Milo had expected this to happen. After all, he was the one who had offered the man this thing in exchange for protection. It was the only thing he could do.

He had no combat skills, no money, and no family. His only value lay in the strange, death-related numbers he saw on people’s skin.

He had spent thirteen years as a tool for Nero. He was used to his body and mind belonging to someone else. If the reason he was safe here was because he could predict the end of a man’s life, then he would do it.

Compared to the way Nero treated him, this was a much better arrangement. Salvatore spoke to him like a person, even if he was stern.

"I will do anything," Milo said, his voice firm despite the underlying exhaustion.

Salvatore nodded, his sharp gray eyes studying Milo’s face. "We’ll see if we can really use your ability. I still need more proof. I hope what happened to Ronald wasn’t just a coincidence or a lucky guess."

Milo lowered his head. For a long time, only Nero had known what he could do. Nero had forbidden him from ever speaking about it to anyone else, using the ability to avoid business partners who were about to die or to predict when a rival might be vulnerable.

"You’ll keep it a secret?" Milo asked, looking up.

"It’s better that way," Salvatore replied. "Nobody likes being told they are going to die. They will panic. And I don’t want anyone else trying to take you or use you if they find out what you can do. It is safer for you if you keep it to yourself."

Milo felt a small, unfamiliar warmth in his chest. For the first time in his life, it felt like someone was thinking about his safety as a priority, not just his utility.

Salvatore stood up, adjusting his sleeves. "You can go now. And remember, you work directly under me. Nobody in this mansion can tell you what to do unless I ask them to. Your only duty now is to learn and to train. Once you are ready, you will be my guard. That means you will be responsible for the safety of this mansion, for me, and for everyone who lives here. Do you understand?"

Milo nodded. He was still a bit confused about the "guard" part. He felt far too small and weak to protect anyone, but he didn’t want to say anything.

"You do not need to do any chores in the mansion," Salvatore clarified. "We have staff who are paid to take care of those things. Your focus is your training."

Milo gulped. The idea of not being a servant was almost as shocking as the money Salvatore had given him. He had been a servant for as long as he could remember.

"Understand?" Salvatore asked again, his voice becoming more demanding.

"Yes, Sir," Milo said quickly.

He stood up, gathering the shopping bags Salvatore had brought for him. The weight of the new clothes and shoes felt like a physical anchor to this new life.

"Thank you very much, Sir," Milo said.

Salvatore nodded once and walked out of the room first, his long strides carrying him outside.

Milo hurried to his own room. He felt a childish sense of excitement as he spread the new clothes out on the bed. He took off the white shirt and the black trousers, then tried on a thick, soft gray sweater.

He pulled it over his head. The wool was warm and didn’t scratch his skin. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt, for the first time, as if he were dressed in decent clothes.

He folded the clothes with extreme care, stacking them neatly on the small dresser by the wall. He placed his new leather shoes side by side on the floor.

When dinner time arrived, Milo walked down to the kitchen. He liked the atmosphere there. It was loud and busy. The staff looked tired, but they still joked and laughed with each other. They waved him over to the long wooden table.

"Come sit down, Milo!" Stella called out.

For dinner, Luke had prepared steamed fish with ginger and a large pile of seasoned vegetables. The smell made Milo’s mouth water.

He sat down and began to eat. The fish was light and perfectly cooked. He finished his first plate in minutes.

Then he accepted a second serving from Luke. He finished that as well.

When he reached for a third serving, Luke, the chef, watched him with a wide, satisfied grin. He liked seeing people enjoy his food.

However, Nancy, an older woman who handled the household accounts, looked at Milo with a stunned expression.

"Milo, dear, you don’t need to force yourself," Nancy said, her eyes wide. "You can say no if you’re full. Luke won’t be offended."

Milo chewed a piece of fish and swallowed, nodding his head. "Yes, thank you. But it’s very good. I can have more."

That night, the staff realized that Milo had an incredible appetite for someone so thin. They watched in silence as he finished the third plate.

"Oh, boy," Stella said, resting her chin on her hand. "How long has it been since you had a full meal?"

Milo smiled, but he knew Stella meant no harm, and he didn’t want to give a sad answer. Nero had measured every gram of his food to ensure he stayed thin and "elegant" for display.

Nero believed he should look adorable. Because of that, Milo had spent years in a state of constant, quiet hunger. Now that the restriction was gone, his body was demanding everything it could get.

However, after the third plate, reality caught up with him. His stomach felt tight and heavy. He realized he had eaten too much, too fast.

By the time he stood up to walk back to his room, he could barely breathe. Each step made his stomach cramp. He walked slowly, holding his midsection.

He sat on the edge of his bed, groaning softly. He regretted eating too much, even though it had tasted wonderful.

Teo walked into the room a few minutes later, carrying another set of clean linens and a spare pajama set. He saw Milo hunched over, clutching his stomach.

"Are you okay?" Teo asked, setting the clothes down.

Milo nodded, his face a little pale. "I think... I ate too much."

Teo smirked. "I saw it."

"Now I can’t move," Milo murmured.

Teo laughed and sat on the edge of the bed near him. "Look, your tummy is like a balloon."

"Yes, I can’t breathe. But it was worth it," Milo said. "I really like fish."

"Luke is the best chef," Teo agreed.

Milo nodded. He looked at the clothes Teo had brought. "I got clothes from Mr. Portello. I think I’ll wear them tomorrow."

"I know. You can use those to sleep in."

"I got pajamas too. He’s very kind." 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Teo nodded. "Yes. He bought me a lot of clothes too, after he bought me at the auction. I was very lucky he was there that night."

Milo looked at the younger boy, surprised by the word. "Auction?"

Teo’s expression grew somber, but he didn’t look away. "My father was a drug addict and a gambler. He sold me to pay off his debts. They were going to send me to another country, but they thought I was valuable enough to sell at an auction. Salvatore was there and bought me."

Milo stared at Teo, feeling a deep pang of sympathy. He had thought his own life was the worst, but hearing that a father could sell his own child made his blood run cold.

"I’m sorry to hear that."

Teo shrugged and smiled. "I’m happy now. I couldn’t breathe when I lived with my father. He always forced me to work or steal for him. Now, I have a bed, food, and time to sleep."

Milo looked at the floor. "Do you ever think about going back? To find him?"

Teo shook his head violently. "No. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I don’t care if he is. I never want to see him again."

Milo saw a spark of deep-seated anger in Teo’s eyes before the boy blinked it away.

Milo smiled. "I’m really glad you’re finally happy."

"Yes. Did you try the clothes?"

Milo nodded. "Yes, I’ve tried them all."

He then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the money Salvatore had given him. His money. He held out two of the bills.

"I have money. Do you want some?"

Teo looked at the money and then at Milo. He chuckled softly. "You should keep that. Why are you trying to give it away?"

"You don’t want it?" Milo asked, confused.

"I like money," Teo said, sounding much older than his years. "But you shouldn’t just give your earnings to anyone. You need it. Even if you don’t need it right now, you’ll need it later. You should save it."

Milo looked at Teo, then at his money. "Do you have money?"

Teo nodded. "I have about 8,000 right now. I still need more. I save it every time Salvatore gives me money. I want to buy a car when I’m old enough."

Milo’s eyes widened. He stared at the boy. Teo wasn’t even ten years old yet, and he had a lot of money. "8,000? You have much more than me."

Teo smiled. "You really don’t have any savings?"

Milo shook his head. "You wouldn’t believe me if I said I’ve never kept my own money. I had some before; I kept it secretly from my master to run away. But that was gone too. And it wasn’t much. I got it from Pedro; he was very nice."

Teo listened, his face softening. He couldn’t imagine never having his own money. Even when he worked for his father before, he always kept his own. How did Milo manage that?

"How old are you?" Teo asked.

"Twenty."

"Your master was really bad then."

Milo nodded. "He’s nice to people, except to me. He’s so cruel to me. I don’t know why he hates me."

Teo stood up and patted Milo on the arm. "Don’t worry. Our master here is really strict, you might hate it later, but he cares about his people."

"Strict?" Milo asked.

Teo nodded. "The guards complain all the time. I heard that before Salvatore took over the mansion, nobody told them they had to train. Now, every single morning, they have to exercise and run. And they hate it."

Milo smiled. "I think I’ll like it. It’s better than getting hit."

The next morning, Milo realized he was wrong. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

At 6:00 AM, the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet. The air was freezing. Salvatore stood in the middle of the backyard, wearing a black tracksuit, looking perfectly awake and terrifyingly focused.

The other guards were grumbling and swearing under their breath. Some of them shot dirty looks at Milo, blaming him for the fact that Salvatore was personally overseeing the session today, all because of him.

Milo felt his arms shaking violently during the push-up sets. His thin, untrained muscles screamed in protest.

Every time he lowered his chest to the ground, the gold rings in his nipples felt as if they were being pulled by hot pliers.

"Twenty! Twenty-one! Twenty-two!" they shouted in unison, counting every movement.

Milo had no energy left to even speak. He trembled every time he tried to count.

"Count it properly!" shouted Salvatore.

Milo swallowed hard, his face pale.

Hah...

"Thirty-nine..." His voice was barely audible, but he forced it out.

After the push-ups, he couldn’t believe they had to run. They ran five laps around the massive mansion. The other guards were fast, their heavy boots thudding against the gravel.

Milo fell behind almost immediately. His lungs burned, and his legs felt like lead.

He was the very last one to finish. He collapsed onto the grass, gasping for air, his vision swimming. He felt like he was going to throw up the fish from the night before.

He looked up and saw Salvatore standing over him, looking down with an expression that wasn’t pity. It was a challenge.

Milo realized then that being a guard was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. It was a different kind of pain, but as he struggled to stand back up, he knew he wasn’t going to quit. Salvatore didn’t seem likely to let him either.

"Get up. You’re half an hour late," Salvatore said. "So tomorrow, everyone will do 30 extra push-ups!"

Milo was shocked. "W-what?"