Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 82

Chapter 82 – A Chapter of the Wov Family

Zatariel's Point of View
First High School Field Trip

A field trip.

In theory, it's supposed to be a humble, hormone-fueled escape from the suffocating grip of classroom walls.

In reality, it's a controlled simulation of freedom, sponsored by people richer than small countries.

And unfortunately for me... I am one of those people.

Seven days.

Two aboard a cruise ship—also known as a floating five-star buffet with identity issues.
Three at Silver Island's Silvery Water Park—which sounds innocent until you realize it's basically a luxury aquarium where the fish are replaced with rich teenagers.
Then two days back—sunburnt, emotionally unstable, and at least one student crying over a drowned phone in an infinity pool.

It should've been great. It was going to be great. tsk.

Until my father—His Excellency, Lord Everwealthy, CEO of "Why Are We Like This Incorporated"—walked into my room while I was packing.

"I'm coming too," he said.

I froze mid-zip.

"...You what?"

"I'll be there," he continued casually. "Of course, not to obviously guard my son on his field trip. That would be absurd."

I narrowed my eyes.

"It's because," he added, adjusting his cuff like he was announcing quarterly profits,
"I recently acquired Silvery Water Park from Ms. Soria Meriden."

Silence.

I stared at him.

Blink.

Stared again.

Waiting for reality to correct itself.

"...And that's not stalking?" I asked slowly. "You—what? Bought the theme park? Dad, why? Are we currently drowning in money?"

He gave a soft, satisfied chuckle.

"Well, it was for sale. And it seemed like a fun investment."

I let my duffel bag drop. Along with what remained of my sanity.

"So let me summarize," I said, pointing at him like I was building a legal case.
"My first high school trip—my one chance at pretending I'm a normal teenager—is now... sponsored by you."

He nodded.

"Yes."

"And you'll be attending."

"Indeed."

"And you'll be there shaking hands, giving speeches, pretending you don't own half the country's tourism industry."

He clapped once, pleased.

"Correct."

I had a vision. A terrible one.

My father was in beach shorts and designer sunglasses, smiling at a drone camera while seagulls formed a perfect dollar sign above his head like it was a divine blessing.

How does he keep getting richer? Does he photosynthesize luxury?

And just like that, he turned toward the door.

"Oh," he added, pausing just enough to ruin my life one last time,
"We'll be on the same bus. Don't worry—I'll give you space."

Yeah.