His name in this life, or rather, the name of this body, was Athar VonCruz, and this man had had a peculiar life. Well, his personal life was normal, but the circumstances surrounding him were peculiar.
Athar VonCruz had turned eighteen years of age just a few months prior. And currently, he was still in his student phase of life- he was pursuing a bachelor's degree in business management and was in his second year of college.
The peculiarity in his life stemmed from his family, more specifically, his father. His father was a mafia leader. Well, not some very big mob boss or a great ringleader, but the leader of a small group. He could have been called something slightly better than a street side thug.
The world in which he had arrived, the planet he was in was called Zenodium. This world was divided into four continents: the Northern, Southern, Eastern, and Western continents. Across these four continents, the world was further divided into over two hundred countries.
On the Western continent was a medium sized country called Aryanka. The Aryanka country was further divided into sixteen provinces. Among these sixteen provinces, there was one province, Baharta province, which was among the smallest and most impoverished of all the provinces.
Within this province was a small town, Nawarin city. And in this city, Athar's father, Ruscon VonCruz, was a small time mafia boss.
Even so, with all his background, Athar had never been involved in all this mafia business. He for his entire life of 18 years had remained very far away from all this.
His father, owing to a promise made to his mother, had from the very beginning kept Athar away from all this mess.
From the very beginning, Athar had been shifted to a neighbouring province, by his father, where he had spent his entire life living alone in boarding houses.
The relationship between the father and son pair was cold, to say the best. They barely talked twice a week- it was Ruscon taking all the initiative. Athar, did not really want to talk to his father. He had almost abhorred his father. He had hated Ruscon for being in that profession and for keeping him alone his entire life.
Three days prior, Athar had received a call from his father. It was a call made in desperation, and though Athar had felt that desperation and understood that something was wrong; out of his hatred for his father, he had not cared.
Ruscon had almost desperately asked Athar to return. He had said that he had something important to discuss.
Athar had obliged his father. They had met, and Athar had been furious. The reason? The moment Athar had landed at the airport, his father's men had picked him up and brought him to one of his father's bases.
Instead of listening and having a conversation with his father, he had started a heated argument about being brought to such a place instead of meeting elsewhere. Ruscon had tried a lot of convincing, but Athar had remained stubborn. Ultimately with a lot of effort from Ruscon's side, he agreed to hear his father's words.
His father had handed him a bank card, which, according to Ruscon, contained all his life savings. There was also the ownership document for a house in Athar's name in the city where Athar had been staying.
All this had chilled Athar, and he felt a bad premonition in his heart.
He tried to ask Ruscon what this was all about, but the man did not utter a word. He instead started to talk about his deceased wife and Athar's deceased mother. It felt like Ruscon was about to reveal some secret when the loud sound of fighting started to echo in the base.
Ruscon's base had been attacked. More than two dozen men had invaded the base, and all hell broke loose. Ruscon tried to move Athar to safety, but they had been surrounded. In all that chaos, Ruscon tried to shield Athar, but a knife had grazed his chest, and Athar had lost consciousness. After that, Athar had known nothing.
.
.
.
Athar tried to shift his body on the bed when a groan escaped his mouth. He was about to try once more when the door to the room was pushed open, and a lady walked in.
The lady was a middle-aged woman, almost thirty-two or thirty-three years old. She was almost six feet tall, with dark hair and dark black eyes. Her body was curvaceous, and she looked extremely alluring.
Athar recognized the woman. She was one of his father's most trusted subordinates and had been with him for the past eighteen years. Her name was Alice.
According to what Athar knew, his father had rescued Alice when she had been kidnapped and was about to be trafficked as a slave. Since then, she had faithfully remained at Ruscon's side.
Seeing Athar awake, an expression of happiness appeared on Alice's face as she quickened her pace and strode toward Athar.
"Young master," she said. "You are awake."
Athar gave a nod, "Alice."
Alice then quickly poured him a glass of water, which Athar gulped down in one go.
"How many days?" he asked, inquiring about the time that had passed since the incident.
"Thirty-six hours," replied Alice.
"Dad?" Athar asked a question whose answer he already knew. It was just a last flicker of hope for some miracle.
"He did not survive," Alice said, as a single tear escaped her eye.
"After you were injured, he was enraged," she continued. "He, along with some men, opened a path for us to escape."
Athar did not speak for a few moments, nor did he show any emotion.
"I am hungry," were the words that left his mouth after those moments of silence.
Athar felt as if Alice was slightly disappointed; maybe she had been expecting him to express some kind of grief, pain, or mourning for his deceased father.
Even so, she gave a nod. "I will arrange something."
With this, she walked away from the room.
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