Chapter One: The Porcelain Boy

The air that morning shimmered with the scent of rising bread. Warm loaves lined the counter, each one brushed with butter until their golden crusts gleamed under the window light. The bell of the little bakery door kept ringing as townsfolk came and went, greeting the Hale family who had run the shop for two generations.

And tucked in the corner, with his short legs dangling above the floor and his arms wrapped tight around a worn teddy bear, sat Eirian Hale.

He was not like the other young men his age who walked confidently through town, carrying books or chatting about futures and sweethearts. Eirian lived gently, like glass too delicate for strong winds. His parents kept him close—most hours spent either here in the bakery or in their small house upstairs.

But Eirian never complained. His world was small, yet bright with his toys, dolls, little stories he hummed under his breath, and the constant kindness of his parents.

That morning, Eirian’s gaze was fixed outside the window. He had pressed his cheek against the glass a moment earlier, leaving a faint foggy print as he whispered to Mr. Honey, his teddy bear.

“Papa said strawberry today,” he confided, voice soft, syllables rounded like a child’s cuddle. “Strawberry jelly. Sweet… sweet red.” He giggled brightly and hugged the bear against his chest. “We’ll eat together, you and me. Promise.”

The lively bustle of the bakery muted around him, like a painted background to his small bubble. Yet the bell above the door chimed again, and this time, it did not return to silence.

Because the man who entered wasn’t a familiar face.

The conversation of two women buying bread hushed into murmurs, then dimmed completely. The clink of coins seemed unusually heavy as the cashier accepted them; there was a sharpness in the air Eirian couldn’t name but felt, like the way clouds grew still before thunder.

Eirian turned his head toward the door.

The man stood framed against the midmorning sun.

He was tall—no, tall didn’t capture it. The ceiling lamp light bent against his shoulders. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he seemed like a jagged piece of night that had cut into the bakery’s warm daylight. His hair was dark, short, slicked neatly back; his stride was deliberate in a way that made everyone step out of his way without thinking.

But it was his eyes.

Crimson red, glowing faintly as if something inside them smoldered. They swept the bakery, skipping past loaves and customers and shelves. And then—

They stopped.

On him.

On the porcelain boy with snowy hair and the small bear folded close to his heart.

Eirian blinked. His silver irises widened, and for a moment he forgot about Mr. Honey; forgot he was supposed to feel shy when strangers stared. Something about those sharp red eyes reminded him of a storybook monster his mother once read to him, of dragons with scales and fire in their throats.

Only—

Eirian didn’t feel frightened.

He felt… sparkled, in his own innocent way.

“…Dragon eyes,” he whispered, clutching his bear tighter.

On the other side of the room, Damian Vorensky—King of Mafia territories stretching across three countries, ruthless hand of the underworld—had stilled. His men outside waited in cars, weapons sleeping under coats, but inside the bakery Damian moved not an inch.

Usually, he did not waste time. When he wanted something, when he wanted someone gone, it was decided, carried out, buried in silence. That was power—speed.

But standing there, his crimson gaze locked on a small creature with white hair falling across his delicate eyes, Damian felt a different kind of certainty.

Not the rush of orders met or enemies destroyed.

Something deeper. Something violent in its tenderness.

Need.

For once, he didn’t care that there were witnesses. Didn’t care that his reputation wrapped him like shadows. All he could think—like a branding flame—was:

Mine.

Eirian tilted his head, blinking owlishly. The man in black was staring, and there was a weight to it—too heavy for most boys. But Eirian’s mind was gentle, too young to name intimidation, so what he said next made Damian’s red gaze deepen.

“You’re… tall.”

That was it. A blink, a pout of thought, and then his soft voice colored with a childlike awe. “…Like Mister Tower. My toy tower at home.”

His mother from behind the counter flushed in embarrassment. “Eirian—honey, don’t—”

But Damian didn’t smirk the way men did when teased by children. He didn’t dismiss it.

He accepted it.

The monster King of the underworld took two steps forward, and the floorboards creaked softly beneath his weight. His voice when he spoke was low, rich, resonant enough to rumble across the shelves.

“What’s your name?”

Eirian hugged Mr. Honey close, fluster suddenly—because this tall stranger with dragon eyes was speaking to him, only him. His lips pressed together shyly before the words stumbled out:

“E-Eirian.”

The syllables landed softly in the thickened air.

Damian’s jaw tightened. Even the boy’s name was fragile—like spun sugar that would dissolve if handled roughly.

“Eirian…” he repeated, tasting it in his mouth like a secret vow.

Scene break, bakery atmosphere:

The mother looked up alarmed, recognizing something strange in the man’s gaze. She rushed to the counter. “Sir, you—what would you like to purchase? Bread? Sweets?”

But Damian didn’t answer her at first. His eyes hadn’t left the boy of porcelain, clutching a threadbare teddy bear as if it was the universe of his comfort.

Finally, slowly, Damian turned his head to the side—just enough to appease politeness. His gaze cut like a blade in comparison to his soft gaze toward Eirian.

“…Strawberry jam.”

Eirian gasped, delighted, his small body jolting in the chair. “Papa’s jelly! Papa’s bringing new strawberry today!” He squealed toward his bear, bouncing in excitement. “See, Mr. Honey? Even the dragon wants strawberry!”

The bakery woman’s face paled at her son’s burst, but Damian only watched, burning the image deep into his memory: pale boy, arms small around a teddy, joy unfiltered, smiling at him as if he hadn’t killed men in these very streets.

Mine. He repeated silently, pressing the thought like iron into his blood.

And so began the story.

The Porcelain Boy met the Red-Eyed King.

Neither the bakery walls, nor the gentle world his parents built, would keep him safe much longer.

(MC)Name: Eirian Hale

Age: 20 (mental development around 5)

Appearance: Purely white skin, hair, and eyelashes; pale irises with a hint of silver. He appears almost doll-like, small framed, fragile, and childlike.

Personality: Sweet, naive, very attached to his teddy bear ("Mr. Honey"). He speaks simply, doesn’t fully understand adult concepts, but feels love deeply. Protected by his parents.

Background: Lived a sheltered life because of his condition. His parents own a small bakery.

(ML) Name: Damian Vorensky

Age: 30

Identity: Cold, dangerous Mafia King feared across the underworld.

Appearance: Tall, muscular, intimidating. Crimson red eyes, sharp jawline, black ink tattoos on his hands and chest. Twice Eirian’s size.

Personality: Dominating, possessive, obsessive when he sets his eyes on something—or someone. He transforms into a soft, almost worshipping man only for Eirian.

Motivation: The moment he saw Eirian, he fell into obsessive "first-sight love," deciding only he deserves this "angelic" boy.

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