinner, Arman, Reza, and Fikri prepared to leave the VIP room. Calmly, they directed Laigt, Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni to stand and walk out as if nothing had happened. Their steps were orderly, calm, unhurried, yet cautious.

  Laigt walked in the middle, his face cheerful, still brimming with joy after the sumptuous dinner and laughter with his new friends. The four children followed behind, a little awkward but trying to appear relaxed.

  On the other hand, Arman felt sharp gazes boring into his back.

  He knew.

  Without needing to turn, his elite bodyguard instinct read the situation:

  Helena Mortis, Darian Karsen, and Arvando Reiss were watching their every move.

  Arman moved closer to Reza and Fikri and whispered softly, barely moving his lips.

  “Relax. Don’t look away. Don’t react.”

  Reza nodded slightly.

  “Ready, Uncle.”

  Fikri leaned in slightly.

  “They’re probing for our response.”

  Arman stepped first, positioning himself at the front of the group, while Reza and Fikri guarded Laigt's left and right sides. The security formation immediately formed, naturally, neatly, and almost invisible to the naked eye.

  "Let them see," Arman whispered.

  "Let's show them we're not afraid."

  They continued down the long corridor of the restaurant, the children's footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. The waiters bowed as Laigt passed, but the atmosphere felt cold, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

  From behind the tinted glass of the main VIP room, the gazes of three predators locked on the small group.

  Helena narrowed her eyes.

  Darian straightened his back.

  Arvando smiled faintly, a smile devoid of any warmth.

  Arman felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  He muttered to himself:

  You're measuring our steps... and I'm reading your intentions.

  As the restaurant's main door opened, the night air immediately hit their faces. The city lights shimmered, reflecting off the black car parked neatly out front.

  “Get in, Young Master,” Arman said softly.

  Laigt nodded and climbed into the car, followed by his four friends. Reza opened the back door, while Fikri stood guard around the vehicle, ensuring the area was secure.

  Just before getting in, Arman glanced briefly toward the second-floor VIP window.

  There, he caught the silhouette of three figures standing.

  Staring.

  Observing.

  Calculating.

  Arman closed the car door slowly, then stepped into the front seat.

  “Let’s go,” he said curtly.

  The engine revved smoothly. The vehicle slowly moved away from the restaurant, carrying the children away from the place where the conspiracy had just been born.

  But Arman knew…

  The danger had only just begun.

  And from that night on, Laigt’s every step would be under the shadow of an invisible war.

  The ride home was warm and calm. In the car, Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni burst into laughter occasionally, talking about toys at the mall, delicious food, and the luxurious rooms they imagined they would live in.

  Laigt sat in the middle, occasionally joining in the laughter, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

  In the front seat, Arman drove calmly, but his mind remained alert. Reza sat beside him, while Fikri watched in the rearview mirror, making sure no suspicious vehicles were following.

  Suddenly, Arman's phone vibrated.

  A name appeared on the screen:

  Mr. Van Arzello Anim.

  Arman immediately picked it up.

  "Yes, sir."

  Van's voice was calm, yet firm.

  "How is Laigt?"

  Arman glanced in the rearview mirror, taking in his young master's cheerful face.

  "Young master is fine, sir. He's on his way home now."

  "Where are you having dinner?" Van asked.

  "At the main restaurant, sir."

  There was a split second of silence.

  "The surveillance area report states that Darian Karsen, Helena Mortis, and Arvando Reiss are in the same location," Van said flatly.

  Arman took a deep breath.

  "Yes, sir. They're in the main VIP room."

  “The situation?”

  “Still under control. No direct contact.”

  Van was silent for a moment.

  “Is Laigt aware of their presence?”

  “No, sir. We’re keeping things normal.”

  Van sighed softly.

  “Okay. Don’t let the child see the dark side of this world too soon.”

  Arman nodded, though Van couldn’t see him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Van continued in a deeper voice, full of confidence and power.

  “Arman… as long as I live, none of them will be able to touch Laigt.”

  That tone wasn’t just a promise.

  It was a declaration of war.

  “They may plot, build conspiracies, and play dirty tricks… but I knew them long before they knew power.”

  Arman smiled faintly.

  “And they know that, sir.”

  Van was silent for a moment, then said calmly,

  “It may just be a coincidence that they were there. However, coincidences like this rarely happen without a reason.”

  “Still, as long as the three of them are alive,” Van continued coldly,

  “no

  "No one can harm my son."

  Arman clenched his fists on the steering wheel.

  "Yes, sir. I'll make sure of that."

  "Good. Take care of them all."

  "Always, sir."

  The call ended.

  Arman sighed softly.

  He glanced back at the back seat.

  Laigt chuckled as Beni joked about his overly full stomach.

  That innocent face made Arman's chest feel warm… and tight at the same time.

  In his heart, he muttered:

  This world is too cruel for you, Young Master…

  But as long as we stand around you, no darkness will dare approach.

  The car continued to drive through the night.

  And far behind, unbeknownst to them, the shadows of war began to slowly move.

  As they arrived at the gate of the Van Arzelo Anim family home, the automatic gate slowly opened with a gentle engine sound. The garden lights lit up brightly, stretching for nearly two hundred meters to the main building. The driveway looked like a corridor of light, flanked by a neat garden, tall trees, and gracefully standing artistic stone statues. From a distance, the mansion towered majestically, exuding a luxury that would instantly silence anyone.

  As soon as they stepped inside, the four children—Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni—were immediately transfixed. Their eyes widened, and their steps slowed, as if afraid to spoil the extraordinary view. In front of them. On the left, a row of luxury cars lined up neatly: gleaming sports sedans, premium SUVs, and several meticulously maintained classics. The reflection of the headlights made the vehicles' bodies sparkle like jewels in the night.

  "Crazy..." Karel muttered quietly, unconsciously.

  "Is this really a house, not a five-star hotel?" Dimas whispered, swallowing hard.

  Beni remained silent, his eyes busy scanning every corner, afraid to miss a single detail.

  Raka, usually the most composed, fell silent as well. His chest felt tight with awe. He admitted, he had never seen such luxury in person before. It all felt like a dream.

  On the right side of the road, a giant swimming pool stretched, its crystal-clear blue water reflecting the garden lights. A small fountain in the center of the pool danced slowly, creating a soothing gurgling sound. Not far away were a modern gazebo, a vast green lawn, and several additional buildings that looked like private facilities: a gym, a playground, and a guest pavilion.

  "This is a sultan's house..." Beni said softly.

  "Yeah... no wonder Laigt's life is different," Dimas replied, still in awe.

  Meanwhile, Laigt walked leisurely ahead, as if all this was just ordinary to him. Arman watched the four children's reactions with a faint smile. He let them enjoy this moment of awe, knowing this first impression would be etched in their minds for a long time.

  The car stopped right in front of the main door. The grand, modern-classical building stood proudly, with tall pillars and large doors paneled in expensive wood. Crystal chandeliers glistened from behind the tall glass, hinting at the opulence within far surpassing that which appeared outside.

  The four children glanced at each other, then back at the mansion. In their hearts, one thought occurred to them:

  Laigt's world was no ordinary one. And from this day forward, their lives would never be the same again.

  As the car stopped in front of the main entrance, the large doors of the Van Arzello Anim family home slowly opened. Warm light from within poured out, welcoming them like a gentle embrace in the middle of the night.

  Rows of servants stood neatly on either side, dressed in elegant cream and black uniforms. In their midst stood a middle-aged man with a straight posture and a calm expression, the main butler, known to the staff as Mr. Mahendra.

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  "Welcome, Young Master," Mahendra said with a respectful bow.

  The other servants bowed in unison.

  Laigt smiled slightly and nodded politely.

  Meanwhile, Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni froze in their seats. The place. Their eyes were fixed on the view inside the house. The gleaming white marble floor reflected the light of a giant crystal chandelier hanging majestically from the high ceiling. The ornately carved walls blended with classic and modern paintings, creating an elegant yet warm atmosphere.

  “Oh my gosh…” Dimas whispered, barely audible.

  In the distance, the sound of small, running footsteps could be heard.

  “Meow!”

  A fluffy orange cat darted out from behind the hallway, leaped toward Laigt, and climbed onto his shoulder. Laigt chuckled as he hugged the cat’s warm body.

  “Sambo! Did you miss me?” he said cheerfully.

  The orange cat meowed loudly, rubbing its head against Laigt’s cheek.

  The four children looked at each other, then smiled broadly.

  “So cute…” Beni said.

  “This is the happiest cat I’ve ever seen,” Raka added.

  The tense atmosphere that had been hanging over the entire trip instantly dissolved.

  Mahendra stepped forward.

  “Please, Young Master

  The bathroom and clothes were ready.

  The maids immediately escorted the five children to their private bathroom area. The spacious hallways, with plush carpets, expensive paintings, and soft lighting, made them feel like they were walking through a palace.

  Their private bathroom was beyond imagination.

  The large, oval-shaped bathtub, warm water flowing gently, and the scent of lavender filled the air. Thick, fluffy white towels were neatly folded, and premium toiletries lined the glass shelves.

  The maids helped them bathe with care and tenderness.

  Raka closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the water on his skin.

  Dimas chuckled as the soap suds tickled his neck.

  Karel glanced around repeatedly, in disbelief.

  Beni stared at his reflection in the large mirror, as if trying to make sure this wasn't a dream.

  After their baths, they dressed in new pajamas made of soft, clean, and fragrant fabric. Their hair was dried with warm towels, making their little bodies feel light and comfortable.

  In the living room, Laigt was sitting on the plush sofa, hugging Sambo. Warm milk and a small snack were placed in front of him.

  As the four children exited, Laigt waved cheerfully.

  “Hey, come here! Let’s sit together!”

  They sat together, sipping warm drinks, under the crystal chandelier that cast a golden glow in every corner of the room.

  Within their hearts, a shared feeling slowly grew:

  For the first time, they felt truly accepted.

  And in that magnificent home, it wasn’t the luxury that captivated them most…

  but a warmth they’d never felt before.

  The night wore on. Upstairs, Laigt, Raka, Dimas, Karel, and Beni were asleep in their respective rooms, deep in sleep after a long and surprising day.

  Downstairs, the atmosphere was quite different.

  In the private meeting room, dim lights illuminated a large wooden table. There, Arman, Reza, Fikri, and Mahendra, the main butler, sat facing each other. Their expressions were serious, tense, and wary.

  Mahendra spoke first.

  “Before we get into anything else,” he said calmly but sharply, “I want to know one thing. How could the Young Master suddenly have four friends at once? And… why did you bring them home?”

  Reza and Fikri exchanged a glance, then turned to Arman.

  Arman sighed softly.

  “It wasn’t a plan, Mahendra. It all happened spontaneously.”

  He then recounted the events from the beginning—about the small fight at school, Laigt’s courage in challenging the four children, and the young master’s innocent confession that he just wanted to be friends.

  “The Young Master deliberately sacrificed himself to gain friends,” Arman said quietly. “He knew the risks. But he went ahead anyway.”

  Mahendra fell silent.

  His brow furrowed, but beneath it, there was deep admiration.

  “That child…” he murmured. “He truly inherited the Old Master’s heart.”

  Reza added, “And those four children… although they seem wild, they aren’t evil. They’re just children who grew up in a harsh environment.”

  Fikri nodded. “They were surprised when kindness was shown. I could see it in their eyes.”

  Mahendra leaned back slowly.

  “Okay. That explains why the Young Master brought them all this way.”

  But suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed.

  Fikri took a deep breath.

  “There’s something far more important.”

  All eyes immediately focused on him.

  “At the restaurant,” Fikri continued, his voice lowering, “we saw them.”

  Arman straightened his back.

  “Darian Karsen. Helena Mortis. And Arvando Reiss.”

  Mahendra froze.

  For a moment, the room was silent. Even the ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual.

  “Are you sure?” Mahendra asked slowly.

  “There’s no mistake,” Fikri replied firmly. “They were sitting at the same table. With their respective families.”

  Reza continued, “And their gazes… were not ordinary gazes. They were the gazes of people planning their next move.”

  Mahendra closed his eyes for a moment.

  “So it’s true… the axis of darkness is complete.”

  Arman clenched his fists on the table.

  “They weren’t just watching. They were observing. Calculating. Reading our movements.”

  Fikri nodded. “And what’s most worrying… their children are there too. Rezan Karsen and Ares Mortis.”

  Mahendra opened his eyes.

  “The children are involved…”

  He took a deep breath.

  “This means their game will be even dirtier. They won’t hesitate to drag the world of children into political gain.”

  Reza looked at Arman. “The most dangerous thing is… the presence of those four children by the Young Master’s side. They could be used as a loophole.”

  The room fell silent again.

  Tension hung thick in the air.

  Mahendra finally spoke softly, “The Young Master must know.”

  “He already knows,” Arman replied. “He monitors the restaurant through the surveillance system.”

  Mahendra fell silent, then nodded slightly.

  “Then, we all understand what this means.”

  Arman stood slowly.

  “Starting tonight, the Young Master’s security is being raised one level. There must be no gaps, no matter how small.”

  Reza and Fikri said in unison.

  He nodded.

  “Ready.”

  Mahendra intertwined his fingers.

  “And those four children…”

  “We’ll take care of them too,” Arman interrupted firmly. “They’re now part of the Young Master’s circle of protection.”

  Mahendra nodded slowly.

  Outside the window, the night was calm.

  But inside the room, they all knew…

  a major storm was gathering.

  And its main target was one:

  Laigt Arzello Anim.

  After the heated conversation slowly subsided, Reza stood up and reached into his pants pocket.

  “I’m out of cigarettes. I’ll go to the shop in front for a moment.”

  Fikri immediately raised his hand. “You can buy mine too.”

  Mahendra chimed in. “Get me some too.”

  Arman glanced over, then said curtly, “I’ll get mine too. Let’s do it together.”

  Reza snorted. “Four packs. Ready.”

  He picked up the small car keys lying on the table and walked out without another word. The door closed slowly, leaving Arman, Fikri, and Mahendra in the meeting room.

  A few seconds after Reza left, the side door opened. Mahendra's wife walked in calmly, followed by two waiters pushing a trolley filled with a pot of hot coffee, porcelain cups, and various warm pastries. The aroma of premium coffee immediately wafted through the air, dispelling any lingering tension.

  "Please," she said softly, placing the cups in front of them. Then she sat down beside Mahendra.

  Mahendra glanced over. "Thank you."

  The waiters slowly withdrew, leaving them in a calmer, yet still thoughtful, atmosphere.

  Fikri took a sip of his coffee and then looked at Arman. "Even though the atmosphere seems peaceful, I still have an uneasy feeling."

  Arman leaned back in his chair. "Their stares at the restaurant earlier were too cold to be a coincidence."

  Mahendra took a deep breath. "Helena, Darian, and Arvando. When those three are together, something big is usually going to happen."

  His wife chimed in, her voice soft but sharp, “The look in their eyes at the young master… it wasn’t an ordinary look. It was the gaze of a predator.”

  The room fell silent again.

  Arman stared at the table, his jaw clenched. “As long as we’re alive, none of them will touch the young master.”

  Fikri nodded firmly. “Our lives are at stake.”

  Mahendra clenched his fists. “If they start moving, we won’t stay still.”

  Outside, the night was deepening. And in the distance, Reza still hadn’t returned—carrying cigarettes, and unknowingly walking toward something that would change the course of the story.

  On the other side, Reza had just stepped out of the small shop across from the Van Arzello Anim family home. In his hand, four packs of cigarettes were already clutched neatly. The night was calm, too calm—until his decades-honed fighting instincts suddenly tensed.

  CRASH!!!

  A loud bang shattered the silence. The small car he had parked at the side of the road had been brutally struck from the side by a black car without a license plate. The impact was so strong that Reza's car bounced off a utility pole, and his alarm blared loudly through the night.

  People nearby screamed in panic.

  Reza reflexively dropped his cigarette and reached for the folding gun he always kept at his waist. Before he could move, two masked figures darted from behind.

  CRASH!

  The first knife aimed for his stomach. Reza parried it with his left arm, but the sharp blade only cut his skin. Blood immediately flowed. Without hesitation, he retaliated with a powerful kick to the chest, sending the man flying against the drink rack.

  Before he could catch his breath, the second attacker came from the side, swinging the knife at his neck. Reza ducked, twisted, and slammed his elbow into his opponent's jaw. A bone-cracking sound was heard. But the opponent didn't fall—instead, he stabbed back.

  THUD!

  The knife sank into Reza's shoulder.

  He grunted in pain and then repeatedly slammed his fist into his opponent's face, tearing his mask and spraying blood from his nose and mouth. Reza pulled the knife from his own shoulder and threw it at the first attacker.

  THUMP!

  The knife plunged into his thigh. A shrill scream pierced the air.

  But they weren't done yet.

  From outside the shop, two other men entered, throwing glass bottles. Shelves toppled. Display cases shattered. Drinks and food scattered across the floor. The small shop became a narrow battlefield filled with blood and broken glass.

  Reza swung around wildly. He punched, kicked, and threw. One opponent fell to the ground, motionless after his head was smashed against a metal shelf. Another was thrown against a refrigerator.

  But the sheer number and relentless assault overwhelmed him.

  THUD! THUD!

  Two stabs in quick succession lodged in his side and back.

  Blood poured out, soaking the tiled floor.

  Reza's breathing became labored. His vision blurred. But his eyes remained sharp, filled with rage.

  With his remaining strength, he lunged at the last man, striking him in the throat, causing him to choke and fall to the ground. Reza stood unsteadily amidst the rubble of the shop, his chest heaving violently.

  But outside, the motor The car roared.

  The attackers who were still able to move dragged their companions, then jumped into the wrecked black car in front. The tires screeched loudly, leaving the smell of burning rubber and a trail of blood on the asphalt.

  Reza tried to catch up.

  One step.

  Two steps.

  Then his knees buckled.

  The constant flow of blood was rapidly draining his strength. His hands trembled, his vision blurred.

  He fell to his knees.

  Then he fell hard to the ground.

  The cigarettes he had bought lay scattered beside him, mixed with blood.

  His breath was labored, his chest felt tight. He had only one thought in his head:

  "Young master... must be safe..."

  His eyes slowly closed, as the car alarm sirens and the screams of the villagers faded into his ears.

  That night, unbeknownst to anyone inside the mansion, a shadow war had truly begun.

  From inside the Van Arzello Anim family mansion, the silence of the night was suddenly shattered by the sound of a car siren wailing wildly, followed by the faint but distinct sound of a distant boom.

  Arman, Fikri, and Mahendra stopped simultaneously.

  There was no signal.

  No order.

  Not a single word was spoken.

  But the natural instincts of these elite bodyguards, trained for decades, immediately ignited like a tiger scenting blood.

  Arman ran out first, his steps quick and light despite his large frame. His eyes scanned the dark night, sharp, focused, and alert.

  "Reza…" he muttered softly.

  Fikri had already dashed toward the motorcycle garage. His hands trembled not from fear, but from a sense of foreboding pressing against his chest. He revved his motorcycle engine with a single rev.

  BRRRMMM!

  Mahendra, the butler and former special forces officer, immediately gave a brief command to several trained staff.

  "Two of you, follow me. The rest have the house keys. Make sure the young master is safe."

  Without asking, they took off.

  Arman and Fikri shot off on their motorcycles like lightning through the night, tires screeching around sharp turns, headlights illuminating the empty road that seemed to grow ever longer. Behind him, Mahendra's car followed at high speed, cutting through the night air.

  ________________________________________

  Upon arriving at the scene, Fikri's heart seemed to stop.

  Reza lay amidst the rubble of the shop, his body covered in blood, his breathing shallow. Around him, shattered glass, toppled shelves, and bloodstains formed the traces of a brutal battle.

  "REZA!"

  Fikri jumped off his motorcycle and ran to his friend. His hands trembled as he pressed against the wound on Reza's stomach, trying to stem the flow of blood.

  Arman stood frozen for a split second, his eyes fixed on the black car speeding away.

  The look in his eyes changed.

  Cold.

  Deadly.

  "Grab him, Fikri."

  Without waiting for an answer, Arman jumped onto his motorcycle. The engine roared ferociously.

  BRRRRAAAMMM!

  In an instant, he sped after the black car, his body leaning forward, his neck muscles tensing, his gaze locked on his target like a predator hunting its prey.

  ________________________________________

  Meanwhile, Fikri knelt beside Reza.

  “Reza, open your eyes! Listen to me!” His voice trembled, his hand pressing firmly against the laceration.

  Reza coughed softly. Blood leaked from the corner of his lips. But slowly, his eyes opened, staring at Fikri with a gaze that was still sharp, even though his body was dying.

  “Fi… the key… to the house…” he whispered weakly.

  Fikri held his breath, suppressing the tremors in his chest.

  “Shut up. You have to live. The young master needs you.”

  The corner of Reza’s lips twitched slightly, almost smiling.

  “If… I die… take care of him… better… than me…”

  “DON’T talk nonsense!” Fikri snapped, almost desperate. “You will live. Do you hear me?! You will live!”

  Reza moved his fingers, gripping Fikri’s arm weakly.

  “They… are trained… not ordinary thugs…” he whispered. “This… is a message… for Van…”

  Fikri nodded quickly.

  “I know. I know. You focus on surviving.”

  The sound of an ambulance siren began to sound in the distance.

  A few seconds later, Mahendra's car came to a sudden halt. Mahendra jumped out, his expression changing when he saw Reza's condition.

  "Oh God..."

  Wasting no time, Mahendra and two staff members immediately lifted Reza onto a makeshift stretcher, stopped the bleeding, applied a pressure bandage, and administered emergency oxygen.

  Amidst the commotion, Fikri stared at Arman's motorcycle, which had disappeared at the end of the road.

  Deep in his heart, he knew one thing:

  Tonight, blood had been spilled.

  And a shadow war could no longer be avoided.

  Without warning.

  Without discussion.

  Without a single word spoken.

  As soon as Reza's body was lifted and placed in the car, Mahendra immediately gave a curt signal.

  "Hospital. Now."

  The car's engine roared, the tires screeched loudly, and the vehicle sped through the night, tearing through the empty streets at near-insane speed. The siren wailed, piercing the silence of the city, as if to echo the panic they felt.

  Inside the car, Reza lay weak, his breathing rising and falling erratically. Blood still seeped through the makeshift bandages. Mahen Dra sat beside him, pressing both hands to the wound, her eyes never leaving the face of her friend whom she considered a brother.

  "Hang in there, Reza... you can't go tonight..."

  ________________________________________

  Fikri glanced at the emergency ambulance before running to another car. His hands trembled as he started the engine.

  But he didn't follow to the hospital.

  He swerved and turned sharply, chasing Arman's direction.

  In his chest, anger and anxiety tangled together.

  "Hang in there, Reza..." he muttered. "And you, Arman... don't be reckless..."

  The car's headlights pierced the darkness of the night, cutting through the thin fog, chasing shadows that were either still there or had already disappeared.

  ________________________________________

  Meanwhile, Mahendra returned to the ruined shop.

  Broken lamps littered the floor. Shelves were toppled. Shards of glass reflected the red and blue light of the still-waving siren.

  Mahendra stood amid the wreckage, took a deep breath, and then activated all his professional instincts.

  “All traces speak for themselves,” he muttered softly.

  He examined every corner. Tracing shoe prints. Picking up pieces of plastic from the car bumper. Marking bloodstains that weren’t Reza’s.

  His eyes then fell to the corner of the ceiling.

  CCTV.

  Mahendra immediately pulled up a stool, climbed in, and opened the camera panel. His hands moved quickly, practiced. Cables were unwound, and the storage module was carefully removed.

  He stared at the small screen, still lit, replaying the horrific moments:

  The crash.

  The sudden attack.

  Two masked figures.

  The glint of a knife.

  Blood spurted.

  His jaw clenched.

  “Planned… and neat,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a robbery. It was a message.”

  He tucked the recording device into his jacket pocket and stared out of the shop, toward the street where the attackers’ car had disappeared.

  “Whoever you are…” he whispered coldly,

  “…you’ve just touched the wrong family.”

  ________________________________________

  In the night sky, clouds slowly moved, obscuring the moon.

  Beneath the darkness, a great conflict was brewing.

  And without their knowledge,

  tonight had become the starting point of a shadow war.