Iz lived in what could only be described as a palatial mansion.

  Three stories high. Wide enough that it probably had its own postcode. The outer walls gleamed in elegant grey, paired with tinted windows that bounced sunlight away, keeping the interior cool no matter how infernal the weather became. Two stone-faced bodyguards stood at the gate, unmoving, while patrols circled the grounds with dogs whose stares could trigger confessions.

  Strange... Their posture felt too perfect, like they weren’t guarding a house but a secret. For a heartbeat, I wondered who was being protected… and from what.

  Once, I saw a guy tried to climb the fence. He made it halfway. A guard intercepted him mid-air like a hawk catching a rabbit; I decided not to wonder about the rest.

  Normal guards don’t move like that. Right? Or maybe I’ve just never met the kind hired by families who could buy whole districts out of boredom.

  Inside, a stone path led through a massive garden, complete with a fountain that sang over polished marble. The patio beside it practically demanded discussions about stock portfolios or diplomatic crises. Then we have the flowerbeds releasing fragrance that felt almost enchanted.

  The garden... nothing changed. Nothing. Not since the first time I came here. Was that about 8 months ago? Don’t flowers grow? Or wilt? Or do anything except stay creepily flawless forever?

  I remembered the first time I visited, I slapped myself. Iz had jumped. “What was that for?”

  “It hurts. So this place is real." I chuckled nervously. "I thought I'd overdosed on manga.”

  She laughed, and honestly? I didn’t blame her. No matter how many times I came, I still couldn't get used to this dreamlike landscape. Then we stepped into the house, and my definition of luxury detonated.

  The living room was three stories tall because Iz’s father apparently decided ceilings should aspire to heaven. Ten bedrooms branched across the mansion, not counting the billiard room, ballroom, bar, and rooms whose purposes were mysterious and possibly ceremonial.

  What amazed me most? Not a speck of dust. Ever. I once swiped my finger across a shelf just to check. Clean. Sparkling. It wasn’t housekeeping; it felt unnatural, like the dust knew better than to trespass here.

  As we arrived at the gate today, I just stood there, eyes wide, brain buffering.

  Iz turned, her head tilted. "Why aren't you coming in?"

  "I still can't get used to how absurdly large and… majestic your place is. Also, how did your dad even get permission to build something like this?"

  “You think this is bad? Wait until you see our penthouse in Seoul.” She grinned smugly. "And, well, he has connections. Things just… happen for him."

  "Seoul?" My brain tried to process that. It failed.

  “Father loves it there. So he built a hundred-floor building to enjoy his holidays.”

  She said it like she was describing a weekend shed. My brain stalled. That man is crazy. No wonder his daughter is crazy too. Oui... what family did I get myself into?

  Then I remembered Ma's words.

  Ma once asked me, "Between someone who leaves messes, mistakes, traces everywhere… and someone who never leaves anything behind…”

  She tilted her head slightly, studying me. “Which one feels more dangerous to you?”

  I shook my head. "I don't know."

  Ma brushed my hair behind my ear and tapped my temple a few times. "Think, my child. Think."

  I frowned, thinking hard. After a moment, a strange certainty rose in my gut. “Someone who’s too clean,” I said at last. “Like someone whose mind you can’t read.”

  I glanced up at her, a little proud of myself. “Am I right, Ma?”

  Ma hadn’t answered. She just gave me a tiny smile, the kind that made me feel like I’d stumbled onto the edge of something I wasn’t ready to know.

  Something about her smile back then bothered me. I never understood why. Even now, the memory made my skin prickle.

  Oh gosh. I better not pry. Let's keep the conservation simple.

  I breathed in and out, keeping my heartbeat steady, and turned to Iz. “Why does he even need a place that big?”

  Iz tapped her chin. "Well, each floor has something different. Pool, karaoke, tennis court, cinema, aquarium, maybe a zoo? I forgot. I spent a week exploring and still didn’t finish. I'll bring you there on our next holiday."

  The world shifted, just for a second.

  This family wasn't just wealthy. They were on a different plane of existence.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Is his dream to build his own kingdom?" I said jokingly.

  "He said that dream's too small for him now."

  I inhaled too much air and nearly choked. For once, I was speechless. Apparently, that word was in my dictionary after all.

  "Come on, let's go in. He did a minor renovation."

  Iz ran ahead. I followed, mentally drafting my will. "Minor, huh?" I muttered. "Doubt it."

  The moment we stepped inside, she beamed. “Nice, right?”

  I fainted. Standing up.

  Her voice echoed distantly, calling my name over and over. Footsteps rushed toward us. The world slipped sideways.

  I came to on a velvet sofa, groaning as the butler and head maid hovered over me.

  "Minor?! He renovated the entire estate!"

  I wonder what a 'major' one looked like… Nope. On second thought, I don't want to know.

  "The living room is untouched," Iz said with complete seriousness.

  "…Hah." My head spun.

  I'd lost count of how many times this family had sucker-punched my worldview into submission. "Your family is hazardous to my sanity."

  "But at least you're better now."

  "When did he do this? Where did you stay? My place is humble but—"

  "Oh, it was done in a few hours. I went shopping."

  Hours. Even corrupt officials couldn’t approve paperwork that fast.

  I stared at her. "That's not how time or construction works!"

  "No clue how they did it. But if you ever want their contacts—"

  "Nope. Too rich for my blood."

  "Fair. Now, let's go. Time to spill that nightmare."

  "Sure." I folded forward at the waist, arms swinging loosely, and followed Iz.

  We've arrived in front of Iz's bedroom. Iz opened the door. Everything inside was exactly as before.

  "Keeping it simple, huh?" I said.

  "Too much of a hassle to change," she replied, tossing her bag near her study table.

  I dropped mine beside hers, then caught sight of a strange pair of earrings on the desk.

  Sleek, metallic. Almost… like lockpicks? Who's door is she going to pick?

  I looked at Iz. Then at her delicate, smooth hands.

  Nah. Those princess hands aren't touching anything illegal.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," I muttered quickly.

  She smiled, flopped onto the floor, and stretched. “Let’s rest.”

  I joined her, grinning. For several quiet minutes, neither of us moved. I stared at her pristine ceiling. It reminded me of those toothpaste commercials. Clean and sparkly.

  There's no dust here. Does that mean there's no cocoons either?

  A few minutes later, a knock sounded. Selene, the head maid, entered with drinks and appetizers. “Eat, shower, then do as you like. Understood?”

  Selene’s gaze lingered at me for a moment too long, like she was cataloging my soul. I shrugged it off. Mostly.

  Maybe she was looking past me. Or through me.

  I scratched my head, frowning.

  Either option made my scalp tighten.

  We nodded in sync without even getting up. After inhaling the snacks and cleaning up, we collapsed on Iz’s bed.

  "So much for a first day of school,” I murmured. “Tired yet, Iz?”

  No reply. I turned. She was already curled up with Mr. Oz, her stuffed raccoon. Smiling, I tucked her in and slid in beside her. Sleep came quickly. But peace was fleeting. At least for me.

  Darkness surged. I opened my eyes. Air slipped wrong into my lungs, thin and metallic. I sat up sharply, gasping.

  Where... Wasn't I in Iz's room? Unless... This is a dream again? Tsk.

  I looked around. Nothing. Just infinite emptiness spreading in every direction.

  "Oh boy. Here we go again."

  This dream was a warning.

  The first time was back in primary school, days before a relative died. I saw this same place. This same void. And in it, a girl.

  Long black hair covering her face. A white dress brushing the floor. She never moved, never spoke. Just watched me from afar, like a ghost in a horror film waiting for the sudden cut to appear right in front of you.

  Except this one never moved.

  Just stood there. Watching.

  Whenever someone I cared about got badly hurt, I'd feel… strange. A headache. A sudden imbalance. Seeing bits of the girl. A hand. A silhouette. Her hair.

  But if someone died?

  This dream would return. The condition is always the same.

  Except tonight, she wasn’t standing where she used to be.

  I walked through the darkness. Aimless, but also… guided. As if something in the void nudged me along. Until finally… I saw her.

  She was squatting this time, her back hunched like she was trying to fold herself into the ground. Her shoulders trembled. She was whispering something I couldn't comprehend.

  My pulse quickened as I approached. Her whispers became clearer with each step.

  "M… Ma… death… run… kill… bloo… bloo…"

  Each syllable felt scraped out of her. My stomach lurched. My legs tightened, bracing against some unseen cold slithering up my spine, hooking at the base of my skull.

  She… spoke? That had never happened before. And her voice... Urk...

  The girl turned and pointed at me. She stayed crouched, trembling, her lips moving in words I couldn’t understand. Her voice was barely there, worn thin, as if she had been speaking for too long and had little strength left.

  I hesitated. Then… I reached out. Instinctively. Stupidly. To comfort her.

  She lifted her face and I saw them. Her eyes. Black. Completely. No whites. No pupils. No light. Just an endless, suffocating void. Like this space.

  My mind slipped. Pressure ripped through my thoughts as something vast and hungry closed around my skull. It wasn’t physical. It felt like my consciousness was being pulled apart, thread by thread, toward the emptiness in her gaze.

  Dragging me in. Trapping me.

  Who’s more dangerous? The messy one or the one who leaves no trace at all?

  What’s your pick?