CHAPTER 84: RETURNING TO THE RIGHTFUL

Something inside him refused to let the moment pass.

Hesitantly, he placed the helmet back on the seat of his motorbike. His hand lingered for a second, uncertain. Then he turned and jogged after the man and child.

"Sir! Excuse me... wait a second!" he called out, raising his hand. His voice made both of them turn, surprised.

Roni jogged up to them, slightly out of breath. His face was flushed with a mix of nerves and something harder to name. He reached into his pocket and pulled out $10 bill.

"Here, sir," he said, a bit awkwardly. "Let me... repay you for the money you gave her.

That was just a misunderstanding, after all."

The man looked stunned for a moment, then slowly took the money with both hands. He bowed his head slightly, as if the value meant far more than what it looked like.

"Thank you, son. I hope everything works out for you. I hope your parents stay healthy, and your path stays smooth," he said, voice quivering with emotion.

That line. I hope your parents stay healthy. struck Roni right in the heart.

He immediately dropped his gaze. His father’s face rushed into his mind once again, uninvited and vivid.

That man, who had always been there, even in his weakest state, still holding onto a love that never faded.

Roni’s throat tightened. He clenched his pants tightly at the sides, trying to hold back the wave of emotion.

The little boy looked up at him curiously and asked, "Mister, are you okay? You look kinda sad."

Roni snapped out of it and quickly forced a crooked smile. "Ah... I’m okay. Don’t worry," he said hoarsely.

The man watched him silently, sensing something beneath the surface, but said nothing. He bowed again politely, then gently took his son’s hand. "Thank you again. May God bless you," he said sincerely.

Roni nodded, unable to say anything in return. His eyes were lowered, but from beneath his lashes, he watched the father and son as they began walking away again.

His feet remained planted where he stood. His chest was pounding, his mind a mess. It felt like a wall inside him, one he had built up for years. Was starting to crack.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, staring at the street, until finally, his legs moved on their own. Slowly, he walked back to his motorbike. The helmet was still sitting there on the seat, just as he had left it.

He didn’t pick it up right away. Instead, he stood in front of the bike, staring at the reflection of his own face in one of the mirrors. His eyes were red, his expression tired and clouded with guilt.

A small voice inside his head whispered something he hadn’t wanted to hear for a long time.

"You can still go home."

The thought sent a chill down his spine. But unlike before, he didn’t try to push it away.

This time, he didn’t resist.

He grabbed the helmet, put it on without another word, and started the engine. The motor roared to life, but it felt quieter than the storm that had been raging inside him all this time.

Roni didn’t head back to his apartment.

He turned the handlebars and took the road that led him home. To the house that used to always be open. To the man he used to call "Dad" with so much pride.

The ride wasn’t long.

But for Roni, it felt like the longest journey of his life.

And maybe, just maybe... it would be the beginning of something that had been broken for far too long.

The roar of the motorcycle engine tore through the congested streets. Roni was speeding through traffic without any clear direction at first, but the longer he rode, the stronger the pull in his chest grew, guiding him toward a single destination: his father’s house.

The wind lashed against his face, carrying dust along with shadows from the past. Every time the sound of his engine echoed off the buildings, Roni was reminded of his father’s weary face, the way he had looked at him yesterday. Eyes filled with disappointment.

"Why was I... so stupid?" he muttered under his breath, his voice drowned out by the roar of the exhaust.

The weight in his chest kept growing. His eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly to keep his vision from blurring. But even though his heart was in turmoil, his hands gripped the handlebars firmly, guiding him home. Yes, home to his father.

From a distance, a car sat motionless at a quiet intersection. It wasn’t stalled, it was waiting. Behind its dark tinted windows, a pair of sharp eyes watched the approaching sports bike intently. Alaric sat calmly in the driver’s seat. His lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile.

"Good," he whispered, his voice calm but certain. "You’ve chosen your path, Roni."

He made no move to follow. Some things needed to be resolved between a father and son without outside interference.

Roni’s bike finally turned into a narrow alley that led to his father’s home. The loud exhaust shattered the quiet of the late afternoon. A few neighbors turned their heads, but Roni didn’t care. He parked hastily, not even bothering to adjust the helmet still hanging on the handlebar.

His steps were urgent. Every footfall echoed like a drumbeat of guilt.

When the door opened, his father was sitting in his old armchair in the living room. The old man turned to look at him. His face was tired, the lines on his skin deeper than before, but his eyes still held the same warmth they always had.

Roni froze. No words came out. Only the sound of his own ragged breathing filled the room. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward and dropped to his knees at his father’s feet.

"Dad..." His voice was hoarse and broken. "I’m sorry..."

His hands trembled as he clutched his father’s knees tightly, like a frightened child. His tears fell freely, soaking the back of those aged hands.

The old man took a long breath. His shoulders rose and fell, as if struggling to hold back something deep within. Slowly, his wrinkled hand reached out and gently touched Roni’s head. The gesture was full of meaning, full of love, without a hint of resentment.

"Get up, son," he said softly. "I never held a grudge. I just wanted you to remember that family is worth more than anything."

Roni looked up. His eyes were red and filled with tears. "I was so stupid, Dad. I didn’t know what to do. I hurt you."

But his father only gave a faint smile, his eyes glassy. "You’re still my son. As long as you’re willing to change, that’s all that matters."

Silence settled over the room, broken only by Roni’s quiet sobs.

After a while, Roni slowly stood up, still bowing his head. "I’m going back to the apartment, Dad. I need to pack up my things. I want to live here again, with you."

His father nodded, his smile calm. "I’ll be waiting for you to come home."

Roni gave a quick nod and left. This time, his steps felt lighter, though his eyes were still puffy from crying.

Not long after, the door opened again. Alaric stepped inside quietly, holding a thick folder in his hand. He approached the old man and placed it on the wooden table in front of him.

"Sir," he said simply, his voice firm.

The old man looked confused. "What’s this?" he asked, his fingers trembling as he opened the folder. His eyes widened the moment he saw what was inside.

"This... this is the land deed. I thought it had been sold? Roni told me... he got robbed."

Alaric gave a faint smile and bowed respectfully. "It was signed over, yes. But the buyer was me. I never intended to keep it. I only held onto it temporarily. And now... I’m giving it back to its rightful owner."

The old man fell silent. His eyes quivered as tears began to fall again. His wrinkled hands clutched the folder tightly, as if afraid it would disappear.

"Why... would you do this?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Why would you care about someone like me, when we’re not even related?"

"Because you deserve peace in your old age," Alaric replied. "And because the first time we met was enough to show me that someone like you is exactly the kind of person who deserves to be protected."

Tears flowed down the old man’s cheeks. He covered his mouth with his hand, his body shaking, unable to speak.

Alaric stood quietly, his expression calm. A heavy weight that had long burdened him now lifted from his shoulders.

After handing over the folder, he stepped out of the house. Night had begun to fall, and the soft glow of the streetlights stretched long shadows across the ground.

One major task was now complete, and the bond between father and son had begun to mend.

Alaric stood near his car, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath. But suddenly, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

Ding!

[Progress increased by +50%]

[Total progress: 70%]

Alaric’s eyes widened. He stood upright in surprise. "What? Progress? But... wasn’t this outside my main mission?" he muttered, confused.

The system’s voice replied in its usual neutral tone.

[This was a humanitarian mission. Helping someone fully, even if it’s not part of your primary objectives, still counts toward your journey.]

Alaric frowned slightly. "A humanitarian mission... so even actions beyond the target count." He nodded slowly, then looked up at the night sky.