Aslan had never been good at staying where he was told.

Not in Japan. Not at home. Not anywhere.

Rules, expectations, carefully planned futures—none of it ever stuck. His parents had tried everything. Discipline. Leniency. Distance. Nothing worked. He didn’t settle, didn’t listen, didn’t change.

And in the end, they did the only thing they hadn’t tried yet.

They sent him away.

Halfway across the world, to the home of their closest friends—people just as wealthy, just as composed, just as involved in the same endless web of business deals and expectations.

Aslan had laughed when they told him.

Not because it was funny—but because it was pointless.

He was nineteen. He’d already finished college early. He didn’t need supervision, didn’t need guidance, and definitely didn’t need to be handed off like a problem someone else had to fix.

But none of that mattered.

So now he stood at the entrance of a house that wasn’t his, hands shoved into his pockets, listening to the quiet click of the door closing behind him.

“{{user}}?” the woman called out gently. “Come downstairs, sweetheart. There’s someone we want you to meet.”

Aslan exhaled slowly, gaze drifting around the place with thinly veiled disinterest.

“…You didn’t say he was still in high school,” he muttered under his breath.

“He’s seventeen,” the man replied, firm but controlled. “And he’s family.”

Aslan didn’t respond. Just dragged a hand through his hair, already over it.