The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 41: Loving Parents

"Good to see you’re not hiding behind that silly disguise anymore." His father’s voice was calm. Conversational, even. But each word landed with the weight of a boulder dropped from a height.

"I saw no need for it." Shiro kept his tone easy. Calm, too calm. "I only used it to blend in. Get close enough."

"Close enough to do what?" his father asked, voice dripping with interest. The way a predator watches its prey, not because it’s hungry, but because it’s entertained.

A smile crept across Shiro’s face. Small at first. Then it widened, slow, deliberate—until it became something that didn’t belong on a human face.

"Isn’t it obvious?"

Then the smile vanished. Just gone. Like it had never been there. What replaced it was darker. Colder.

His expression flattening into something that took every ounce of restraint he had to keep the fire burning beneath it from spilling out.

"To kill you. Of course."

The room filled with laughter. Both of them. His father’s—deep, rolling, the kind that shook the air. His mother’s—lighter, almost musical, like she’d just heard the funniest joke a child had ever told.

It died down slowly. Like embers cooling. And when his father spoke again, the amusement was still there. But underneath it was curiosity. And it was sharper than before.

"Before I ask you anything else, who are you, boy? I don’t recognize your face. And that scent, the little mana your body carries, it’s nothing I’ve encountered before."

"I’m a follower of the Old Man of the Mountain." His voice came out steady. Practiced. Like he’d rehearsed this in front of a mirror—which he did in his head over and over, but his father didn’t need to know that. "Disciple of Hassan-i-Sabbah. Member of the House of Assassins."

His father went silent. Almost shocked.

"Never heard of them."

"Of course you haven’t." The corner of his mouth twitched. "We’re assassins. The greatest to ever exist. If you’d heard of us, we wouldn’t be very good at our job."

Another silence. Longer this time.

His father leaned forward. Shiro still couldn’t see his face, just the silhouette. The outline of a man who could end him with a thought, leaning closer like he’d found something interesting at the bottom of a river.

"Oh." The word came out slow. Intrigued. But underneath it was suspicion, coiled and waiting. "So tell me—how did you get here? And why did you attack my people?"

He sighed. Long. Tired. The kind of sigh that said ’are we still doing this?’

"I wanted to come here, but how I actually got here—honestly, I have no idea." He shrugged like it was someone else’s problem. "I was attacked by a group of monsters. Next thing I knew, I washed up on your island." He gestured to Ari with his chin. "That’s when I found her. Or she found me. Either way, I think she’s the reason I’m still breathing."

"For months I’d been searching for this place. Because Rei—"

The air died.

Every trace of warmth, the flowers, the trickling water, the gentle breeze that had no business existing inside a building. Snuffed out like a candle pinched between two fingers.

The cold that replaced it wasn’t natural. It pressed against his chest. Squeezed his lungs. His knees wanted to buckle. His body screamed at him to stop talking.

But he forced himself to keep going.

"Rei and my father were rivals. They conquered lands together. Fought side by side. And Rei was the first person my father ever lost to." A pause. Just enough to let that land. "I grew up on those stories. Every one of them. And I made a decision—if I could face Rei, test myself against the one man who brought my father to his knees—I’d finally know what I was worth."

He let his gaze drop.

"But he wasn’t here."

Silence.

"Then a masked man appeared before me one night. Told me Rei was gone. Betrayed." He let the word hang. "By his captains. By his own father."

"So you thought you’d charge in and avenge a dead man you never met?" His mother’s voice drifted out like silk over a blade. Amused. Warm. The way you’d laugh at a puppy chasing its own tail.

He shrugged. "Yes. I guess I just wanted to kill a few people. Test out my strength." Flat. Unapologetic. Like admitting to murder was the same as admitting to a bad habit. "But I underestimated this place. The weapons. The abilities. Things I’d never seen before." A slight tilt of his head. "So I hid. Watched. Learned. And waited for a better opportunity."

"Tell me, boy." His mother’s voice drifted from behind the veil. Soft. Almost gentle. The kind of gentle that hides teeth. "You’re standing before a man who could cut you down without lifting a finger. Doesn’t that frighten you?"

"And what would fear change?"

The words came out quiet.

"If he can cut me down, he can cut me down. The only difference is how I go. I can stand here, look him in the eye, and die on my feet." A short pause. "Or I can drop to my knees, beg, grovel, and die anyway."

He looked toward the silhouette behind the veil.

"Either way, I’m dead. So I’d rather die standing."

"You’ve killed many of our men." Under any other circumstance, that sentence would end with a blade and a body. But his father’s voice carried no anger behind it. "But you’ve also removed a great number of our enemies."

"So tell me, boy—what do you desire?"

A short silence.

"Or perhaps, do you wish to leave the island?"

The answer should have been yes. Every logical part of him screamed yes. Leave. Disappear. Never come back.

But when he opened his mouth to say it, Nora’s face flooded in. Not the angry one. The sweet one. The one that smiled at him like they were kids again.

Because he couldn’t leave her alone. Not again. Not after what he promised.

Even thinking about it made his chest ache. He finally wasn’t alone.

"What I want," he said, "is the title of captain. Specifically—the one I killed."

The silence that followed was thick enough to stand on.

"Is that all?" His father’s voice shifted. Lighter. Almost—joyful. Like a merchant who’d been offered a price far lower than what he was willing to pay.

"No."

Shiro smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Two daggers materialized in his hands—quiet, weightless, gleaming in the dim light.

"Once I’m ready—" the smile sharpened, "—I’d like to take the title of Patriarch from you. And lead this clan to conquer the world."

Everything went quiet.

His father started to laugh again. And it wasn’t a polite acknowledgment. A full, deep, genuine laugh that filled the room. The kind of laugh that said ’I haven’t been entertained like this in years.’

"Is that so."

He snapped his fingers.

The two giants appeared through the door. Instant. Silent. Like they’d been standing on the other side the entire time with their ears pressed to the wood.

"I can’t offer you the title of fifth captain." His father’s voice settled. Still amused. Still dangerous. "But I can offer you something different."

"You will lead a newly formed division. The eleventh captain."

A smile tugged at his lips. He turned and pointed at the giant still clutching the arm Shiro had nearly ripped from its socket.

"I want this one as my first lieutenant."

The giant’s eyes widened. His mouth opened—then closed. The look on his face said ’you can’t be serious’ but the finger pointing at him said otherwise.

His father just nodded. Like it was nothing. Like handing over one of his personal guards was the same as passing the salt.

Then came the hardest part. A part he disliked with passion but had no other option.

He lowered himself. One knee. Head bowed. The position felt like swallowing glass.

"Thank you."

The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. The kind of taste that doesn’t wash out no matter how many times you try.

But he held it. Held the bow. Held the silence.

Because even he knew—this was the only way. Survive. Buy time. Play the game until the board was his.

’For now.’

He rose to his feet and turned to leave, but stopped.

His gaze flew to the giant, standing still cluelessly, still gripping the arm that was one inch away from needing a funeral.

"Be ready at my door before sunrise." His voice was light. Almost cheerful. "We still need someone to carry all the bags."

The giant looked at him. Then at his injured arm. Then back at Shiro.

And nodded. Slowly.

He walked out wearing an armband that read ’Captain.’

The effect was immediate.

Silence hit the courtyard like a shockwave. Every soldier. Every lieutenant. Every captain who’d watched him walk in as a nobody—now watching him walk out as one of them.

Their faces told the story. Confusion. Disbelief. A few looked personally offended, like the universe had broken a rule they didn’t know could be broken.

A kid. A stranger who’d shown up out of nowhere and left a trail of bodies behind him. And the Patriarch hadn’t just spared him—he’d given him a title. A division. His own command.

Not earned through years of loyalty. Not inherited through blood.

Created. From nothing. Just for him.

He ignored all of it. Every stare. Every whisper.

None of it mattered.

He kept walking.

Then from the opposite direction—passing through the main gate like the world had arranged this moment on purpose—a figure appeared.

Tall. Taller than Shiro. Broad shoulders that belonged on a man twice his age. A jaw so sharp it could’ve been carved from stone. Short black hair. And for someone who should’ve been the same age as him, the word ’boy’ didn’t fit. Nothing about him was boyish. He’d skipped that part entirely.

And across his eyes—a blindfold. Not wrapped hastily. Not hiding an injury. Placed with intention. Clean. Deliberate. Like whatever was behind it wasn’t meant for the world to see.

Kuro.

His brother.

They looked nothing alike. If you stood them side by side, not a single soul on this island would guess they were twins.

They passed each other.

No words exchanged.

No acknowledgment.

Just a glance. Half a second. The kind that carries the weight of every unspoken thing between two people who share a history they’ll never talk about.

Shiro didn’t slow down. Neither did Kuro.

They walked past each other like neither of them existed.

Like strangers wearing familiar skin.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​