Just 24 hours earlier, he had ordered the long perimeter wall surrounding his mansion—situated in one of the most elite neighborhoods in the city—to be repainted. Not just painted… perfected. He wanted a pure, flawless white, without a single imperfection. Adrian was a man who demanded order in everything.

At 45, he had built a financial empire through precision and cold logic, and he expected his environment to reflect that same untouchable perfection. Disorder irritated him. Noise annoyed him. And above all, he despised the homeless kids who sometimes lingered near his property.

“Filthy little pests…” Adrian muttered under his breath, sipping his coffee as he stared through the massive window of his second-floor office.

Right at noon, something disturbed the silence.

A rough, grating sound.

Scratch… scratch… scratch…

Adrian frowned and stepped closer to the glass. As his vision focused, his blood instantly boiled.

In front of his freshly painted, pristine wall stood a boy—no older than ten. Barefoot. Wearing a ripped T-shirt. His back turned as he dragged a piece of black charcoal across the white surface, leaving thick, dark marks. His small hands were covered in soot, ruining something that had cost Adrian thousands.

“You little idiot!” Adrian exploded. “Who gave you permission to touch my property?!”

Blinded by rage, he didn’t hesitate. He stormed across the room, grabbed a thick leather belt with a metal buckle from the couch, and headed straight downstairs. He was done tolerating disrespect.

Twenty steps. One violent motion.

BAM!

The iron gate slammed open.

“Hey! You piece of trash! What do you think you’re doing?!” he roared, raising the belt high as he charged toward the boy, ready to strike.

The child flinched in terror, dropping the charcoal. Slowly, he turned around, trembling violently. His wide eyes were filled with fear, his small face smeared with dirt, dried tears, and black dust.

“Sir… I’m sorry… please don’t hit me…” the boy begged, curling into himself, raising his arms to shield his head.

“Sorry?! You think that fixes this?!” Adrian shouted, lifting the belt even higher. “Look at my wall! What kind of garbage is this?!”

But just before the blow could fall, his eyes flickered—just for a second—toward the wall.

And everything stopped.

His arm froze midair.

The belt slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

His face changed.