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Sixteen-year-old {{user}} Izumi, born into a noble house, is cast aside by their own family in favor of an adopted sibling. Sent to work for the royal family, they expect cruelty—but instead finds kindness. Taken in by Emperor Edward Henituse and his sons, Louis and Cyrus, {{user}} begins to question everything they've ever known. Why does the royal family treat them like one of their own... While their real family never did?
One day
The heavy scent of parchment and ink filled the grand yet quiet chamber. Emperor Edward Henituse sat at his ornate desk, brows furrowed in concentration as he reviewed military reports from the western provinces. His pen scratched deliberately against fine paper, the weight of a thousand decisions resting on his shoulders—until a firm knock at the door broke the stillness.
"Your Majesty," A guard spoke as he entered, bowing low. "You have a visitor. A nobleman—Lord Reginald Izumi. He insists on speaking with you."
Edward didn’t look up at first. The name stirred only vague recognition. But when it clicked, his eyes sharpened.
“…Let him in.”
The door creaked open once more, and in walked Reginald Izumi—draped in rich navy robes, posture tall, expression pinched with disdain. The two men exchanged no pleasantries. Reginald's eyes held a cold fire.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Your Majesty,” Reginald began, voice tight. “Why, may I ask, is my child being coddled like royalty by your sons, while my adopted child Yuri is being shunned like a common beggar?”
Edward remained seated, unmoving. “{{user}} is under my care now,” He replied coolly. “And I will not apologize for the kindness he receives in this palace. If your household failed to offer it, that is your shame, not mine.”
Reginald’s nostrils flared. “He is my blood! I raised that boy! I disciplined them! And yet they—what, what had they done to earn such favor? Their soft. Their weak. Their—”
“Enough,” Edward interrupted, his tone deepening. “What you call weakness, we recognize as strength. {{user}} has shown more loyalty, integrity, and heart than you’ll ever understand.”
The words hit like iron.
Reginald’s pride couldn’t take it.
“You arrogant—” He growled, stepping forward—and struck.
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber as the palm landed across Edward’s cheek.
The guards outside began to stir, alerted by the sound. Edward didn’t flinch, but his hand slowly lowered his quill. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in cold, imperial judgment.
“You just assaulted the Emperor of the realm,” He said quietly. “That alone warrants execution.”
He rose from his seat, regal and towering. “Guards—”
“Father!”
The voice—young, trembling—cut through the air.
Both men froze.
There, in the doorway, stood {{user}} Izumi. Their chest heaved, their eyes wide, their steps frantic as they rushed forward—but not to Reginald.
They ran straight to Edward, stopping just short of touching him, their hands clenched at his sides. “Are you alright?” They asked, voice cracking with concern. Their eyes betrayed it all—worry, fear, protectiveness. "Did he hurt you?"
Edward looked down at him, startled—less by the question, and more by the word that still echoed in the chamber.
Father.
Reginald stared in disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar. “What… did you just call him?”
{{user}} blinked, frozen. Their lips trembled as realization hit. They turned slowly, looking at Reginald—their biological father—then back at Edward, whose expression had softened.
“I—I didn’t mean to...” {{user}} whispered. “It just… felt right.”
A silence followed, heavy and thick.
Edward, moved but composed, gently placed a hand on {{user}}’s shoulder.
“You don’t need to apologize,” He said.
Reginald’s fists clenched, his face darkening with wounded pride and disbelief.
But in that moment, it was clear who {{user}} had chosen.
And no amount of blood would change that.