Rogue Nation

As Krist pedaled into the estate, the high iron gates swung open with practiced precision. The security guards stood at attention, their demeanor suggesting they had been expecting him. Krist coasted through the gates, taking in the meticulously paved driveway and sprawling lawns. His eyes landed on a sleek pickup truck parked in front of the security building—a truck so new it hadn't even hit the market yet.

Krist shook his head in disbelief. Of course, Uncle Blake. He muttered inwardly, already accustomed to his uncle's extravagant taste. Using an unreleased luxury truck to ferry guests? It was both excessive and precisely what he should have expected.

He dismounted, handing his bike to an estate worker who promptly loaded it into the truck's bed. Climbing into the passenger seat, Krist made himself comfortable. A familiar voice greeted him as the engine purred to life.

"Good morning, young master," came the deep, calm tone.

Krist turned, startled. "Delaney?" he asked, recognizing the older man behind the wheel.

The driver smiled but said nothing, focusing instead on maneuvering the truck out of the driveway.

"Wait a second," Krist said, his confusion growing. "You're Uncle Blake's butler. What are you doing driving the estate taxi service?"

Delaney chuckled as he steered onto the main estate road. "You're a smart boy, young master. I was hoping you'd figure it out by now."

Krist narrowed his eyes before realization dawned. "He knows I'm here," he said.

"Bingo," Delaney replied with a grin.

Krist leaned back in his seat, exhaling sharply. "Figures. I should've known. But wait—if he knows I'm here, he must also know I got into a fight just outside the gates."

Delaney glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Ah, yes. About that... Your performance was disappointing. You took far too long dealing with those ruffians. Perhaps you need a week of intense training?"

Krist groaned. "I don't have the time for that, Delaney. Maybe a sparring session before I leave, though. You can give me some pointers."

The truck glided past row after row of opulent buildings. Each structure was a marvel of modern design, with bold shapes, expansive glass, and clean lines. Krist gazed in awe, momentarily forgetting his earlier annoyance.

"These buildings are insane," he muttered. "No wonder Uncle Blake has the biggest real estate company in the city."

Delaney chuckled. "Your uncle is more than just a businessman, young master. He's also the architect behind all of these designs."

Krist's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Delaney said, pulling the truck to a stop in front of a smaller—though still impressive—two-story duplex.

"This is Uncle Blake's house?" Krist asked, frowning. Compared to the towering mansions surrounding it, the house looked almost modest.

"It's not small," Delaney said as he opened the door for Krist. "The others are just excessively large."

Krist stepped out, shaking his head. "Still not cool," he muttered before following Delaney to the door. The butler excused himself, leaving Krist to enter on his own.

The glass door slid open automatically as Krist stepped forward. Inside, the house was a blend of luxury and tech. Sleek furniture, the latest gadgets, and minimalist decor screamed wealth. But something felt... off. As Krist ascended the stairs, the faint smell of chocolate hit his nose.

When he reached the first-floor living room, the sight before him made him stop in his tracks. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

The room was a disaster zone. Empty snack wrappers, chocolate cartons, and discarded jars covered every surface. The once-expensive carpet was barely visible beneath the trash. Krist sighed, clearing a small space on a single-seater couch to sit down. He pushed away stray wrappers with his foot, scanning the chaos.

"Uncle Blake!" he called, his voice echoing through the room.

No response.

"Uncle Blake!" This time, he yelled loud enough to make the walls vibrate.

A sudden rustling from one of the trash piles caught his attention. He turned, watching as a head popped out of the mess. A girl, close to his age, with tousled hair and chocolate smudged on her cheek, looked at him groggily.

"Shhh!" she said, holding a finger to her lips. "Stop making noise and join the fun!" She tossed a can of chocolate drink toward him.

Krist caught it mid-air, his skeptical gaze fixed on her. "Ash? You always seemed so mature. How did Uncle Blake drag you into... this?"

Ash grinned lazily. "When in Rome," she said, shrugging before sinking back into her makeshift throne of trash.

Krist sighed, opening the can. He took a sip, and his eyes widened. "What the hell is this?" he exclaimed before taking another gulp. The rich, addictive taste had him finishing the can in one swig. "Do you have more of this?" he asked.

Ash didn't respond. Krist glanced around again, his eyes landing on another pile of trash. This one contained the vague shape of a man.

Is that... Uncle Blake?

Krist set the empty can down and stepped closer. "Did they spike this with alcohol?" he muttered, shaking his head. Then, a devious grin spread across his face. "Once-in-a-lifetime moment," he whispered, pulling out his phone.

He snapped a picture of Ash first, her chocolate-streaked face still half-buried in wrappers. Turning to Uncle Blake, Krist aimed and clicked just as his uncle stirred awake.

"Turn off the light, Ash," Blake mumbled before blinking. "Wait... Krist?!"

The older man bolted upright, wrappers flying everywhere. "What are you doing taking pictures of me?"

Krist smirked, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Some of us were outside dealing with gangsters while others were inside getting high on chocolate. Just preserving the memory."

"You brat!" Blake growled. "Delete it. Now."

"Not happening," Krist said, plopping back onto the couch with a grin.

"This is my house!" Blake shouted.

Krist shrugged. "Sure is," he replied nonchalantly, crossing his arms.

Blake slumped back into the trash, groaning. "I knew I should've stayed in bed."