He followed it by slapping his cheeks lightly to focus.
Now truly ready, he walked briskly toward the front hall, only to stop in his tracks and blink in surprise at the scene before him.
"What are all of you doing here?" he asked, pausing on the staircase.
Rocco's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the members of his estate's staff lined up in perfect formation.
They stood stiffly, spines straight, as though coming to a silent decision.
Then, in unison, they bowed deeply, their voices ringing out.
"Safe travels, Young Master!"
The display was unmistakable.
They were the very picture of mafia underlings, just as Rocco had read about in the original story.
Standing in neat rows, creating a flower path in the front hall, they lowered their heads in deference to him.
Looking down at them, Rocco felt the weight of reality settle heavily on his shoulders.
He truly was a part of this enormous family.
At the same time, the gravity of his position struck him hard.
These people—his loyal subordinates—had sworn fealty to him.
Their lives were in his hands, and one mistake on his part could jeopardize all of them.
Being a member of his estate, they weren't just staff; they were family who had placed their trust and survival in his care.
He carried the weight of so many lives.
In his previous life, Rocco had been an ordinary and physically fragile man, living a peaceful and uneventful existence.
The sheer reality of his current circumstances—the lives tied to his every move—was terrifying.
It was enough to make him feel faint, as though his consciousness might slip away at any moment.
But he couldn't afford to falter.
Every action he took affected dozens of lives.
Fear couldn't show on his face.
His hesitation or vulnerability could mean the end for all of them.
He needed resolve—not just to survive, but to protect the family that had supported him up until now.
"…Alright. I'll be off," he said firmly.
A chorus of deep voices responded: "We'll await for your safe return!"
The warmth carried in their words nearly brought tears to Rocco's eyes, but he fought against it.
There would be time to cry—after everything was over.
Until then, he had to remain strong and composed, embodying the cool and collected persona of Rocco Di Malvento.
...
"—We've been expecting you, Young Master Rocco."
Rocco barely restrained himself from muttering a sarcastic *"Sure you have."*
It had been six years since Rocco was born on the Di Malvento family estate, and this was his first time stepping foot in the main house.
Compared to the main family's estate, the secondary estate he called home was nothing at all.
The sheer size and grandeur of the estate before him made it feel more like a castle.
Standing in its shadow, the secondary estate, which he had always thought of as a luxurious home, suddenly seemed like a glorified storage shed attached to the main property.