The Underdog Son-in-law

005

  Laughter then erupted through the hall 

"Guess our most priced Son-in-law is out of his mind!"

"What a joke!"

"He thinks we're eating leftover dog food. And even if we are, it's still definitely more expensive than that solemn piece of trash!" 

Edrin rose from his seat with an easy smile.

The movement was unhurried, deliberate, timed to draw attention without appearing to seek it.

“I wasn’t planning to make this a spectacle,” he said lightly. “But since everyone’s here…”

He removed the covering.

A sculpture stood beneath it—sleek lines, balanced proportions, a modern piece that carried weight even before it was properly seen. The material caught the light subtly, neither garish nor dull, and the craftsmanship was immediately apparent.

A murmur rippled through the room.

 This piece was sculpted by a monk after months of meditation from pure divine wood and from the mountain. There's only one of it available in the world and it's well sought after.

“I had to wait nearly eight months,” he added, almost apologetically. “Connections help, of course. But patience matters more.”

The effect was immediate.

Admiration surfaced openly now. Heads nodded. Someone whispered that the piece alone was worth more than most people’s homes. Another remarked on Edrin’s taste, his reach, the effort he must have gone through.

Lyra watched him with something close to pride.

“That,” a relative said loudly, “is what a real man brings to the table.”

Laughter followed, approving this time.

Someone glanced toward Caelen, eyes flicking briefly to the space in front of him where nothing but plates and cutlery sat. The contrast was sharp, intentional.

“Imagine thinking an old bottle could compare,” another voice scoffed.

Edrin waved a hand gently, as though embarrassed by the praise. “Let’s not be unfair,” he said. “Everyone contributes in their own way.”

The words sounded generous.

They were not.

He turned slightly toward Caelen, his expression softening. “Some people simply don’t have the exposure,” he continued. “Value can be… confusing. I’d be happy to explain, if you’d like.”

A few people smiled approvingly at the gesture.

"Thanks but I don't need your help!" Caelen said and Lyra frowned deeply.

Lyra leaned forward. “Edrin’s just trying to help,” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “You don’t have to take everything as an attack.”

Caelen looked at her for a long moment.

“I don’t need help from the devil,” he said quietly.

The word landed hard.

Lyra’s chair scraped back slightly as she straightened. “What did you just say?”

Edrin didn’t react outwardly, but his jaw tightened.

“Enough,” Lyra snapped. “You’re being childish. Bitter.” She gestured sharply. “Edrin has been nothing but patient with you. And this—this is how you respond?”

Caelen’s gaze never left her face.

“You said what happened wasn’t about him,” he said evenly. “That I was imagining things.”

Her expression flickered.

“Then why are you defending him now?” he asked.

Silence stretched.

Lyra’s lips parted, then pressed together. “Don’t twist this,” she said. “You’re the one making scenes.”

The family closed ranks immediately.

“Always the victim,” someone muttered.

“Can’t stand seeing others succeed.”

Lady Halwen set her glass down sharply. “This is exactly why these things ended,” she said coldly. “Immaturity. Delusion.”

At the head of the table, Patriarch Aldric Halwen lifted a hand weakly.

“That’s enough,” he said. His voice was tired, worn thin by illness and age. “This is a family dinner.”

No one argued.

But no one apologized either.

The doors opened a moment later.

A servant stepped aside to allow an elderly man to enter, his posture straight despite the years etched into his face. His hair was silver, his suit understated, his presence quiet but unmistakable.

Aldric’s eyes lit up.

“Lucien,” he said, genuine warmth breaking through his fatigue. “You made it.”

Lucien Morveau inclined his head. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

As he took his seat, his gaze drifted across the table, lingering briefly on the sculpture before moving on to the bottles on the table and something flashed in his eyes almost instantly.

Then his eyes stopped.

On the bottle.

He leaned forward slightly, studying it without touching. 

“That’s an unusual piece,” Lucien said calmly.

Someone laughed. “Unusual is one word for it.”

Lucien glanced up. “May I?”

No one stopped him.

He lifted the bottle carefully, turning it so the light caught the markings. His brow furrowed—not in confusion, but recognition.

“This is from Virelune,” he said. “Pre-collapse vintage.”

The room quieted.

“That vineyard burned decades ago,” he continued. “Only a handful of bottles survived. Most are accounted for.”

He set it down gently.

“I haven’t seen one in person for years.”

Someone scoffed nervously. “That’s impossible.”

Lucien smiled faintly. “I assure you, it isn’t.”

He went on, describing the wine’s history, its scarcity, the auctions where similar bottles had surfaced briefly before vanishing into private collections.

The laughter died, shock paling deep into their faces. 

They stared at the bottes, at the history they had just been told and back at Caelen the useless being. 

It couldn't be a possibility, not in this life or even after.

The value he named exceeded what most of the people at the table were worth combined.

Lyra stared at the bottle, her expression tightening.

Lucien turned then, his gaze drifting back to the sculpture.

“A fine replica. This's a replicated Monk Kuma's piece sold recently to the president. This should cost over a few thousand dollars, 10 thousand at most but still overtly fake."

The room froze.

Edrin stiffened, his face burned from pale to purplish.

Lady Staggered forward with a stutter. "That can't be true, Edrin brought it, that's all the authenticity it needs!"

Lucien examined the piece more closely, tapping lightly near its base. “Well-crafted,” he added. “Convincing at first glance. But the original carries a maker’s flaw here.” He gestured. “This one doesn’t.”

Silence crashed down.

Someone laughed weakly. “You must be mistaken.”

Lucien shook his head. “I’m not.”

"You are!" The crowd responded not daring to believe the truth.

Edrin's face grew paler and he almost peed his pants.

The family shifted uncomfortably, murmurs rising as they searched for explanations