Hundreds of lights were illuminating the space below the ceiling.

The light from the chandelier shatters on the white marble floor, and the melody of string instruments spreads gently through the hall. People hold their breath and look at the stage. No one makes a loud noise. As if they cannot disturb even a single person's performance.

And at the center of it, as always, stood the Echel family.

The first, Arsion Echel. Dressed perfectly in a black suit, he stood at the very front of the audience. Every time his long, cold fingertips brush the strings, the air in the hall changes. A precise, almost arrogantly perfect tone. People called him the "most Echel-like heir." In fact, he had never once betrayed expectations.

The second, Guest Echel. Standing under the chandelier, they were like an old masterpiece. Hair shining in the light and a quiet smile, dignity flowed even in that brief moment. But those who knew Guest knew. How cold and tenacious the thing hidden under that soft smile was.

The perfect eldest son. The elegant genius.

People called them that.