"...Damien."
A voice, soft but firm.
"Damien."
This time, sharper.
He blinked.
"Damien!"
He snapped upright, almost knocking over his glass of water. He locked onto Yuri's concerned expression.
"You've been zoning out. Is something going on?"
Damien put down his utensils beside his plate. "Sorry Mother, I... just didn't sleep well." He offered a gentle smile to reassure her. "My mind has been wandering lately."
Yuri didn't press. Not yet, at least. But her gaze lingered at her son's face before nodding and returning to her meal.
Wandering wasn't entirely wrong. Damien's mind was a chaotic swirl of the system, his mission, idol related thoughts, and the glaring issue of how the hell he was supposed to tell his ultra-secretive and rich family that he wanted to become a public figure.
He picked up his knife and fork again then began to eat. He chewed slowly, head down, stealing glances at his mother. Should he tell her? No—at least not the whole truth. He couldn't exactly say, "Hey Mother, a system assigned me a main mission and now I have to become the top idol in the world or die. Pass me the soup."
She'll think he was crazy!
So, what could he say?
The Hertz family had rules—so many rules, from directly written to invisible ones. Spoken in glances and upheld by silence. Business, power, discretion, those were the pillars. He had only been allowed to pursue art because he renounced the inheritance. That had been the trade. A quiet life in exchange for freedom. That was already unusual itself.
Has there ever been a Hertz not involved in business?
He paused.
There was!
Milla Hertz.
Known as Millie Liliehart in public.
The former heir of the third branch turned into a globally known actress. Her rise had been as subtle but undeniable. One day she was just 'Milla Hertz,' a sharp-eyed girl in a tailored suit attending board meetings. The next, she was Millie Liliehart, Hollywood's rising actress.
If anyone had broken tradition, it was her.
Damien straightened in his seat, a spark of inspiration visible in his green eyes. Couldn't he use this? He could make Milla his 'role model.'
He glanced at Yuri again, this time with less panic.
"Mother," he began, his voice cautious, "Can I ask you something?"
Yuri looked up. "Of course."
"What did the family say when Milla decided to become an actress?"
Yuri's brows lifted in mild surprise. "That's a name I haven't heard from you in a while. Why the sudden curiosity?"
"I was just wondering," Damien said carefully. "She used to be the third branch's heir, right? And then she went into acting. Did anyone try and stop her?"
Yuri leaned back, setting her utensils down as she considered an answer. "Yes there were, although it wasn't easy. There were arguments. Some branches thought it was shameful, others thought it was something new. But Milla…" she smiled faintly. "She made herself indispensable. She kept the family name off every contract, scrubbed her identity clean. Actually, she rarely ever used the Hertz family. When she made it big, she funnelled her earnings back into the third branch. No one could complain. She didn't leave the family—she just… redirected herself."
Damien nodded slowly. "So as long as I keep the family's identity and interests safe, they won't stop me?"
"That depends," Yuri replied, studying him. "Why are you asking?"
"I've been thinking about trying something new. Something outside the usual. But... I don't want to bring shame to the family."
Yuri didn't speak for a while. She watched him quietly, eyes searching. "You're still young," she said finally. "And you've always been talented. But this family… we don't move in half-measures, Damien. If you do something, you have to commit to it completely."
He nodded. "I understand."
"Then whatever it is you're thinking of," she said, rising to her feet, "Just make sure it's worth the risk."
After she left the dining room, Damien slumped back in his chair, exhaling hard. It wasn't approval, but it wasn't rejection either. Was it perhaps space? Space to move?
Then he thought back to the motto ingrained into him during his stay at the manor: "Power in silence, legacy in shadow." It was a complete contrast to a future he was heading towards.
He got up and headed straight to his room. As soon as the door shut behind him, he called out, "System. I've decided."
The system appeared and hovered beside him.
System: [What have you decided, host?]
"I'm going to North America to see Milla." He said, walking to his bedside table and grabbing his phone. "I'll be using Milla as my reason to enter the entertainment industry. After all, without a good reason, they'll be suspicious of my sudden turn from an artist to an idol."
System: [Host, do you know where Milla lives?]
He glanced at his floating system. "No, but I'm letting her know of my plan to visit. Hopefully she has time, knowing how busy actors like her are."
Damien stared at the softly glowing phone screen, the cursor blinking patiently at the end of his typed message.
Damien: [I need advice. Can we talk?]
Before doubt could swallow his nerve, he tapped send.
Within seconds, Milla's response flashed back:
Milla: [I'm shooting tonight. If you fly in, I'll make time. Here's the address...]
...
Not long after, Damien entered Los Angeles. Damien tugged the brim of his cap lower, slipping silently through a crowded studio lot. Crew members scurried around, their gazes sliding right past him.
He wrinkled his nose.
The scent hit like a punch. Dozens of pheromone trails hanging thick in the air, unfiltered and raw. Some were sharp and aggressive, others musky, sweet, or intoxicating, like someone had mixed every cologne sample from a department store into the air.
Damien grimaced. In Korea and Japan, pheromone suppression was practically second nature. It was considered polite, a sign of emotional restraint and professionalism. The culture emphasized scent blockers and moderation in public spaces.
But here in the States? That rule didn't seem to exist.
Here, raw pheromones were often seen as part of personal branding—an unconscious way to "own the room." Presence and power came in scent, and masking it was sometimes interpreted as insecure. He had read about it. He just didn't expect to be this… much.
After looking around, a bright laugh cut through the chatter.
Milla stood beside a trailer, wrapped in a luxurious robe. Her red hair was styled neatly, accentuating her features. Spotting Damien, she broke off her conversation instantly.
Damien!" She called, already stepping forward.
He didn't say anything as she pulled him into a brief, firm hug.
"You look like you haven't slept in weeks."
He exhaled through a small smile. "Nice to see you too."
She nudged him gently. "Come on. I've got twenty minutes before they drag me to set."
Minutes later, the two sat on the couch beside Milla's dressing table. She handed him a cup of iced coffee, eyes sharp and curious.
"So?" She prompted gently.
"I won't beat around the bush. I want to be an idol."
Milla didn't blink, but a slow smile curved her lips. "Wow. That's going to go over well."
"I know. I'm screwed," Damien sighed. "But that's why I'm here. I figured you might know something about...this whole thing."
She laughed quietly, stirring her coffee. "You mean giving up the Hertz family inheritance, running away from home, and changing my name?"
He paused. "Is that…really how it happened?"
She stared at the cup in her hands for a long moment. "Mostly. The short version. It wasn't pretty. I ghosted the branch for a year and had an offshore firm buy out my first contract so it wouldn't trace back."
"How did you tell them?"
"I didn't." She shrugged. "I just did it. If I'd asked, they would've tied strings around me before I took the first step. I was to become the head of the third branch after all."
Damien was quiet, playing with the handle of the cup.
"But you?" Milla tilted her head. "You already gave up your position. You've got more freedom than I ever did."
"That doesn't mean I can just disappear then reappear in the spotlight." He looked up at her, voice low. "The family doesn't forget. Even if I'm not an heir, I'm still a Hertz. They let me be an artist because it was quiet. Private. This is… this is different."
"They didn't just 'let' you," Milla said quietly. "Didn't Yuri and Arel stand in front of the elders when you dropped out of the competition? You think they do that for just anyone?"
Damien's eyes widened. "Really?"
Milla nodded. "I guess its not surprising that you don't know. Before the elders came, they convinced them with all their might. Hell, Yuri even almost left the family with you if they didn't approve."
He looked away, suddenly unsure of what to do with that information.
Milla watched him for a long beat. "But Damien—if you're always waiting for permission, you'll never do anything."
He stayed quiet, fingers tightening on the plastic cup.
"What if I ruin everything?" He asked softly. "What if this spirals out control, gets traced back and damages the family?"
"Then you fix it," she said simply. "And you're not just a Hertz, Damien, you're you. You're allowed to want something too, you know?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then Milla stood and crossed the small space. She reached into a weathered bag, rummaged for a moment, and pulled out a worn script. "This was the first thing I was ever cast in. You can't read it. It's awful. But I kept it because it reminds me that I started."
She held it out to him.
Damien accepted the crinkled pages carefully.
"You don't need the perfect moment. You just need the first one," she said. "And then you just keep going."
He looked down at the pages in his hands.
"Thanks, Milla."