As soon as he arrived home, Tyson went straight into the living room, shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa. The room was quiet, only the soft hum of the air conditioner and the measured cadence of his steps filled the space.He had just sat down when his phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen made his brow lift slightly.Commissioner General Rodriguez.Without a second thought, Tyson answered the call.The voice on the other end was deep and direct, the usual no-nonsense tone.“Tyson, I just received a call from Mr. Han.”Rodriguez paused as if to make sure Tyson was listening, and only continued after hearing a brief murmur from him.“He asked about you. Said you were at the hospital where his son is being treated. Are you… serious about getting involved in this case?”Tyson leaned back a little, his gaze fixed on the large window in the living room. The city lights in the distance glittered in his eyes.“He called you himself?” he asked flatly.

The place was on the outskirts of the city, an old building that hadn’t been used as a warehouse in years, but was now guarded tightly by several officers who were clearly not low-ranking police.Tyson stepped out of the car with Mr. Han. The dim yellow floodlights illuminated the empty yard, while the night wind carried the scent of dust and old metal.As soon as they entered, several heads turned. There were criminal officers, senior investigators, and in the corner of the room sat three men with their hands tied, men previously identified by Tyson.However, what stood out the most wasn’t the fear in the three men’s eyes, but the stunned looks from several officers who recognized Tyson’s face the moment they saw his identity, which for the first time wasn’t hidden behind the title “Mr. T” or some vague initial.“Tyson De Leon?” one investigator whispered to his colleague. Another stared as if witnessing a figure they had only heard about through internal rumors.No one dared to say

Tyson sat there with a calmness that was somehow sharper, more cutting, than anger.The Old Lady De Leon finally let out a choked sound, an ugly mix of shock, humiliation, and fury she could no longer unleash without looking outright cruel.But Tyson didn’t give her any time to recover.He smiled faintly, not warm, not polite, but painfully honest.“If you want to criticize my upbringing,” he said lightly, “you can start by criticizing the people who were supposed to raise me.”Every person in the room heard exactly what Tyson said and not a single one of them could refute it.Because it was the truth they all knew the truth they had buried so deep that even they had begun to believe their own lies.But did they feel guilty?Of course not.In their heads, every difficulty, every inconvenience, every chaos they had blamed on Tyson since the day he was born, always had one simple, comfortable explanation, bad luck.Tyson the jinx. Tyson the curse.When he was younger, too young to unders

 Mateo was the first to explode.“No!” he snapped, the words strained by self-control that was seconds away from tearing.“Shares aren’t something you can just ask for. Don’t speak carelessly!”Old Madam De Leon growled, yes, growled, in a way unfitting for a woman her age, but perfectly suited to the fury that ran in the De Leon bloodline.“Stop talking nonsense,” she said lowly almost hissing. “Ask for something reasonable.”Kaylee turned to the three of them, startled by their intensity.“Why are you—”“Shut up, Kaylee,” Mateo cut

Tyson stepped out of the De Leon family villa with a lightness in his stride that didn’t match the tense atmosphere he’d left behind. The night air felt fresher than usual, as if the world itself was celebrating his small victory. His lips lifted faintly, a subtle smile that only appeared when something unfolded exactly the way he wanted.He had barely taken a few steps down the marble stairs when a voice called out.“Tyson,” Kaylee called, hurrying to catch up with him.Her voice was soft, tinged with hesitation, yet unmistakable.His kind sister. The “friendliest” one in a family that excelled at hiding daggers behind their backs.Tyson didn’t fully turn; he merely stopped walking.“What?” he asked flatly, his tone cold but calm. He had no interest in whatever sentiment Kaylee might be trying to evoke.Kaylee approached, though she still kept a careful distance, as if afraid he might suddenly turn into something she couldn’t control. Lately, she had developed a quiet fear of him, pe