Chapter 43: I Have Conditions

Timothy sat quietly with his hands folded.

Ross added, "It was like something detonated down there. Entire sections were just gone. Melted. Pulverized."

West tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity. "Huh. That’s wild."

The spokesman’s gaze sharpened. "You’re certain you didn’t see anything unusual while you were inside?"

West shrugged, adjusting the towel around his neck. "Unusual? I mean... monsters, collapsing buildings, people screaming. Pretty standard ruin stuff from what I’ve heard. Other than that, I was just trying not to die."

They watched him closely but he met their stares without flinching.

Finally, one of the guards exhaled. "We searched him already. He wasn’t carrying anything when we found him."

The spokesman nodded reluctantly. "That’s true."

West spread his hands. "See? Clean conscience."

There was a brief silence before the spokesman continued. "After securing the area, we dismantled the anchor."

West blinked. "Anchor?"

"A structural core," the spokesman explained. "Some ruins have them. They stabilize the space underground. Once destroyed, the ruin collapses and dissipates."

"So... it’s gone?" West asked.

"Yes," Timothy answered quietly. "The ruin no longer exists."

A few awakened muttered under their breath. A residential ruin—one of the rarest, most valuable types—gone without yielding a single tangible reward.

"It was a waste of time," the spokesman said bluntly. "Young Lord Timothy didn’t clear anything."

That sentence alone caused the mood within the room to turn awry.

Timothy’s clasped his palms together tighly as if struggling with something and then, he stood.

"I want to speak with him," Timothy said while fixing his eyes on West.

The room stilled.

Then Timothy added, "Personally."

Everyone looked between the two of them.

"Alone."

Aria, who had been standing near the kitchen, crossed her arms. "Use the study."

West glanced at her, then nodded. "Sure."

The awakened rose one by one, filing out of the living room with varying expressions of curiosity, suspicion and indifference. Ross hesitated, then followed after them when Timothy shot him a look.

The door to the study closed behind West and Timothy with a soft click.

The room was quieter here. Screens lined one wall, desks cluttered with tablets and notebooks. A faint scent of coffee lingered in the air.

Timothy stood with his back to West.

Seconds passed... as silence stretched between them without anyone saying a word.

West waited, leaning casually against the doorframe. ’Did he forget why he asked me in here?’ he wondered.

Finally, Timothy turned around...

All the composure, the authority, the poised arrogance he wore outside... had all vanished.

"You gotta help me, man."

West straightened. "Uh... what?"

Timothy stepped forward with shaky hands. "You really gotta help me."

West stared.

This was... not what he expected.

"I—I needed this," Timothy voice cracked. "This was supposed to be my win."

He laughed weakly, rubbing his face. "My sister already cleared two ruins solo. Two. The elders won’t shut up about it. They keep comparing us like we’re some kind of competition."

West frowned slightly.

"If I go back empty-handed," Timothy continued, "that just proves what they already think. That I’m unreliable. That I don’t have what it takes. She might end up becoming the heir at this point."

His shoulders sagged.

"You don’t get it," he said hoarsely. "She’s ruthless. She’s talented. And she never lets me forget it."

West watched him carefully.

The Young Lord of a mafia family... crying in a study like a cornered kid.

"You’re... scared of her?" West asked cautiously.

Timothy let out a shaky laugh. "Terrified."

Then, before West could react, Timothy dropped to one knee and grabbed West’s pant leg.

"Help me," he begged. "Please. I’ll do anything."

West yelped. "Whoa—hey—get up!"

He bent down, awkwardly trying to pull Timothy back to his feet. "You don’t have to—"

"I do!" Timothy insisted with wet eyes. "I can already hear her laughing when I walk back empty-handed. The elders nodding along. I can’t take it, man."

West sighed.

This was ridiculous.

And somehow... sad.

He guided Timothy to a chair and sat him down. "Okay. Breathe. Just—breathe."

Timothy obeyed, inhaling shakily.

"What exactly do you want from me?" West asked.

Timothy’s eyes lit up like a switch had been flipped.

"I just need... credit," he said quickly. "That’s all."

West blinked. "Credit?"

"For saving your neighborhood," Timothy explained. "For the survivors. That story’s already spreading."

West stiffened slightly.

"You got over forty people out alive," Timothy continued. "That’s incredible. That’s... newsworthy."

West’s gaze sharpened. "And?"

"And if my name is attached to it," Timothy said carefully, "it becomes an accomplishment."

West stared at him.

"You want to take credit for what I did?"

Timothy winced. "Not take. Share."

West crossed his arms. "Explain."

Timothy leaned forward. "I don’t need all of it. Just... enough. Enough to say I led the rescue. Enough that the elders can’t dismiss me."

Silence filled the room.

West studied him for a long moment.

This wasn’t the demand of a tyrant.

It was the plea of someone desperate not to be overshadowed.

West didn’t answer immediately.

He leaned back against the edge of Aria’s desk, folded his arms and lowered his eyes in thought. Timothy stood across from him with his hands clasped together and shoulders tense, like a student waiting for a verdict that could shape his entire future.

After a few seconds, West exhaled.

"Alright," he said calmly. "I’ll do it."

Timothy’s head snapped up. "R-really?"

West nodded. "Yeah. You can have the credit."

The relief that flooded Timothy’s face was so raw it was almost embarrassing. His knees nearly buckled as he let out a breath he clearly hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"You don’t know how much this means to me," Timothy said, voice shaking.

West lifted a hand. "I’m not done."

"I have conditions..." he added.

Timothy straightened instantly. "Anything. Name it."

West’s gaze hardened into a serious look.

"First condition," he said. "You help the people from my neighborhood. The ones who survived."

Timothy blinked, then nodded. "Of course."

"They lost their homes," West continued. "Some lost everything they owned. I want them housed, supported, compensated—whatever you can do."

Timothy didn’t even hesitate this time. "I’ll make it happen. I’ll personally see to it."

West studied his eyes for a moment, ensuring the promise wasn’t hollow.

"Second condition," West said.