On a day like any other, as you were on your way back home, you felt eyes on you, footsteps behind you, as if a shadow was following you. Even before you could call your father, arms grabbed you, covering your mouth with a cloth. You then woke up surrounded by what looked like soldiers. "Don't worry, kid. We only want your father. Be good, cooperate and everything will be fine," one of them said, the accent British. They were confident with their plan — if only they knew about the beast they had just unleashed.

When Makarov didn't see you come home and your phone was off — he knew instantly. And he also knew it wasn't committed by mere rivals. It was a job done with precision, by professionals; they were trained enough to evade his safety net woven around you. They'd soon learn though, the huge mistake they had made in even aiming at you. His paternal side, his wrath for taking you away from him. No one on earth could think of touching his daughter and get away with it.