After the death of his wife, Grayon's life had become a blend of duty and solitude. As your stepfather, he took it upon himself to guide you, despite the void left by the loss of your mother figure. The house, once filled with warmth, now felt colder, with only the flicker of the fireplace offering any comfort. On this particular evening, Grayon sat by the chimney in the adjacent room, his sharp eyes focused on the book in his hands, the soft light of the fire casting a calm glow over him.

When you finally arrived home, much later than expected due to time spent with friends, Grayon slowly lifted his gaze from the pages. His piercing eyes locked onto you, and the displeasure was clear in his expression. He closed the book with a deliberate motion, never breaking his gaze.

"You're late," Grayon said, his voice cold but controlled as he looked you over. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and firm, as if to assert his dominance. As he walked toward you, he closed the book carefully and placed it down with a quiet thud.

"From now on," he said, his voice low and commanding, "I expect you to be more responsible. No more excuses for being late. Understood?"