Last Mission ABO Dimension.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm, just-baked bread filled the air as the soft morning light bathed the elegant sitting room of the Campbell Mansion. Sarah, always impeccably composed, sat at the head of the table beside Mallet Campbell, who appeared particularly spirited that morning. Aster remained reserved, offering the occasional brief comment, while Callum, in contrast, exuded a relaxed energy.

The arrival of Mason and Damián brought a fresh layer of anticipation to the atmosphere. Mason entered with an infectious smile, visibly excited at the prospect of being in the company of such prominent figures. Damián, as usual, remained more reserved, his analytical gaze sweeping the room, though there was a subtle lightness to his demeanor that had become increasingly characteristic of him.

"Ah, glad you've arrived," Mallet said, gesturing for them to join the table. "As we prepare for the big day, I thought it appropriate to share a bit of the tournament's history. After all, it's a legacy we should all understand."

Mason and Damián took their seats, with Mason adjusting himself in his chair like an eager student ready to learn. "Please, Lord Mallet, I'd love to hear about it," he said, his voice brimming with genuine curiosity.

Mallet leaned back slightly, holding his coffee cup with practiced elegance. "This tournament is far more than just a competition," he began, his tone grave yet filled with enthusiasm. "It's a tradition that stretches back centuries, to a time when the alpha families ruled these lands. Of course, the games themselves weren't our creation. They were inspired by ancient rituals of strength and skill, quite different from traditional games."

Damián raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Non-traditional games? Strength and skill? Sounds… pretty intense."

Mallet chuckled—a warm, rich laugh full of untold stories. "Intense is an apt word. Back then, the tournaments were brutal and focused on identifying the strongest alphas of each generation. Youngsters from lower-lineage families, if deemed exceptional, could be adopted into the great houses. It was a way of strengthening the bloodlines, so to speak. Though the process was… barbaric."

Sarah, who had been quietly listening, interjected with a faint smile. "The centuries brought refinement, Lord Mallet. Don't forget to mention that."

Mallet nodded, still smiling. "True enough. Today, we have genetic testing. The purpose of the tournament has evolved. It's now more of a celebration of our collective strength and abilities. There's no longer room for the savagery of the past. Although…" He paused, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. "The hunt was added in recent decades as a tribute to the old ways. It remains a test of agility and instinct."

"Hunt?" Mason leaned forward, intrigued. "What exactly does that entail?"

"The hunt is symbolic," Mallet explained, his tone taking on a professorial air. "In the mountain lands owned by our families, there are protected wild areas. Participants are tested on their ability to track, capture, and sometimes confront adversaries. All under controlled conditions, of course, but still thrilling."

Damián nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the window. "And these lands—they've always belonged to the Campbell and Phillips families?"

Mallet smiled, though a heaviness flickered in his expression. "Not always. These lands hold an ancient and shadowed history. The original owners… well, let's just say they were swept away by the tides of time and conflict. My grandfather and Robert Phillips' grandfather purchased these lands together generations ago. It was both a union of interests and a preservation of legacy.

Later, Robert and I jointly acquired the remaining parcels around the mountains. We believed these lands held more than just resources—they held the identity of many lineages of this world. That's why everyone continues to attend; it's a return to the roots of our origins."

"And so, the tournament endured," Sarah added, her smile faint but meaningful. "A link between past and present."

Mason seemed fascinated. "That's incredible. I mean, thinking that we're part of something with so much history and meaning... it's like being part of a greater legacy."

"It is indeed a legacy," Mallet said, observing Mason with curiosity. "But it's also a responsibility. These games aren't just for amusement. They shape who we are—as families and as leaders." 

Damián smirked slightly, raising his coffee cup. "Well, it seems like we'll have plenty to observe and learn. And maybe a little chaos along the way."

Mallet laughed again, his hearty chuckle filling the room. "There's always a bit of chaos, Damián. That's what makes it so interesting."

As breakfast continued, the conversation flowed with a blend of lightness and historical weight. Mason, still visibly enthusiastic, asked pointed questions, soaking in every detail, while Damián, though less expressive, couldn't help but feel a touch of respect for the narrative and the heritage Mallet represented. Deep down, however, everyone understood that this calm was merely a pause before the storm that was coming.

At the Phillips Mansion

The atmosphere in the Phillips Mansion was tense. Even with the soft light streaming through the windows and the aroma of coffee and tea lingering in the air, a palpable heaviness made every word seem weighted. Staff moved cautiously through the room, too nervous to break the silence but too alert to ignore the murmurs of conversation.

Beatrice and Clarice sat side by side, though there was no unity between them. Each resembled a volcano on the brink of eruption, while Jared, seated opposite them, avoided their piercing gazes. At the back of the room stood Robert Phillips, the patriarch, his imposing presence like a shadow over everything, observing with cold, analytical eyes.

Finally, Clarice broke the silence, her voice trembling with a rage that seemed ready to overflow.

"I always thought you two were the perfect couple. Parties, dinners, trips, friendships… How could you, Father? How could you do this?"

Her voice wavered, not from weakness but from the tremor of someone on the verge of an outburst. Her eyes burned with indignation as she stared at Jared, demanding an answer she knew deep down would never come.

Jared sighed, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. He looked like a cornered man, struggling to find words that wouldn't sound like feeble excuses.

"In life, we make many attempts to be happy, Clarice. And sometimes, we convince ourselves that we're in the perfect moment to make certain decisions, even when the conditions aren't favorable…" He paused, feeling the weight of his daughter's accusing glare. "But maybe… maybe I let your mother carry the weight of this life alone. I don't want to justify what I did, but I think… I think I gave in to a 'side of myself I always kept hidden."

Beatrice, who had remained silent until then, raised her gaze to him, her eyes shining with barely contained fury.

"A hidden side, Jared?" Her voice was low, but sharp like a blade poised to strike. "That omega… the great love of your life… has now become a hidden side?"

The sarcasm in her words was venomous, spreading through every corner of the room. Clarice turned to her as if seeking support, but Beatrice was too consumed by her burning stare at Jared to notice.

Jared tried to respond, but Beatrice's indignation was overwhelming.

"Do you have any idea what this has done to this family? You brought… him… into our midst as a living testament to what? Your selfish desire for happiness? That omega should never have existed, Jared. And you placed him here. Among us."

Before Jared could react, Robert's voice boomed through the room, firm and unyielding, cutting through the air like thunder.

"Enough."

Everyone at the table fell silent immediately, turning to the patriarch. Robert advanced slowly, each step heavy in the absolute quiet. He stopped beside Jared, his gaze moving coldly from Beatrice to Clarice, forcing them to shrink back in their chairs.

"Aster is a Phillips," he began, his voice grave and authoritative. "He is the heir to our dominant genes, and, fortunately, he stands alongside Callum. Without that, we might be facing a decline in our future." Robert hated to use such harsh words, but he needed to silence Beatrice somehow.

He knew that Oliver, despite not being a dominant alpha, excelled in every other way, and it didn't diminish him in any aspect. Saying these words corroded Robert's soul, but he had to salvage the moment.

Beatrice opened her mouth to respond, but Robert raised a hand, silencing her.

"Dominance is not a matter of choice or opinion, Beatrice. It is a matter of nature, of lineage. Oliver is an excellent alpha, but he does not carry the legacy of dominance that defines the Phillips family. And you know that."

Beatrice clenched her fists on the table, but she couldn't retort. Robert continued, relentlessly:

"Clarice, on the other hand, had one chance—one single chance—to secure this family's tranquil future alongside Callum. But she failed. Your compatibility didn't even reach 90%—and you know what that means."

Clarice, blushing with shame, averted her gaze, biting her lower lip hard. Were those cruel words truly coming from her grandfather? Did she mean so little just for being who she was?

Robert turned his gaze back to Beatrice, his voice now quieter but still brimming with authority.

"And you, Beatrice… you've produced remarkable children, but none as dominant as they should have been. Clarice and Oliver are not inferior, but they lack the essence that keeps this family at the top."

The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive. Beatrice's hands tightened in her lap, her nails digging into her palms, though her expression remained immovable.

Robert stepped back, surveying everyone at the table.

"This conversation is futile. The past cannot be changed. What matters now is ensuring the Phillips family's future remains secure. Aster is alongside Callum, and that's all we need to sustain our legacy. You can accept that or continue wallowing in resentments that will change nothing."

He turned directly to Beatrice and Clarice, his expression hard and unyielding.

"Make your choice wisely. Because, in the end, lineage is all we have."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving the others in an awkward silence. Jared lowered his head, while Beatrice remained motionless, as if fighting an internal storm. Clarice, however, couldn't hold back the silent tears that streaked down her face.

Clarice, flushed with shame and rage, averted her gaze, biting her lower lip so hard it nearly drew blood. Were those cruel words truly spoken by her grandfather? Did she truly hold no value, simply for being who she was?

Robert turned his cold gaze back to Beatrice, his voice softer now, but still laden with unyielding authority. 

"And you, Beatrice… you've produced remarkable children, but none as dominant as they ought to be. Clarice and Oliver are not inferior, but they lack the essence that keeps this family at the top."

The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive. Beatrice clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her nails digging into her palms, but her expression remained unyielding.

Robert took a step back, his sharp eyes scanning the room. 

"This conversation is pointless. The past cannot be changed. What matters now is ensuring that the future of the Phillips family remains secure. Aster is with Callum, and that is all we need to continue the prosperity of our legacy. You can either accept this or keep dwelling on resentments that won't change a thing."

He stared directly at Beatrice and Clarice, his expression rigid and resolute. 

"Make your choice wisely. Because, in the end, our lineage is all we truly have."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving behind a stifling silence. Jared lowered his head, defeated, while Beatrice remained motionless, as if battling a storm within. Clarice, however, couldn't hold back the silent tears streaming down her face.

Clarice ascended the stairs with firm steps, each one echoing like the hammering of her suppressed rage. Reaching her bedroom, she slammed the door shut, as if to leave all the chaos of the conversation behind. But it was impossible. Her grandfather Robert's biting words, coupled with the unbearable presence of Aster, buzzed in her mind like a venom she couldn't shake.

To Clarice, all this talk of lineage, dominance, and legacy was nothing more than an elaborate facade hiding something far greater: ambition. Manipulation. Power. And perhaps even revenge. She understood this all too well because she shared the same drive—the need to control, to win, to obliterate anything that threatened what she considered her rightful claim.

At times, Clarice had believed she could embrace the role of being nurturing, accommodating, even maternal if it meant becoming Callum's ideal wife—a role she had always prioritized. But now? Now she was forced to witness Callum with someone else, right before her very eyes?

Her stomach churned at the thought.

She was done being the good girl. Now, she was an unrestrained, dangerous woman—the bad girl had been set free. 

Aster. He embodied everything that was wrong—a mistake now dressed up as a brilliant solution. A bastard, an intruder, and yet the chosen one to carry the mantle she and Oliver had never been able to. It was unbearable. How dare he take that space? How could Jared and Robert dare to treat him as the answer to the prosperity of the family's dominant genes? 

Clarice bit her lower lip, tasting the bitterness of her own anger. The sadness that had threatened to emerge transformed into something darker, sharper. No, she wouldn't bow to that narrative. 

Clarice stared at her reflection in the mirror. There she was—the good girl who had endured everything for so long. But that girl had shattered, broken into pieces by rage and frustration. What was left now was someone else, someone willing to do whatever it took to claim what was hers. 

The sun bathed the imposing Phillips Mansion in warm golden hues. The car crawled along the private road, which snaked through an immense garden—a paradise shaped by nature but sculpted by human hands. Mallet sat beside Sarah in the front seat, while Damián and Aster shared the back. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was one of contained curiosity but also tinged with expectation. 

As the car rounded the final bend, the breathtaking sight of the gardens before the Phillips Mansion came into view. Aster, who rarely displayed surprise, leaned forward slightly, and Sarah let out an almost imperceptible sigh. 

*The Gardens of the Phillips Mansion*

Before them stretched a spectacle of colors and forms, a living tribute to Lord Robert's eternal love for his late wife. Rare and exotic flowers filled the carefully arranged beds, spiraling outward in perfect symmetry.

Their petals shimmered under the sunlight like living jewels. White and lilac orchids, meticulously aligned, mingled with crimson and yellow roses, creating a stunning visual contrast. At the garden's center stood a marble fountain, carved into the likeness of a couple dancing, its crystal-clear water reflecting the sky above. 

Aster, who seldom allowed himself to admire anything so openly, fixed his gaze on the fountain for several moments. 

"This is… unexpected," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of reverence. 

Sarah, noticing the tone in his voice, responded gently. "This garden was created by Robert for his wife. He says every flower here has a specific meaning, chosen to reflect the many facets of her." 

Damián raised an eyebrow, his ever-analytical eyes scanning the intricate details. 

"Rich in detail and symmetry. Impressive. It's like… a living masterpiece." 

Mallet chuckled softly, his deep voice resonating in the car's quiet interior. 

"Robert has always been a man of grand gestures. This garden is not just a display of love but also of control. He turned nature's chaos into something that follows his rules." 

As the car moved slowly forward, they passed under an arch draped with purple and white wisteria, forming a natural floral canopy. Beneath the arch, small marble statues of animals and mythological figures peeked out from the bushes, as if guarding the space. 

Along the way, wrought-iron benches were strategically placed between fruit trees that exuded a sweet and fresh aroma. Paved trails, bordered by antique iron lamps, meandered toward more secluded areas of the garden, giving the impression that every corner held a secret waiting to be discovered. 

When the car finally reached the top of the drive, the Phillips Mansion revealed itself in all its grandeur. The imposing structure, with marble columns and ornate balconies, stood as a testament to the family's power and lineage. The garden seemed to extend endlessly, embracing the mansion like a living frame. 

At the main entrance, the Phillips family was already waiting. Lord Robert stood at the forefront, his rigid, stately posture contrasting with the carefully controlled smile on his face. Beside him was Jared, whose neutral expression bordered on diplomatic, while Beatrice looked as impeccably elegant as ever. Slightly behind them stood Clarice, her eyes fixed on Aster, a mix of emotions flickering across her face, hard to decipher. 

Robert stepped forward as the car came to a stop, extending his hand with a polished smile. 

"Welcome to the Phillips Mansion," he said, his voice warm yet clearly rehearsed. 

Sarah stepped out of the car gracefully, accompanied by Mallet. "Thank you, Robert. As always, the reception is impeccable. Your gardens remain a masterpiece," she said, referring to Aster, Damián, and Mason with a light smile. "The younger ones are quite impressed."

Robert inclined his head in a modest gesture. "A small tribute to the memory of someone who was the center of everything." He cast a brief glance at Aster before adding, "I hope you all feel at home."

Damián exited the car next, casually adjusting his leather vest, while Mason took in the surroundings with a faint smile, his keen eyes capturing every detail.

As the initial greetings unfolded, the group began moving toward the entrance, where Beatrice and Clarice awaited. Beatrice greeted Sarah with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, while Clarice maintained a simple yet cordial demeanor, her gaze still fixed on Aster.

The garden receded behind them, but the visual and symbolic impact of its beauty lingered in the air—a silent reminder of the influence and power shaping this meeting.

Once inside the grand hall of the Phillips Mansion, Jared gestured discreetly to Aster. His voice, though calm, carried a quiet urgency that was hard to ignore. "Aster, may we talk? Just the two of us."

Aster hesitated, his eyes searching for Sarah, who offered him a slight nod of encouragement. The others moved toward the main hall, guided by one of the butlers, while Jared led Aster to a nearby study.

The study was warm and intimate, with bookshelves lining the walls and a window letting in the gentle morning light. Jared closed the door carefully and motioned for Aster to sit, though he chose to remain standing, his arms crossed.

For a moment, Jared was silent, as if grappling with the right words. Finally, he exhaled deeply and began. "I've wanted to say this ever since I learned you were alive, but the moment never seemed right."

Aster remained quiet, his expression neutral, though his eyes tracked Jared's every movement.

"I failed you," Jared admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "Not on purpose, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't protect you." He paused, his gaze drifting to the window before returning to Aster. "I looked for you. For years. For a long time, all I could think about was where you might be, and how I let this happen."

Aster uncrossed his arms, his posture relaxing slightly. "I know you searched for me. I don't blame you for what happened."

Those words made Jared's eyes widen slightly in surprise. "You… don't blame me?"

"No," Aster replied calmly. "I know what happened wasn't your fault. I'm not saying everything was perfect, or that things were easy, or that there wasn't pain for any of us. But what matters is that we're here now. And you weren't to blame for all of it."

Jared seemed to struggle to maintain his composure, but a glimmer of relief crossed his face. He took a step closer, his hands open in a gesture of appeal. "I never stopped thinking about you, Aster. I never stopped looking for you. No matter how much time passed. You… you are my son."

Aster nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I know. And even though it took time, it's good to hear that. To know you didn't give up."

For a moment, silence filled the room—not uncomfortable, but charged with the weight of the exchange. Finally, Jared managed a small smile and gestured toward the door. "Let's go. The others are waiting."

"Yes," Aster replied, allowing himself a brief smile. "Let's go."

When they entered the grand hall, all eyes turned to them. Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow, while Beatrice and Clarice watched with expressions that fluctuated between curiosity and suspicion. Damián and Mason exchanged quick glances, clearly attuned to the dynamic between father and son.

Jared broke the silence with a lighter tone, though still tinged with emotion. "Apologies for the delay. We were catching up on a few things."

"I imagine so," murmured Beatrice, adjusting her posture but keeping her eyes on Aster.

Sarah interjected with a diplomatic smile, trying to defuse the tension. "Now that everyone is here, shall we begin discussing the details of the tournament?"

Aster took a seat beside Sarah, while Jared found his place further along the table. The room began to shift toward the purpose of the gathering, though the intensity of the moment between Jared and Aster lingered in the air, a reminder that this meeting was about more than the tournament—it was also about long-overdue reconnections.

When they entered the grand hall, all eyes turned to them. Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow, while Beatrice and Clarice watched with expressions that fluctuated between curiosity and suspicion. Damián and Mason exchanged quick glances, clearly attuned to the dynamic between father and son.

Jared broke the silence with a lighter tone, though still tinged with emotion. "Apologies for the delay. We were catching up on a few things."

"I imagine so," murmured Beatrice, adjusting her posture but keeping her eyes on Aster.

Sarah interjected with a diplomatic smile, trying to diffuse the tension. "Now that everyone is here, shall we begin discussing the details of the tournament?"

Aster took a seat beside Sarah, while Jared found his place further along the table. The room began to shift toward the purpose of the gathering, though the intensity of the moment between Jared and Aster lingered in the air, a reminder that this meeting was about more than the tournament—it was also about long-overdue reconnections.

The Phillips Mansion's main hall was impeccably decorated, reflecting the tradition and power the family sought to convey. At the center, a long table brought together Sarah, Mallet, Jared, Beatrice, Clarice, Aster, Damián, and Mason. They all sat attentively, their focus on Robert Phillips, who opened the discussion with a tone that was both authoritative and cordial.

"As you all know," Robert began, his gaze sweeping the room, "this year's tournament is not just another event. It's a reaffirmation of our traditions—a chance to remember who we are and what defines us."

Sarah nodded, leaning slightly forward on the table. "I agree. This year, more than ever, with new participants in the family, we need to demonstrate our commitment to the essence of what brought us here. The tournament must reflect not only strength but also discipline, strategy, and heritage."

Jared chimed in with a subtle smile. "Of course, while maintaining the atmosphere that has always drawn our elite. We're expecting an audience of 500 carefully selected guests. A hundred of those are new names—celebrities, entrepreneurs, public figures who reinforce our position in the modern world. The remaining four hundred will be those who've been with us for generations—the pillars of tradition."

Beatrice, with a calculating look, adjusted her necklace. "Those numbers make sense, but we need to ensure the environment preserves its authenticity. We're talking about a tournament that dates back to the most primitive times. We must eliminate any modern interference. No internet, no electricity…"

"…except for the screens," Clarice interjected, raising her hand slightly in mock protest. "We need people to see everything. Believe me, that's essential for keeping the audience engaged. After all, there's more at stake than just tradition."

Beatrice shot her a brief glance, but before she could respond, Mallet raised his hand, his voice calm yet commanding. "Clarice is correct. The screens will be an indispensable part of the spectacle. We must remember that while we're recreating an atmosphere from centuries past, this tournament is observed by eyes from all over the world. The balance between tradition and spectacle is crucial."

"And how will the participants and spectators be arranged?" Mason asked, his tone curious but tinged with his trademark enthusiasm. "From what I've heard, it's going to be… quite exclusive."

"Precisely," Sarah responded, a faint smile curling her lips. "The most prestigious families—the core spectators—will be accommodated in the castles. The newer guests—the hundred families and prominent figures—will have their own designated wings."

"And the old-fashioned tents?" Damián asked, his voice cutting through the air with precision. "I assume we're not talking about improvised camping setups."

Mallet chuckled, his laughter deep and resonant. "Certainly not, Damián. The tents are luxurious recreations of what was used in ancient times. We're talking reinforced fabrics, personalized decor for each family, and every comfort imaginable. It's an immersion, but not at the expense of taste."

Beatrice, still composed, leaned slightly forward. "And the activities? The hunting, tracking, confrontations… we need to establish clear organization. How many will participate directly, and how do we ensure no excesses?"

Sarah responded without hesitation, her expression firm. "The hunt will be the central finale, and all active participants must undergo a rigorous selection process. The trackers have already been chosen, and the targets are animals bred specifically for this purpose. Nothing is left to chance."

"The opening celebration," Jared added, "needs to be flawless. It's the moment to set the tone for the entire event."

Aster, who had remained quiet until now, spoke in a measured tone that commanded attention. "And what about the spectators who won't be in the castles or tents? Where will they be?"

Robert answered without missing a beat. "There are designated areas near the main arenas. These spectators are among our most influential observers. They won't have traditional accommodations, but they'll have access to the screens and prime viewing locations."

Mason seemed fascinated. "It's like creating a world within a world, isn't it? A place where everything revolves around the rules of this tournament."

Damián smirked faintly. "A world of physical strength and legacy, Mason. Don't forget that."

Beatrice shot a sharp look at Aster before speaking again. "I trust everyone understands the importance of this event. It's not just a celebration. It's a message."

"A message to whom?" Aster asked, raising an eyebrow.

Robert leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Aster. "To the world. To ourselves. To remind us that even in times of change, we remain the guardians of something greater—of a powerful and dominant genetic heritage, where the strong prove their worth."

The silence that followed Robert's words was heavy but charged with a shared understanding. It was clear this tournament was far more than a competition; it was a stage where everyone would play their part, shaping the future while honoring the past.

"Except for the screens," Clarice interrupted, raising her arms in a theatrical gesture. "People need to see everything. Believe me, it will be crucial for keeping the audience engaged. After all, there's more at stake here than just tradition."

Beatrice shot her a brief glance, but before she could respond, Mallet raised his hand to interject. "Clarice is right.

The screens will be an indispensable part of the spectacle. While we're recreating an atmosphere from centuries past, we must remember this tournament is being watched by eyes from all over the world. We need to strike a balance between tradition and spectacle."

"And how will the participants and spectators be organized?" Mason asked, his curiosity showing as he leaned in. "From what I understand, it's going to be… quite selective."

"Precisely," Sarah replied with a faint smile. "The most prominent families—the core spectators—will be housed in the castles. The newer guests—the one hundred families and prominent figures—will have their own designated wings."

"And the old-fashioned tents?" Damián asked, his voice sharp and precise. "I assume we're not talking about improvised camping setups."

Mallet chuckled, his deep laughter echoing warmly. "Of course not, Damián. The tents are luxurious recreations of what was used in ancient times. We're talking reinforced fabrics, personalized decorations for each family, and every necessary comfort. It's immersive, but without sacrificing taste."

Beatrice, still serious, leaned slightly forward. "And the activities? Hunting, tracking, confrontations… We need to define how these will be organized. How many will participate directly, and how do we ensure things don't get out of hand?"

Sarah answered promptly, her tone firm. "The hunt will be the final central event, and all active participants must undergo a rigorous selection process. The trackers have already been chosen, and the targets are animals bred specifically for this purpose. Nothing will be left to chance."

"The opening gala," Jared interrupted, "must be impeccable. It's the moment to set the tone for everything."

Aster, who had been silent until now, spoke with a calculated tone. "And what about the spectators who aren't in the castles or the tents? Where will they be?"

Robert answered without hesitation. "There are designated areas near the main arenas. This group consists of our most… influential observers. They won't be in traditional accommodations, but they'll have access to the screens and privileged views."

Mason looked fascinated. "It's like creating a world of its own, isn't it? A place where everything revolves around the rules of this tournament."

Damián smirked slightly. "A world of physical strength and legacy, Mason. Don't forget that."

Beatrice cast a sharp look at Aster before speaking again. "I hope everyone here understands the importance of this event. It's not just a celebration. It's a message."

"A message to whom?" Aster asked, raising an eyebrow.

Robert leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Aster's. "To the world. To ourselves. To remind us that, even in times of change, we remain the guardians of something greater—our powerful and dominant genetic heritage, where the strong prove their worth."

The silence that followed Robert's words was heavy, charged with shared understanding. It became clear that this tournament was more than just a competition—it was a stage where everyone would play their part, shaping the future while honoring the past.

As the conversation in the grand hall of the Phillips Mansion continued, the tournament's details were discussed in depth. The table buzzed with an air of importance; every word spoken carried a weight that transcended the visible.

Aster, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward slightly. His expression was serious, but there was a calmness in his tone that captured everyone's attention.

"I know we're discussing tradition, preparations, and logistics," he began, carefully choosing his words. "But there's something I can't ignore. I was… shocked by what happened to Clarice, Oliver, and Taylor. Despite the grandeur of this event and the legacy it carries, ho

The room fell silent for a moment. Beatrice cast a quick glance at Jared, while Sarah, ever perceptive, adjusted herself slightly in her chair, awaiting the response.

Aster continued, his voice lower but still carrying weight. "The police once accused me, as well as Damián, of being involved in something we clearly didn't do. And it only reminds me of how critical security is. Mistakes like that cannot be repeated."

Damián, reclining slightly in his chair, raised his gaze. A faint, knowing smile crossed his face—not one of amusement, but of acknowledgment of the gravity of the issue. "You're right, Aster," he said, leaning forward.

"Speaking of which," Mallet began, "it's interesting to note how influential figures in government often avoid events like these. There are plenty of rumors of favoritism and scandals circulating behind the scenes. But this time, we have an exception."

He directed his gaze at Jared. "Benjamin Williams, the former Prime Minister of Country Y, will be attending. This is unusual; it's been years since he participated. And he's not just a spectator. Benjamin brings his own security—highly trained, I might add. If the security isn't properly coordinated, we could face potential chaos."

Jared remained silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as he absorbed Mallet's words. Finally, he nodded. "You're right, Lord Mallet. Security is a top priority. We've already coordinated our family's teams with the Campbells'. Additionally…" He paused, adjusting his tie as if preparing to reveal something significant. "I've hired a specialized security team myself."

"Specialized?" Aster asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jared gave a faint smile, though his expression carried a calculated edge. "Yes. These are professionals trained to handle any type of situation—from armed attacks to internal conflicts. They're the best at what they do, prepared for anything."

Damián leaned in slightly, his gaze sharp. "That's good to know. And who's leading this team?"

"Tetsu Sakae," Jared replied firmly. "He has enough experience to handle any challenge the tournament might bring."

The name made Damián's eyes narrow for a brief moment, though he quickly masked his reaction. Beside him, Aster nodded, seemingly reassured.

"That sounds… reassuring," Aster said, striving to keep his voice neutral. "With so many influential people present, we can't afford to take risks."

Jared agreed, folding his arms. "Exactly. And trust me—everything will be under control."

The conversation continued until the staff announced that lunch was served. The meal was elegant and quiet, with occasional discussions about the tournament's logistical details. After the final course, Damián rose, placing his linen napkin on the table.

"Mason and I would like to explore the gardens," he said, addressing Jared directly. "With your permission, of course," he added, purposefully ignoring Beatrice beside him.

Jared seemed to consider it for a moment before smiling. "Of course. The gardens were designed to be admired. You'll enjoy them," he added, then turned to Clarice. "Clarice, join them."

Mason's face lit up with excitement as he stood. "I've heard the gardens are something special. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Special is an understatement," Beatrice commented, her faint smile devoid of warmth. "My father-in-law, Robert, designed them in honor of his wife. They are… unique."

Damián inclined his head in a gesture of thanks. "Then let's take a look."

The sun hung high in the sky, bathing the Phillips Mansion gardens in golden light that transformed every leaf and flower into a living work of art.

The group—Clarice leading, followed by Aster, Damián, and Mason—walked slowly along impeccably maintained stone pathways. The atmosphere was contemplative, though each carried their own intentions.

Clarice seemed almost theatrical, gesturing as if hosting a guided tour.

Aster and Damián, however, were focused on the subtleties others might overlook: discreet guards positioned at strategic points, cameras skillfully concealed among the trees, and the careful placement of every element in the garden.

The flowers were mesmerizing, arranged in geometric patterns that suggested an architect obsessed with symmetry. Crimson roses mingled with white orchids, while lavender hedges exuded a cloying, sweet fragrance. In the distance, an ornate fountain sent water arcing into perfect shapes, reflecting the azure sky.

Clarice stopped at the center of a circular flowerbed filled with rare, exotic blooms that formed a swirling vortex of vibrant colors. Turning back to the group, her eyes glinted with feigned sweetness. "Isn't it wonderful?" she said, extending her arm dramatically. "A paradise created by my grandfather… but, like any paradise, it has its serpents."

Mason, who had been admiring the scenery with the wide-eyed wonder of a tourist, froze at the word "serpents." He glanced around nervously, his expression almost comical. "Wait, serpents? What do you mean? Here? Among the flowers?" His voice pitched higher, drawing a reproachful glance from Damián.

Clarice smiled, leaning slightly to touch a flower with her fingertips, her gesture almost teasing. "Oh, Mason," she said with a soft laugh. "It's just a metaphor… or maybe it isn't."

Mason swallowed hard, still not entirely convinced, and looked toward Aster, who remained calm as ever. Aster crossed his arms, his sharp gaze fixed on Clarice with a mix of assessment and veiled disdain. Finally, he broke the silence.

"We're the serpents, Mason," he said, his voice laced with irony but carrying a hint of gravity. He inclined his head slightly toward Clarice, his expression cold. "Right here, slithering among the flowers."

Damián, a few steps behind, let out a faint chuckle—both amused and approving of Aster's response. Mason, on the other hand, looked affronted. His eyes widened as he gestured toward Clarice, seemingly eager to defend his honor. "Wait, so she—you—we—I'm not a snake!"

Clarice merely shrugged, her smile returning as she turned and walked away along the stone path, the sound of her heels echoing softly. "You'll be whatever I decide you are," she said without looking back.

Mason turned to Aster, still indignant, but found only Damián's impassive yet slightly amused gaze. Damián clapped a hand on Mason's shoulder.

"Relax, Mason," he murmured. "Even serpents have their place in paradise."