OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 484: A Young Master's Life II



They wanted me to be that kind of person-the kind who could get away with anything.

And once I figured that out, I started leaning into it hard.

Why wouldn't I? Everyone was practically begging me to act like I was above them.

I started picking fights for the fun of it. Arguing with tutors, backtalking my parents, blowing off responsibilities just to see how far I could push things.

And every time I did, they'd just shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Like nothing I did could really touch me. Like I was some force of nature they had to put up with.

That was when I really understood the power I had, the weight of the name I carried.

I remember Ava's birthday party one year.

Big, fancy affair, tons of lights and decorations, enough food to feed the entire sector for a day.

We were sitting in her giant garden under some ridiculous ice sculpture, and she was laughing about something stupid that bastard had said.

Then she stepped back, hitting one of the staff, causing them to spill a tray of drinks.

Glass fell, shards and liquid splattering everywhere.

Unfortunately for the man, a few drops had splashed on her dress.

The whole thing immediately turned tense.

Ava left in anger, screaming about this or that, and everyone stopped, just watched. Even I held my breath, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

The guards hauled that guy to the middle of the hall like he'd committed treason. Made him kneel, beat him, humiliated him in front of us, all of us, just to please us. He begged and begged for it to stop, looking around for a savior, looking at me, and I... I didn't do a damn thing. Just sat there, enjoying the show.

I realized something then: I liked seeing people scramble, beg, and fear. Made me feel... powerful.

Watching someone get torn down for a mistake, knowing it'd never happen to me that was addictive.

Every kid wanted power, but me? I'd tasted it young, and I wasn't letting go.

My dad would try to talk to me sometimes. Like he actually gave a damn, cared about such things. But those talks never went anywhere.

He'd sit me down, look me in the eye, and go on about "responsibility" and "duty" like I was supposed to just snap my fingers and turn into this perfect little son he could parade around, show off to his little gangster friends.

It was pathetic, honestly.

The more he tried to "help" me, the more I pushed back, just to spite him.

By the time I was twelve, I had it all figured out.

I was the boss, the one in control. And if anyone had a problem with that, they could take it up with my fist.

It was a simple philosophy, but it worked.

People either respected me or feared me, and that was good enough for me.

Maybe that was when the world changed for me, when I realized nothing could touch me unless I let it.

My father's name, the money, the people always ready to bow and scrape-all of it put a shield around me.

I could do the worst, and still, no one did a damn thing.

The more I pushed the boundaries, the more power I found I had.

They all knew who I was, after all-Max Blackwood, son of Ignatius Blackwood, the name everyone respected and feared.

I was untouchable, a little god in my own right, and that kind of thing messes with a kid's head.

But if I'm honest, I wasn't always that cocky, not to a level where I thought of myself as some sort of god at least.

'Heh...'

My friends—if you could call them that were just beggars, Elite that risked to fall.

I'd make them cover for me, all the while knowing they'd do anything to stay in my good graces.

Eventually, most of them couldn't take it and left, leaving only three dumbasses who kissed my feet until their lips bled.

I was a bad guy. Everyone saw me as that; even Elijah stopped associating with me, spending most of his time chasing Aria instead. Ava was no different.

Only one person remained unaffected.

Sofia.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

She was... different. Truly different, unlike me.

Quiet and observant, she always kept to herself unless she had to be there.

She never reacted to my crap; she never gave me that wide-eyed fear the others did.

At first, I thought she was just weird, but eventually, I got it.

She faced something similar, and she was bored with the whole act, just like I was. Probably

worse.

Maybe that was when I started growing a crush on her... maybe it was why my actions escalated.

It was dumb; now I see that more than ever, but back then, I thought that it might gain her

attention.

I pushed and pushed, seeing how far I could go, how much I could get away with.

Every time someone caved, every time they looked at me like they were terrified, it fed that

hunger.

But... even I wasn't invincible.

One day, after pulling a particularly reckless stunt, I found myself face-to-face with my

father.

It was rare he ever dealt with me directly, and the look he gave me that night... yeah, that one

stuck.

He didn't yell, didn't hit me, didn't even raise his voice. Just looked at me, cold as a blade, and told me to "grow up."

Told me I was an "embarrassment to the family name."

I remember how quiet the room was, every word echoing in my ears.

For a moment, I felt this stab of something-fear, shame, whatever you want to call it.

Then I laughed. Just laughed in his face and told him he'd have to try harder if he wanted me

to change.

He never spoke to me about it again.

By fifteen, I was a full-blown nightmare.

Breaking rules, running my own little gang of spoiled kids with my three 'friends', doing

whatever I wanted.

I'd walk into a room, and it'd go dead silent.

People knew who I was and what I could do to them if they stepped out of line.

Even the adults. They'd mumble apologies, avoid my gaze, and let me have my way.

And that's how I wanted it.

Everything was mine, whether it be then or eventually. I didn't need to pretend otherwise.

Or so I thought... until I found myself here, lying in this grave, my body broken and my mind reeling, too weak to move, too tired to fight.

The irony? All that power, all that privilege... and it meant nothing now. Nothing.

It's funny, really.

After everything I've been through, after all the fights and the challenges, it came down to

this.

I'm gonna die here, alone, without anyone to witness it. Just me and the ruin.

I tried to move, tried to feel something in my arms, but they were dead weights at my sides. My chest hurt, lungs dying to breathe-just one was all I wanted.

Even my anger was slipping away, lost in the exhaustion and pain that was pulling me under.

Images of my father, of the house, of Ava laughing. Sofia. That smug, stupid grin on Elijah's face, like he'd already figured out how to live in this screwed-up world and I was the idiot

fumbling around.

Damn it. That bastard.

My hand twitched, and I managed to curl my fingers into a fist.

Felt weak as hell, but it was something. Just a flicker of energy, enough for one last try.

I imagined his face right in front of me, and I flexed my right arm, ready to punch.

I'd wipe that smirk off his face, one way or another.

My fist shot upward, sailing through the rubble, and it went... through?

It didn't bounce back.

It had reached the other side.

I could actually feel the damp air touching my hand.

'No...'

And that was when it hit me-the grave I dug was barely filled.

I could've clawed my way out all along.