The Second Son of the Marquis Wants to Laze Around
Chapter 132: Act 1 Epilogue (Behind the Hidden)

Chapter 132: Act 1 Epilogue (Behind the Hidden)

A lone figure sat in a dimly lit office, fingers flying across the keyboard. The soft hum of the computer and the rhythmic click-clack of keys were the only sounds breaking the oppressive silence of the room.

The young man, dressed in a crisp black suit and neatly tied tie, was the last remaining employee in the entire building. His coworkers had long since left, eager to return home to their families, their warm beds, or simply anything but work. Yet, here he was—still bound to his desk, eyes glued to the glowing monitor, locked in battle with a stubborn manuscript.

His brows furrowed. He was tired—no, exhausted—and on top of that, utterly annoyed. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

His fingers typed even faster, frustration building with every second as he skimmed through the final pages. The author had been careless again, riddling the text with inconsistencies, plot holes, and lazy structuring. As always, it fell on him to fix everything—to polish this mess into something readable. So annoying.

Finally, a final keystroke.

Click.

"Hah... finally."

He exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair and allowing himself a fleeting moment of satisfaction. His sharp, dark eyes remained fixed on the monitor, watching as the "Task Complete" message popped up.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Tapping the call button, he brought the device to his ear. The line connected immediately.

"Yes, it’s me," he said flatly, his tone devoid of any enthusiasm.

"Really? You finished it already?" The voice on the other end sounded surprised—and perhaps a little too excited.

"Yeah. Sent you the final copy just now. Check your email."

As he spoke, his fingers continued tapping at the keyboard, double-checking that the file had been properly transferred.

"That’s excellent! Mr. Editor, about another project—"

"No. I’m not taking another contract."

His voice was sharp, leaving no room for negotiation.

The client hesitated. "Please, just consider it! I’ll double the payment—no, triple it! You’re the only editor I can tr—"

"I said no. Just send the payment and we’re done."

A tense silence followed.

"Mr. Editor, please! I promise this one—"

–Click.

He hung up.

"Tch. Lazy authors."

He tossed the phone onto the desk with a thud and stretched his stiff arms. His back groaned in protest as he arched, a few joints popping satisfyingly. Sitting for hours was agony, but at least the job was done.

He glanced at the wall clock.

1:47 AM.

Grabbing his bag, he powered down the computer, dimming the last source of artificial light. The room now felt even emptier.

Without a glance back, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

---

The night air greeted him with a sharp, icy chill as he exited the building. The streets were quiet, bathed in the dim yellow glow of streetlights. It was so late that only a handful of cars remained, headlights slicing briefly through the darkness.

He walked at a relaxed pace, unbothered by the silence. In fact, he welcomed it—no noise, no people, just his thoughts.

"....Hm?"

Then, suddenly—

His steps halted.

"...."

For a moment, the world felt wrong. Still. Frozen.

A strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck.

Then... he felt it.

Time had stopped. Literally. The air was unnaturally still.

The only sound was the soft echo of footsteps approaching from behind.

–Step

–Step

Turning around slowly, he saw a lone figure approaching. The streetlamp flickered as the stranger walked into the light, revealing a man in a long black coat, topped with a wide-brimmed black hat.

The light cast shadows beneath the stranger’s hat, hiding his face.

The Editor narrowed his eyes.

Then the man stopped, reached up, and removed his hat, holding it to his chest. Beneath it was an average-looking face, white hair, and calm, dark eyes. He gave a small, respectful bow.

"Hello, Mr. Editor," the man greeted softly.

"My name is ■■. And I would like—"

"No."

The Editor’s cold response cut him off before he could finish. The stranger blinked in confusion... and dumbfounded by the response.

"What?"

"I said no," the Editor repeated, his voice sharper.

"But... I haven’t even said—"

"No."

The man’s polite smile twitched slightly.

The Editor had already guessed what this was. Another author, clearly. He could feel the same vibe he’d come to associate with them. It wasn’t the first time.

Every time he finished a job, another client would mysteriously appear, begging for help with their next masterpiece.

But not this time.

He was on vacation.

"If you want to place an order, come another day."

The man blinked blankly as the Editor turned to leave. But in the blink of an eye, the stranger appeared in front of him, arms raised to block the way.

"Wait! At least listen! I’m not here for editing or anything like that!"

The Editor frowned, clearly annoyed, but something about the man felt... different. Talented, even. Perhaps a Pro author.

He sighed.

"Speak. You have one minute."

The man smiled faintly and nodded.

"You’re really hard to deal with, aren’t you?" He coughed lightly and, with a flick of his fingers, produced a black business card from thin air—a literal magic trick.

"I’m actually looking for a candidate for a project."

The Editor’s hand paused mid-reach for the card, eyeing him with mild suspicion. Finally, he took it.

"It’s not for editing... well, kinda. But it’s more like—"

The man continued speaking, explaining his strange project while the Editor stood still, quietly listening, arms crossed.

Once the long-winded explanation was done, the Editor took the black business card in his hand and glanced at it, unimpressed.

"And what do I get out of this?" he asked bluntly. Even though the man had already mentioned the payment would be high—insanely high than what he made, in fact—the Editor still didn’t look the least bit interested.

’Isn’t that just another form of work? Ugh,’ he thought to himself with a twitch of his eyebrow.

But then, the man chuckled. Not just any chuckle—a weird, smug one that sent warning bells ringing in the Editor’s ears.

"Fufufu~ oh, sir, it’s far more than that. For example..." The man’s grin widened as he leaned in closer, raising a hand to cover his mouth slightly, whispering like a mischievous salesman sharing a dark secret.

"I’ve heard you’re quite the diligent worker... but also, deep down, you absolutely hate it."

The Editor’s eye twitched harder this time. That hit a nerve.

Then the man’s tone lowered into a sly whisper, so quiet it barely reached the Editor’s ears.

"If you join this project, I can—well, I mean We can help you ■■■■."

The moment he heard those words, the Editor’s eyes widened. His gaze turned sharply toward the mysterious man, who now wore a smug, knowing smile.

He can tell that the guy wasn’t lying.

"Just think about it," the man said, his voice now light again as if they were just casually talking about the weather.

Then, he snapped his fingers.

–Snap!

The world shifted.

Time resumed.

The cars began moving again, headlights illuminating the cold, empty road. The low hum of the city returned, like a symphony coming back from a pause.

And the mysterious man? Gone.

Not a single trace of him remained, as if he had never been there in the first place.

–VROOOOM!

A sudden blast of light hit him as a car zoomed past, followed by others, restoring the city’s usual nighttime rhythm.

The Editor stood still, staring down at his hand.

The black business card was still there.

Sleek, matte black with no name—just a sequence of digits printed in shimmering silver ink. Under the glow of the nearest streetlamp, the card gave off a faint metallic sheen.

His face remained calm, unreadable. But inside... he was thinking.

After a few seconds of silence, he slid the card into his coat pocket and resumed walking.

’That guy really thought he was cool with that cringe show, huh?’ he muttered in his mind.

Stopping time, appearing all mysterious with that smug grin... like some cliché anime character.

"What a weirdo."

---

When he finally arrived at his apartment, the first thing he did was toss his suit jacket over the nearest chair like a dead body, then unfastened his tie with a long, tired groan.

"Finally. Home, sweet home."

The apartment was small but comfortable—a single-bedroom place with clean white walls and neatly arranged furniture. Nothing fancy, but it was peaceful. His bookshelves were organized alphabetically. His kitchen sparkled. His desk was spotless. Everything had its place.

After a hot shower, he cooked up a quick, no-fuss dinner. Something simple. Fried rice with eggs and sausage, topped with spicy sauce. Cheap but satisfying.

"Mmm~ God bless my own cooking," he murmured, his mood finally relaxing as he clicked on the TV. The familiar sound of his favorite anime’s opening song filled the room, setting a cozy atmosphere.

Once dinner was done and the dishes were washed, he changed into his favorite pajamas—a plain shirt and loose shorts. Then, like a kid on Christmas morning, he reached for the one thing that brought him true joy:

A brand-new gaming console, still shining like it came from heaven.

–Pio! Pio! Slash! Slash!

He launched right into God of War, diving headfirst into a brutal boss fight with the God of Thunder. His eyes gleamed as he expertly parried, dodged, and delivered stylish finishers.

It wasn’t long before the game was done and dusted. Another platinum trophy earned.

Without hesitation, he swapped to the next game on his backlog.

Time slipped away like water.

Minutes melted into hours.

His eyes began to droop, but he refused to stop.

Until... eventually...

He fell asleep.

The controller slipped from his hand. The screen glowed softly in the dark room, still showing the game’s main menu.

...

...

–RING RING!

But his peaceful slumber was shattered by the blaring sound of his phone vibrating violently on his desk.

"Son of a—!"

He groaned, half-asleep, fumbling to grab the phone.

’Didn’t I turn it off...?’

He squinted at the screen.

Multiple message notifications.

All from one name.

His boss.

"...You’ve gotta be kidding me."

–CRACK!

The phone cracked in his palm as his frustration peaked, his grip tightening too hard.

Just as he was about to furiously reply with every ounce of sarcasm and wrath he had stored, his eyes landed on something else.

The black business card.

Lying there on the desk, untouched since earlier.

"...."

looking at it for a moment, be began thinking about what That guy said.

...

...

...

_____

(A/N)

We have now reached he end of Act/Arc 1.

Finally.

Right now I will go Pause or Hiatos? Anyway, I don’t know how long it will take for the next Chapter update (it won’t be a month) but I can promise I won’t drop or anything.

I just need time to figure out the next story Arc, since there are 100 of new characters idea for the Academy, and I need to reduce a lot of ideas and who to choice.

Sigh. I blame the orginal author of Valoria Legends.

Anyway, thanks for the support. The only Chapters I might upload instead are some illustration and keywords information.

Thanks for those how support the book.

"I will be back"