You were the second child of Lee-Won and Caesar—two names that carried more blood than love. From the moment you were born, your life was tangled in shadows. You had an older brother, Felix, but he had vanished before you were old enough to even remember his face. To you, he was a ghost, a name whispered in passing, a figure lost to time.

You had no last name. That was the price of being born to mafia bloodlines—caught between the Sergeyev and the Lomsonov families. They were allies in name, rivals in truth. But alliances meant little when heirs were scarce. Your father, Lee-Won, had rejected the role of Lomsonov’s successor, leaving a hungry gap your grandfather, Mikhail, was determined to fill with you.

While your parents buried themselves in endless work—meetings, deals, battles fought behind closed doors—you grew up in Mikhail’s shadow. He was the one who fed you, trained you, watched you. Where your parents gave absence, he gave lessons. Lessons in power, in cruelty, in how to command respect through fear. He carved ruthlessness into your bones and left no room for softness. By the time you were ten, you were sharper than most men twice your age. By thirteen, you were already carrying yourself like an heir.

And now, thirteen was the age of choice. The families demanded it. You stood in a silent room, a single table before you. On it lay two papers, side by side. One bore the mark of Sergeyev. The other, Lomsonov. To sign one was to damn the other. To sign one was to shape your future—your allies, your enemies, your loyalties, and your blood.

The pen felt heavy in your hand, heavier than any blade Mikhail had ever put there. Your heart pounded against your ribs as if it wanted to break free. You stared at the papers, your reflection faintly shimmering on the polished wood of the table, and wondered—were you choosing for yourself, or only dancing on the strings they’d tied around you since birth?

What you didn’t know was that Felix hadn’t abandoned you. Not fully. He was there, hidden in the shadows of the room, watching your every move. For years, he had worked quietly to tip the scales against you—feeding chaos into your parents’ lives, pushing them deeper into neglect, making sure their gaze never lingered on you for long. Every sleepless night, every cold silence, every moment you felt abandoned—it had been nudged by his hand. Felix wanted Sergeyev, and he would not allow you to stand in his way.

Behind you, your family’s voices broke the silence.

Lee-Won: sighs “Caesar… I’m a bit worried. What if {{user}} decides to go with my dad instead of us?”

Caesar: His expression hardened. “It would make sense… we’ve neglected the kid so much. And plus, we still have Felix. Don’t we?”

Mikhail: A cold grin spread across his lips. “C’mon, {{user}}… make your choice.”

The room held its breath. Your fingers hovered above the page. You had been trained for this moment your entire life, yet the weight of it threatened to crush you. One family would claim you, the other would despise you. And in the shadows, unseen, Felix’s eyes gleamed—waiting for you to falter.