The air reeked of gasoline and old fried oil, the kind that clung to your clothes and never left. A broken electric fan rattled in the corner of the cramped eatery, its blades groaning with each spin, doing more to stir the heat than cool it. Cracked linoleum floors were covered with faded stains that no one cared to clean anymore. This was the world Kael had gotten used to—chaotic, suffocating, and loud.
"Delivery, boy!"
Kael sprang to his feet even before the gruff voice of his boss finished barking. His legs were sore, and the blister on his heel had popped an hour ago, soaking into his only pair of socks. But he moved fast. He always did. Time wasted was money lost—and for him, every second counted.
"Where to this time?" he asked, grabbing the plastic bag of greasy takeout with a nod of thanks to the kitchen staff.
"Juniper Heights, Tower 6. You know that rich condo by the business district?"
Kael blinked. "That far? Boss, I still got my night class—"
"Then you better run faster."
The other workers laughed, and someone tossed him a torn cap. Kael caught it mid-air, shoved it on his head, and slipped out the back door. The sun was already dipping low, casting long shadows across the city. His second shift as a working student would start in two hours, and he hadn't even eaten lunch. Again.
Kael's old mountain bike groaned under him as he pedaled up the hill toward the glimmering skyline. He weaved through buses, past honking cars, breathing in exhaust fumes and sweat. People didn't make way for delivery guys like him—they cut you off, swore at you, ignored you. He was invisible. And that was fine. Being unseen had its advantages.
The tall towers of Juniper Heights loomed like silver giants. Glistening windows reflected the dying light, while valet boys in pressed uniforms rushed to greet sports cars that cost more than he'd earn in a decade.
Kael parked beside the delivery bay, wiped his sweat with the back of his hand, and entered through the side door. He wasn't allowed in the main lobby, of course. That space was for silk suits and branded heels, not sweat-stained uniforms and broken bikes.
As he waited for the guard to check the order number, Kael caught his reflection in the glass. Messy black hair clinging to his forehead, dark circles under his eyes, and a mouth set in a firm line. His uniform hung a bit loose on his frame—he hadn't had a proper meal in days—but his posture remained straight, his chin lifted.
No one here knew his name.
They didn't know who he used to be.
And they had no idea who he really was.
"Unit 2304," the guard finally said, handing him a guest pass.
Kael nodded and took the service elevator up. As the numbers ticked higher, memories flickered in his mind—warmth, laughter, the scent of sandalwood from his father's study… memories buried so deep he barely let himself feel them anymore.
He hadn't always lived like this.
Ten years ago, Kael Donovan Virelles was the only son of one of the most powerful families in the country. His father, Alexander Virelles, built an empire of international businesses, real estate, and politics. His mother was an heiress in her own right—elegant, graceful, and impossibly distant.
They weren't warm people, but they were proud. And Kael? He was the golden child of the Virelles bloodline. Until everything was taken from him.
One tragic accident. One forged document. One betrayal after another.
Now, he was Kael Dizon. A name as common as the dirt under his shoes. A name with no power, no legacy, and no protection.
But that was fine.
Because Kael hadn't forgotten who he was.
And he sure as hell wasn't done yet.
The door to Unit 2304 opened before he could knock. A girl in her twenties answered—too busy scrolling through her phone to look at him.
"Took you long enough. I'm starving," she snapped.
Kael handed over the food with a forced smile. "Apologies for the wait. It's rush hour."
She didn't tip.
As the door shut in his face, Kael's smile faded.
It was dark by the time he pedaled across the city again, his stomach growling, his eyes heavy. His university, a public campus tucked behind a row of aging buildings, looked like it was falling apart. But to Kael, it was sacred ground. Education was his one weapon left—and he was sharpening it, inch by inch.
He sat in the back of his economics class, scribbling notes by the flickering light of the hallway. His professor barely glanced his way. No one noticed the delivery uniform under his jacket, or the bruises on his fingers from too much work. He didn't speak much. He just listened, absorbed, and learned.
Because one day, they'd all know his name again.
One day, the entire world would.
Kael got home past midnight. If you could call it a home.
His room was a five-square-meter space in a dilapidated boarding house shared with two other students. No windows. A mattress on the floor. A single bulb overhead. He collapsed onto the bed, biting into a cold leftover bun he saved from the eatery earlier.
His phone buzzed. A message from his classmate Mia:
"Hey, saw you leaving class early again. Everything okay?"
Kael stared at the screen.
He wanted to reply: No. I'm drowning. I haven't eaten properly in three days. I'm working two jobs. And every night I dream of the life I lost.
But instead, he typed:
"All good. Just tired. Thanks for checking in."
He turned off the light.
And in the dark, as the city hummed around him, Kael whispered to himself:
"Just a little longer. Hold on a little longer, Kael."
Because the storm was coming.
And when it hit, the ones who buried the true heir… would pay.