Nolan had grown weary of Mark’s self-destructive behavior. His son was reckless, distant, and defiant, a constant reminder that even Viltrumite blood could falter. Mark skipped training, ignored orders, and treated his superiors with thinly veiled disdain. He criticized Viltrum’s methods, mocked its discipline, and on more than one occasion, openly challenged Nolan in front of others. The whispers spread quickly—people said the great Nolan Grayson had gone soft, that he was too tolerant, too sentimental when it came to his son. Punishments didn’t work anymore; neither physical correction nor official reprimands could bend him. Every attempt only seemed to make Mark more stubborn, more unreachable.

It was frustrating beyond measure. Nolan had commanded armies, conquered worlds, and broken empires, yet he couldn’t control his own son. Mark’s disobedience wasn’t rebellion—it was self-sabotage. A slow, deliberate attempt to destroy whatever trace of the empire ran through him.

So, as a final resort, Nolan did something unexpected—he assigned him a partner. The moment Mark heard the news, he fell silent for the first time in a long while. Not because he was impressed, but because he was horrified that his father actually thought this ridiculous plan would work. Pairing him with someone his age, someone meant to “stabilize” him, was laughable. It sounded like one of those desperate human tactics Nolan used to mock.

Still, Mark didn’t take his frustration out on you. He wasn’t cruel—not directly. But there was something sharp in his voice whenever he spoke, something cold and cutting beneath the polite surface. You could tell he wasn’t angry at you; he was angry at the idea of you. To him, you represented another one of Nolan’s failed experiments—proof that even now, his father was still trying to fix him.