"From now on, I will be your guardian."

The voice was cold and calm, deep and steady, neither hurried nor slow, with no hint of frivolity in its tone. Yet, with that voice, the air in the private room seemed to become oppressive, with a chilling, icy pressure that grew lower and lower.

The man walked slowly into the private room.

He looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with a handsome but cold face and ruthless eyes. His tailor-made black suit made him appear even taller and more imposing. The warm yellow light in the corridor could not illuminate his aloofness.

What's most chilling is that the man's aura is too sharp and menacing. His eyes are cold and deep. When people meet his unfathomable, sharp eyes, they instantly feel a sense of dread, as if they are seeing the blade of death. They are so frightened that they quickly look away and dare not look again.

He looked around the entire private room, but his cold eyes seemed to see no one at all.

The man strode in, and the hotel waiters and manager hurriedly followed behind, looking pale-faced and wiping away cold sweat as they tried to stop the intruder but dared not. They staggered with small steps.

The entire private room fell into a fearful silence. Everyone held their breath involuntarily, their hearts seemingly afraid to beat. Only low sobs could be heard.

—The one crying is Tong Su.

The next moment, the man, who looked like a ferocious god in everyone's eyes, suddenly quickened his pace, walked over to the little girl sitting on the chair with red and swollen eyes from crying, took off his suit jacket without saying a word, and wrapped it around her back.

"I won't wear it," she sobbed, "It's too hot..."

Her voice was like a spring breeze sweeping across the cold winter earth, dispelling the cold clouds and letting the warm sun shine down, reviving numb limbs and bringing waves of warmth.

The chill in the private room was instantly dispelled.

The man spoke, his voice surprisingly gentle and comforting: "It's raining outside, it's cold."

The little girl raised her red eyes and looked at him blankly.

The man's expression softened further. He knelt down in front of the girl as if no one else was there, and began to button her clothes one button at a time: "Why are you crying?"

She sniffed hard and said in a tearful voice, "He hit my mother again!"

The man gently wiped away her tears, his eyes softening, and said softly, "Then go beat him up. I'll beat him up for you."

It seemed that all the strength she had been putting on crumbled the moment she heard the man's words. The little girl trembled, threw herself into the man's arms, and burst into tears.

Imagine a small, weak hedgehog, too young to grow its quills yet, so it uses its barely-fitting quills as protection to hide its disheveled state, only showing its ferocity to outsiders.

But the needle was sharp at both ends, fierce to the outside, and also 'pierced' her own body, its sharp edge stabbing her weak heart until it bled profusely.

The man reached out and roughly pulled out the thorn, scooped out the wounded inside, and carefully placed it into his heart. With his own flesh and blood, he firmly protected her, shielding her from all the harsh winds, frosts, rain, snow, and hail of the outside world.

"He's not my dad! My dad...would never hit me like that..."

“He’s not your father. From now on, no one can hit you like that.”

"I won't let him hit Mom anymore!"

"Okay, from now on, he can't hit anyone."

"Don't let him go! Don't let him go!"

"Don't worry, he will be severely punished, and he will definitely not be let off the hook."

He coaxed her softly, his sharp and cold armor a stark contrast to the harshness and darkness of the world, yet he held the untouchable softness within him as precious as his own life.

The entire private room was completely silent. Everyone, from the masters and professors to the students and waiters, stared in astonishment.