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The Grandbell Legacy 3 Milana 1

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In an upstairs s.p.a.ce of the Grandbell household, a sound that could only be compared to stone slamming against stone was reverberating.

5:05 AM flashed on a timer nearby as Ci-ci bobbed and weaved through his morning routine.

The room itself seemed like a completely different world as compared to the rest of the house.

A singular and old-fas.h.i.+oned fluorescent bulb hung in the middle of the ceiling, providing dim lighting. The walls and floor were made of nothing but cracked and unkept concrete. And even the weights that lined a side of the room were nothing but rusted metal versions of their original selves. The only thing that reminded you that this s.p.a.ce was part of a high-tech household was the control panel to the side that pumped it with the steam of a sauna.

And yet, Ci-ci remained unperturbed by all of this.

His fists were like gusts of strong wind, disappearing again and again as they flashed forward to slam into a punching bag.

His bare feet sc.r.a.pped against the coa.r.s.e ground, light and untethered by gravity, s.h.i.+fting seamlessly from form to form.

Beads of sweat ran down Ci-ci's s.h.i.+rtless torso, a military tag bouncing violently around his neck with his every movement. An oxygen deprivation mask, modified to the extreme, breathed in the dense sauna fog, lessening Ci-ci's air supply even more.

However, maybe the most striking part about this ridiculous workout was the fact Ci-ci's punching bag wasn't filled with sand… It was filled with a stone polymer laced with carbon elements… Carbon elements that included diamond!

Despite this, Ci-ci's fists flew forward without hesitation, sending a punching back that must have weighed in ton units flying backwards with a flurry of strikes.

Maybe a normal person would have already shattered all of the bones in their arm. In fact, maybe a normal person wouldn't even be able to stand after this level of oxygen deprivation. But… Ci-ci showed no sign of stopping even as he heard the doorbell ring at 10 AM.

'Who?... Ah, must be her.' Ci-ci's hand reached up to his mask, pulling it off. "Anabelle, log this workout for me. Also, increase the water vapour ratio next time, I'm getting complacent. The weight of the punching bag is just fine, but its too flexible – toughen it up. Set the room back to modern."

The control panel hummed in acknowledgement, taking down Ci-ci's requests.

Suddenly the room began to s.h.i.+ft as Ci-ci walked to the wall opposite the set of weights. Panels of light flashed as the concrete changed to a black springy floor.

The wall Ci-ci walked toward underwent the most drastic change, becoming a large transparent pan of gla.s.s that looked out and into an elegantly designed living room.

Ci-ci pushed through the gla.s.s door, looking down at himself. 'Ah, whatever. I don't have time to change.'

Ci-ci leisurely walked to the door, gliding past a s.h.i.+ning saxophone that hung from a stand by a black grand piano and the large white corner couch.


He paused for a moment as he glanced at the ma.s.sive portrait of a beautiful woman hanging from the wall.

It was a black and white painting of a young woman wearing a tightly fitting qipao. Her hair was done in a beautiful and conservative bun and she held a delicately embroidered paper fan in her hand.

Shaking his head, Ci-ci bowed to the photo. "Sorry, mom." He said quietly as the portrait disappeared into the wall.

Suddenly thinking of something, Ci-ci's hand s.h.i.+fted up to the military tag the hung from his neck, pressing a discreet b.u.t.ton to its back.

The tag disappeared in s.p.a.ce, but, that wasn't all. Ci-ci's appearance changed from his normally handsome features, to that of a man with just above average looks.

This was a protection his mother had left for him. Much like Lucius Grandbell, Aelinor Grandbell was a genius inventor. In fact, her impact on the West Continent's rebuild was no less than that of Ci-ci's father. This military tag was not only of unmatched sentimental value, it was the only technology of its kind.

Smiling, Ci-ci opened the door to find a cute young lady. She was pet.i.te and had delicate features that partially hid behind her large gla.s.ses and long brunette hair.

Her blue jeans, white blouse and light brown coat completed her appearance along with the handbag that hung from her elbow. She was the picture of innocence, or … she would have been had she not had anger painted all over her face.

Pus.h.i.+ng her way past Ci-ci and completely ignoring the influx of masculine scent and wall of lean muscles that greeted her, she stomped her feet adorably. "I can't believe this!"

Ci-ci chuckled to himself. He had quite a good idea about why she was mad, but, clearly, he couldn't say anything.

"Milana? What's wrong?" Ci-ci asked innocently.

Milana's head snapped toward Ci-ci as she seemingly struggled with something. "Dammit! Well, if he doesn't have any shame, why should I!? Forget those stupid tampering laws!"

Ci-ci tried to hold back his laughter. He found it adorable that his little Milly didn't swear even when she was clearly being pushed beyond her breaking point.

Smiling, Ci-ci stepped forward and stroked her soft cheek. "Okay, Okay. Let's not go breaking any laws now. Let me cook breakfast for you."

Milana blushed at Ci-ci's touch, only now realizing he was s.h.i.+rtless. Lowering her head, she spoke softly. "Alright."

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