The rest of the convoy had already disgorged its passengers. The girls spilled across the wide marble drive in loose, glittering clusters, received by hotel staff who moved with the flawless, choreographed grace of a five-star opera that had rehearsed this exact welcome for decades.

Maddie was twirling slowly in place, mouth half-open in pure theatrical awe.

Sierra performed a more dignified version of the same motion, though her eyes betrayed the same quiet wonder. Cherry clutched both of Landon’s hands and emitted a series of tiny, delighted squeaks.

Even Elena — who had grown up inside actual Ashford-money architecture — tilted her head back, lips parted in rare, unguarded appreciation.

No matter how many they saw it, they came her almost every year... Infinity Chaos Hotel was still a beast they could never get used to.

A single figure detached from the receiving line and crossed the marble with measured haste.

A man in his late forties, salt-and-pepper hair drawn into a neat low knot, wearing a black suit cut so sharply it might have been forged rather than sewn.

He halted three respectful paces from Melissa, drew himself to perfect attention, and bowed — deep, Japanese, from the waist.

The precise angle conveyed rank, gratitude, and quiet apology in one fluid motion.

"Ohime-sama," he said in crisp, formal Japanese. "Welcome to Infinity Chaos Hotel. The Madam was informed the instant your jet departed Paradise International. Every floor has been prepared exactly as requested."

Melissa returned a smaller, graceful bow — the practiced acknowledgment of an heir accepting the devotion of her family’s sworn retainers.

"Arigatou, Hayashi-san. The journey was smooth."

They continued in rapid, fluid Japanese — something about floor allocations, a private dining room, and "the boy," at which point the manager’s eyes flicked briefly toward Phei.

They widened for a fraction of a second in dawning recognition.

The man turned fully toward Phei.

He bowed again.

Deeper.

"Wakasama—" The title left his lips in a tone of soft, reverent apology that Phei caught perhaps one word in five. The rest flowed like dark water over ancient stone.

Wakasama? Phei thought, fighting the sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. I spent ten years being called charity-case trash in the Maxton house, and now a man twice my age is addressing me like I’m the crown prince of a forgotten empire. The universe has a truly vicious circle at which things change.

Melissa shook her head quickly when the man saw Phei’s lost look when he kept talking in Japanese, which Phei caught like 0.0001% of what he was.

Melissa murmured something low and corrective to the manager.

The manager’s expression shifted — first to understanding, then to the faintest tightening around the eyes that Phei recognized instantly from every Japanese relative he had ever met: "What a shame the boy does not speak the language that built his bloodline."

Phei offered a small, sheepish shrug.

He had lost the language somewhere in the fire that took his parents. The grief over that particular absence was old, worn smooth, and he had long since stopped letting strangers witness it on his face.

The manager bowed a third time, even lower.

"Welcome, Young Master."

Phei laughed — quiet, honest, a touch embarrassed. "Yeah... yeah, let’s ease up on that one."

He waved a hand at the title, smiling, not disrespectfully, merely genuinely baffled. "I’ve been called a lot of things in my life. ’Young Master’ from a man who looks like he could run a small country is... a lot. Can we pretend I’m just a guest?"

The manager smiled warmly.

He did not stop calling him Young Master.

Behind him, the entire receiving line — dozens of impeccably uniformed staff arranged along the entrance like living statues — dropped into a single, synchronized low bow.

"Welcome, Young Master," they chanted as one, voices blending into a single, resonant wave of formal deference.

Maddie’s hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god. Sierra. Sierra, I feel like I’ve been dropped into a K-drama. Wait — what’s the Japanese word for dramas again?"

"Dorama," Yuki Tanaka supplied, deadpan.

"Dorama!" Maddie whisper-shrieked, eyes sparkling with unholy delight. "I am living in a dorama right now. This is actually happening to me."

Elena was laughing softly into her own collarbone, shoulders shaking. Sierra pressed a delicate hand to her sternum as if physically restraining her composure from deserting her.

Cherry had abandoned all dignity and was clutching Landon’s arm with both hands like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Yuki, Victoria, Sienna, and Delilah did not laugh — they had grown up close enough to this world to understand the weight of such welcome.

Yuki because her own family still practiced these rites; Victoria, Sienna, and Delilah because the Ryujin Tiamat blood in their veins had always commanded exactly this level of reverence in private circles whenever possible even if on call with their grandmother or when they visted her, even when the Maxton name tried to smother it.

Melissa stepped forward and began the introductions with effortless grace.

"Hayashi-san. My eldest, Victoria. My middle, Delilah. My youngest, Sienna."

The manager bowed to each in turn — deep, formal, the angle growing perceptibly deeper with every name, because each carried its own ancient gravity to a man trained to feel the weight of bloodlines.

"Victoria Ojou-sama. Sienna Ojou-sama. Delilah Ojou-sama."

Three perfect bows. Three Ojou-samas spoken with solemn reverence, because inside the walls of Infinity Chaos, only the Ryujin Tiamat half of their heritage existed.

Victoria inclined her head with cool, aristocratic poise. Sienna granted the manager a flat, three-quarter-second glance before returning to her phone. Delilah managed a small, overwhelmed bow in return and immediately turned the color of ripe cherries.

Hayashi-san straightened with ceremonial precision. He swept one arm toward the long, low-lit entrance in a gesture that felt less like an invitation and more like the ceremonial opening of sacred gates.

"Please," he said, voice rich with quiet pride. "Welcome to Infinity Chaos."

Phei looked up at the shimmering golden sign one final time as they crossed the threshold.

Of course you had to do that, Grandmother, he thought, a dark, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. Of course you did. Why hide when you can announce your chaos to the entire island in twenty-foot letters? Absolute legend.

He stepped inside.

The weight of the day, the Mark, the slaves and the gathering storm still pressed against his ribs like a second heartbeat, but for the first time in hours, something dangerously close to awe settled over his shoulders like warm silk.

This was his life now.

And the chaos, it seemed, had only just begun to introduce itself.