David immediately sat up from his bed and picked up the call.
"Hello, sir," he said, voice filled with respect.
Ulrich’s voice came through—
and just like that, the warmth in David’s chest vanished.
"David, how’s the observation going inside the Tower?
Have you found anything new about the man behind WhiteNull?"
David swallowed hard.
His throat tightened.
"No new information yet, sir. I’m still trying to locate the man behind WhiteNull," he replied reflexively.
Ulrich let out a soft chuckle—part tired, part understanding.
"Take it easy, David. There’s no rush. Just continue your observation inside the Tower,
and make sure to report any strange phenomena immediately."
"Yes, sir." David nodded, even though no one could see it.
David stared at his phone, now heavy in his hand.
He exhaled slowly, defeated.
All this time in the Tower...
his mind had been drifting toward Fiona.
He’d spent countless moments lost in daydreams, smiling like a fool.
Junior Hunters even caught him spacing out, whispering her name under his breath.
Ulrich’s voice had snapped him out of the dream.
Meanwhile, in his sterile, climate-controlled office where even the air dared not grow cold,
Ulrich sat in silence.
A small, guilty smile played on his lips.
"David... I hope you find your own life."
"I’ve been too hard on you..."
His thoughts returned to his younger self—ambitious, bitter, and obsessed with legacy.
He had once cursed the heavens for not granting him a son.
So he took David from the orphanage.
a mold into which he could pour his unfulfilled vision of masculinity.
Ulrich stared at the silent phone screen.
"I should never have stolen your life, David..." he whispered.
"I should have been content with my three daughters.
But instead, I took you—
The masculinity he once thought worth passing down...
was now the very thing
that had crushed another man’s path.
A man with no blood ties to him.
Back in his room, David stood frozen.
"Shit... I’ve been neglecting my mission," he muttered, voice low with regret.
He groaned, slamming the phone onto the table.
Fiona’s face flashed in his mind.
He sat down on the bed, hands gripping his skull.
"I’m not the MC in some fluffy romcom manhwa...
But... I don’t want to lose this."
He clutched his chest.
As if afraid his feelings would slip through his fingers
just like everything else he’d never been allowed to keep.
David was still sitting on the edge of his bed.
His eyes stared blankly at his phone screen—
The call from Ulrich had ended.
But its echo still rang in his head.
His hand reflexively gripped his hair.
His breath was heavy, like his lungs refused to swallow the reality just shoved into them.
He let out a low growl.
"I’m no one... I’m just... a strong Hunter. I just need to be strong..."
His phone vibrated again.
The name on the screen: Fiona.
The message was simple.
He didn’t reply immediately.
But from wanting to be honest, yet not knowing how.
Eventually, he typed:
"Not yet. What’s up?"
The reply came quick.
"I don’t know. Tonight feels... weird. Like something’s off."
Fiona was perceptive.
But she had no idea...
How deep the wound he was holding really went.
"I’m lost. Please help me..."
But of course... he couldn’t.
"I feel weird too. Sorry if I’ve been acting... off lately."
I actually enjoy chatting .
Even if it’s just texts... it feels like I’m not alone."
If only he wasn’t Ulrich’s puppet.
If only he was allowed to want something for himself...
His eyes slowly closed.
A flash from the past.
A sharp-eyed little boy standing in front of a large, cold mansion.
Ulrich stood there, wearing a dark suit.
"Don’t call me father."
"I don’t need a son. I need an heir to my vision."
He didn’t know what "vision" meant.
But he knew what "not being rejected" felt like.
Room by room, he walked.
Photos of Ulrich’s three daughters—
Ordered to be strong.
Ordered to stay quiet.
"A real man swallows all his pain."
The boy had smiled back then.
"Then I’ll be a real man."
David opened his eyes.
He just... understood.
"I’ve followed enough orders.
I’ve been quiet long enough."
"Now I want to choose something for myself."
He reopened his chat with Fiona.
"I don’t know if I’m a good person."
"I’ve been shaped by things I never chose."
"But I like talking to you."
"If someday I seem different... please remind me.
Because I don’t want to lose the version of me that you met."
He stared at the message.
Instead, he deleted it all, and wrote:
"Thank you. I’m glad you’re here."
On the other side of the screen, Fiona smiled.
She didn’t know what wasn’t sent.
that tonight, something had changed.
In the Tower that refused to stop being ridiculous,
while the world kept spinning without giving a damn about anyone’s emotional breakdown,
Lilith the Tower Manager—still fingering herself lazily—
Lilith’s resolve had moved even her lewd, milky heart.
Her fingers, still slick with sacred lubrication, rose upward.
Her black gown was torn, messy, radiant in its chaos.
She sliced the air open—
"I have to intervene."
"I have to meet my lovely son and daughter."
Nathan, still frozen in disbelief, watched the black slit open like a cosmic vagina of doom.
"Tower Manager..." he muttered.
Lilith appeared—face flushed, eyes wild.
"Hello there," she purred.