A cramped room suffocated beneath towers of books and collapsing stacks of brittle scrolls. Parchment spilled across the floor like fallen leaves, ink bottles lay uncapped beside half-finished notes, and candle wax had hardened in pale rivers over the wooden desk.
In the middle of the chaos stood a young man of unremarkable build, his circular glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he frantically dug through another stack.
His brown hair was a mess — as if he had run his hands through it a hundred times in panic.
“Where could it be…? I could’ve sworn it was around here. Oh no. Oh no, am I going to die because of this one mistake? Why do I always do this… why am I like this…?”
His movements grew more desperate. Scrolls unraveled under his trembling fingers. A tower of books tipped over with a dull thud.
Then—
His hand froze.
Beneath a faded manuscript bound in cracked leather was a scroll wrapped in silver thread, its surface shimmering faintly as if it resisted being touched by ordinary air.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then his face split into radiant, almost manic joy.
“YES! FINALLY! I FOUND IT — THE SCROLLS OF DIVINITY!”
He clutched it to his chest like a starving man who had found salvation.
The door creaked open.
“Hey, Leo. What’s that you were so desperately searching for?”
Leo stiffened.
He adjusted his glasses with exaggerated dignity, clearing his throat as though he had not just been seconds away from a breakdown.
“Never worry about things out of your reach, my dearest friend. As you see, I am a man of great importance. The Velcrassa acknowledge me as such. Hmph. Hmph.”
“…Ah. Sure, buddy.”
The escort’s deadpan tone pierced straight through Leo’s inflated pride.
Still clutching the scroll, Leo followed him out.
As they moved through dim corridors carved into stone, Leo’s curiosity bubbled over.
He had spent months outside Velcrassa’s territory, tasked with exploration and research to justify the vast investment required to obtain the Scroll of Divinity. Funding, connections, risks — everything had been arranged from afar.
But he had never once stepped inside the core of their operations.
He had never met the boss.
Not even once.
“So… where exactly is the hideout?” Leo asked, peering around like an excited tourist.
“Just wait. It won’t take long before we reach it.”
“Remember, this job is of great importance, my esteemed escort! WE SHAN’T WASTE TIME! HAHAHAHA!”
The escort rubbed his temples.
What am I dealing with right now…? This is torture.
Elsewhere.
“So… Alice,” a lazy voice drawled, heavy with disinterest, “when’s this royal feast being served? I’m at my wits.”
“Wait a bit, you pig.”
Alice didn’t even look at him when she said it.
Her tone carried the casual irritation of someone far too accustomed to this behavior.
Arthur lay reclined nearby, appearing to sleep — his breathing steady, his expression calm.
Alice stared at him for a long moment.
Then her face crumpled.
As if reality itself had just betrayed her.
Perhaps…
“…Never mind.”
She looked away sharply.
I don’t think I can stall any further. He might get suspicious.
Night had swallowed the market district in gold and shadow.
Lanterns swayed overhead, casting trembling light over merchants, masked performers, and the steady hum of illegal trade. The scent of roasted meat mixed with iron and damp stone.
Yumi moved carefully through the crowd, posture relaxed — too relaxed.
He had come here with a purpose.
But something was wrong.
It wasn’t the usual tension of stepping into a wolf’s den.
It was worse.
Sharper.
Predatory.
He felt it.
A gaze.
Unblinking.
Unwavering.
He turned slightly.
Across the shifting sea of people stood a man watching him without pretense.
Malrik.
Velcrassa’s specialist in defectiveness — the one assigned to anomalies. Situations requiring extreme caution. The observer who noticed what others missed.
After prolonged observation of Yumi’s movements, posture, pauses, glances — Malrik had deduced only one thing:
Too suspicious.
Requires personal attendance.
Yumi’s smile tightened.
It would seem… I’ve been caught.
A bead of sweat slid down his neck.
My best option is to run.
But he’s not moving. He’s just watching.
If I run, that confirms his suspicion.
But what if he already suspects me? What if he already knows and is simply waiting?
Then running would be survival.
But if I’m wrong, it becomes proof.
I’m in enemy territory.
I can’t contact Arthur.
Johnny hasn’t appeared.
This is simply too confusing.
His expression shifted.
The softness drained from his face.
Serious now.
Without breaking stride, Yumi turned into a narrow alley.
Footsteps followed.
Measured.
Unhurried.
He walked deeper until he reached a square intersection — four alleys connecting at a shadowed center.
Convenient.
Or intentional.
He stopped.
Silence pooled around him.
Then—
A silhouette stepped from the adjacent alley.
Yumi’s body tensed.
But it wasn’t Malrik.
The figure wore a long brown coat, collar raised high, shadow obscuring most of his face.
“Are you… the guy staring at me?” Yumi asked carefully, though his instincts screamed otherwise.
The man chuckled softly.
“We have to talk, my friend. Fret not about the man who gazed at you. He is of less importance at the moment.”
The tone was confident.
Smug.
Calculated.
“You and I,” the man continued, stepping forward into the lantern light just enough for his eyes to gleam, “simply need to talk.”
The air in the alley grew heavy.
Stolen novel; please report.
Behind Yumi, footsteps echoed faintly.
Malrik had not left.
This was no coincidence.
This was a net.
And he had just walked into the center of it.
“It seems like I’m finally closing in on the exit… ugh, FINALLY.”
Johnny exhaled as if he had just been released from a cell.
Three hours.
Exactly three hours.
That was how long it had taken him to navigate the labyrinthine detours surrounding Velcrassa’s outer perimeter. Hidden routes, misdirection paths, false tunnels meant to waste intruders’ stamina and patience — he had endured all of it.
Unfortunately, three hours was also exactly how long it took Velcrassa to notice a foreign presence slipping through their carefully layered defenses.
As Johnny approached the final corridor leading toward the concealed entrance, the air changed.
Subtle.
Oppressive.
Like the quiet before a storm.
He slowed his steps.
Ten feet.
That was all that remained between him and the stone archway that marked the hidden access point.
Then—
A figure stepped casually from the shadows to his right.
“Bingo~ Old man. Caught ya red-handed! HAHA!”
Johnny’s eyes shifted without moving his head.
Rae.
A wide, delighted grin stretched across her face — the kind that didn’t belong in a normal person’s anatomy. Her eyes sparkled with manic excitement.
“How did you know?” Johnny asked calmly, though every muscle in his body tightened.
“It’s none of your business, old man. Simply be blessed to be in my presence.”
She began walking toward him — slow, deliberate, almost like a model strutting down a runway.
Her long robe sleeves hung low and heavy, draping past her hands like pale wings. When she lifted her arms slightly, the fabric spread outward in a theatrical flourish.
“And allow me,” she whispered, fingers intertwining inside her sleeves, her cheeks flushing an unnatural crimson, “to simply enjoy the satisfaction of ahhhh…”
Her eyes fluttered upward.
Her head tilted.
“…of tearing you apart.”
Her sleeves snapped upward.
Six knives flashed into existence — three in each hand.
Polished steel glinted under the faint corridor light.
She’s insane… damn it, Johnny thought, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
But he did not step back.
“Lady,” he said evenly, drawing a military knife in one hand and a Glock in the other, “you seem to assume I’ll give you that joy. You’re truly mistaken.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You will be detained.”
Rae’s smile widened — almost melancholic.
Then she moved.
Her arms crossed outward in opposite directions — a fluid, dancer-like motion — and she unleashed all six knives at once.
They screamed through the air.
Johnny reacted instantly.
Two deflections — his knife clashed with steel, sparks snapping in the dimness.
One roll — he twisted sideways, shoulder grazing the wall.
A blade tore across his side.
Another skimmed his cheek.
Warmth bloomed along his skin.
He landed in a crouch.
Blood dripped.
Before he could reorient—
She was gone.
Johnny’s eyes darted.
Left. Right. Rear.
Nothing.
A shift in air pressure.
Above.
He looked up.
Rae descended from the ceiling support beams like a falling guillotine — six fresh knives gripped between her fingers.
Johnny threw himself backward.
She crashed down where he had stood, blades piercing stone with explosive force.
He rolled and fired three rapid shots.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Rae twisted mid-motion.
One bullet grazed her sleeve.
Another she deflected with a knife — a metallic spark exploding outward.
The third whizzed past her ear.
She lunged.
The distance vanished.
Steel met steel.
She swung from the left — a diagonal slash meant to carve across his ribs.
Johnny intercepted with his combat knife. The impact shuddered through his forearm.
She leaned in close.
Too close.
Her breath brushed his face.
She dragged her tongue slowly across his cheek.
Johnny’s stomach churned.
He fired point-blank.
She slipped aside with terrifying grace — the bullet tearing through fabric instead of flesh — and her leg whipped upward in a snapping kick.
Johnny blocked with his forearm, boots scraping against stone as he absorbed the force.
Then the dance began.
Knives flashed in arcs of silver.
Rae moved like a performer — each slash flowing into a spin, each spin transitioning into a kick. Her footwork was immaculate, balanced, rhythmic.
Johnny parried left.
Countered right.
She kicked low.
He caught her ankle mid-strike.
He drove an elbow toward her knee—
But she jumped.
Her free leg coiled and snapped outward.
Her heel smashed into his face with surgical precision.
Johnny staggered.
What the hell is her ability? I can’t read it at all—
She rushed again.
Three knives flew toward his head.
He leaned sideways — the blades slicing past his ear, embedding into the wall behind him.
She followed with a straight punch aimed at his throat.
He pivoted his entire body off-line — barely avoiding it.
Her fist slammed into a sewage pipe instead.
Water burst outward.
She kicked the filthy water up with her heel.
It splashed across Johnny’s vision.
In that half-second of blindness—
Her fist crashed into his face.
His vision burst white.
Johnny retaliated on instinct.
He hurled his knife and grabbed her wrist simultaneously.
The blade grazed her shoulder.
He twisted her arm and used his Glock as a blunt weapon, smashing it toward her jaw.
She blocked with her free hand.
Two knives flashed from between her fingers — nearly slicing his knuckles.
Johnny disengaged instantly.
He fired once more.
Then, in a split-second decision, threw the empty gun at her face and shifted into a boxing stance.
No weapons.
Just fists.
He advanced aggressively — left jab, right cross, body hook, uppercut.
Every strike cut through air.
She swayed around him like smoke.
Beautiful.
Effortless.
She caught his extended arm.
Pulled sharply at his shoulder.
Repositioned her hips.
Slam.
Johnny crashed onto the stone floor.
Before he could recover, her legs coiled around his captured arm.
She extended her hips upward — hyperextending his shoulder joint.
Pain exploded down his limb.
She locked it tight.
Then calmly brought a knife down.
A shallow slash across his forearm.
Blood welled instantly.
Adrenaline surged.
With a roar, Johnny forced his hips upward, lifting her entire body off the ground despite the lock.
He slammed her down.
The grip loosened.
She flipped backward — landing several meters away in a crouch.
“Your good… hehehe… HAHAHA!” she giggled, blood glistening on her blade.
She licked it.
Slowly.
Swallowed.
Johnny’s breath grew heavy.
Then—
Thump.
A heartbeat.
Loud.
Not his own.
Thump.
His vision tinted red.
The world dulled.
Sound distorted.
His limbs felt heavy.
No—
Not heavy.
Disconnected.
He tried to move his fingers.
Nothing.
His knees buckled.
What is this…? What am I experiencing…? Am I done for…?
Rae stood upright, watching him tremble.
Her laughter echoed down the corridor.
She pressed a hand to her flushed face, tongue peeking out between parted lips.
“We’re going to have so much fun… hehehe…”
Johnny tried to lift his gun hand.
It did not respond.
The red deepened.
The heartbeat grew louder.
Then—
Darkness swallowed him whole.
The room was painted in soft pinks and pale creams, adorned with lace curtains and porcelain dolls lined neatly along white shelves. It looked less like a living space and more like a child’s fantasy preserved in glass.
Alice stepped out of the shower, steam curling around her petite frame. She dried her hair carefully, humming faintly, then dressed in a delicate pastel outfit that matched the fragile aesthetic of the house. She paused in front of the mirror, smoothing her skirt.
Downstairs, Arthur stirred.
“Fuck… how long have I been asleep? Shit.”
His voice was hoarse, edged with irritation and lingering exhaustion. He pushed himself upright from the couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His body felt heavy, but his instincts were already sharpening.
He stood.
Alice, just descending the stairs, froze when she saw him moving toward the door.
Panic bloomed across her face.
She rushed forward and stretched her arms wide in front of him — as if her small frame could block a giant wall of iron.
“W-WAIT! Y-You haven’t— ugh— E-EATEN YET! You can’t just walk out!”
Arthur didn’t even slow down.
He gently lifted her by the shoulders and set her aside like moving a cushion from his path.
He reached the door.
Opened it.
A man stood on the other side.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Still as stone.
Caraso.
Their eyes met.
Caraso’s gaze was narrow and unreadable. No warmth. No hostility. Just a cold, quiet stillness — like a blade resting in its sheath.
Arthur returned the stare, now fully awake. The air between them tightened.
Alice hurried forward, anxiety written all over her face.
“Y-You’re late! Please come in…”
Caraso blinked.
And in an instant, the tension dissolved.
He tilted his head, closed his eyes gently, and smiled — an entirely different man.
“Ah, yes. My apologies.” His voice turned warm, almost playful. “Why don’t we both go inside, my dear friend? There’s no rush anywhere… is there?”
The question lingered in the air, probing.
Arthur studied him for half a second.
Then nodded.
“Hm. Yes. Let’s go back in.”
The seriousness in his tone carried weight.
They reentered.
Sat across from one another at the low dining table.
Caraso’s crimson eyes lifted and locked onto Arthur’s.
Arthur stared back.
It felt like watching two voids collide.
When a man gazes into the abyss, the abyss gazes back.
But which one of them was the abyss?
Alice returned carrying a full-course meal — steaming rice, grilled fish glazed in sweet sauce, vegetables cut with care, soup fragrant and warm. She set everything down proudly.
Caraso’s expression softened genuinely this time. He patted her head.
“You did incredibly well. I’m very proud of you.”
Alice giggled, cheeks slightly pink.
“Hehe~ I put my best into this.”
Caraso glanced at Arthur again.
“Your relationship with your sister seems quite well.”
Alice nodded brightly. “Ah, yes! I adore my sister very much. I wouldn’t have a purpose without her.”
Arthur watched silently.
“May I ask your name?” Arthur finally said.
Caraso smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t it be polite to offer yours first?”
“I’m not the polite kind, unfortunately.”
Caraso chuckled softly, lowering his head slightly while maintaining eye contact.
“Yes… I agree with you on that part, my friend.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Tell me — what is your purpose for coming here? Surely you’re not wandering this rundown underworld without reason.”
“And if I choose not to share my business with you?”
Caraso’s smile didn’t fade.
“Then I’m afraid we will have problems, my friend.”
Alice’s eyes flickered nervously between them.
Caraso noticed.
He reached out and gently patted her head again.
“Alice. Go upstairs. I have much more to discuss with this gentleman. Don’t come back down until we’re finished, alright?”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
Her footsteps faded up the stairs.
Silence.
Arthur picked up a piece of fish, examining it.
“It’s a shame,” he said calmly. “This food was truly delicious. Good thing I rescued your sister.”
Caraso’s gaze flickered — just slightly.
“And I must appreciate what you did. You have my gratitude.”
A pause.
“It appears you’re here for reasons that cannot simply be talked away.”
Arthur said nothing.
“I would much appreciate it,” Caraso continued, voice steady, “if my benefactor would walk with me to base and speak with the boss.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Do you hear yourself? You’re basically telling me to walk into a blazing fire without protection.”
Caraso’s smile thinned.
“...Then should I simply force you?”
His posture shifted subtly.
Prepared.
Truth be told… Arthur thought, I wouldn’t mind fighting him here. But Yumi warned me not to cause unnecessary trouble…
If I reach their base and meet the boss, then I can cause all the trouble I want.
That counts as reaching the objective, right?
He exhaled.
“No. You’re right. Let’s go to the base and talk it out.”
A faint smugness tugged at his lips — as though he had just solved a puzzle.
Caraso’s eyes narrowed with amusement.
“Whatever you think will happen… won’t. But sure. Let’s go.”
They stood.
As they stepped outside, Caraso glanced back once — guilt flashing briefly across his face before disappearing entirely.
Elsewhere.
Leo stepped out of the vehicle with exaggerated caution.
The escort led him forward.
They had arrived at the exact infiltration point Yumi and Arthur once used — but now Leo saw it clearly.
Security towers embedded into rock.
Hidden turrets.
Sensors lining the walls.
Advanced detection systems that would trigger the moment an ability was activated.
“Wowwwww… so tight!” Leo whispered, eyes sparkling.
He stumbled into a soldier holding a rifle.
“EEK! Careful!”
The soldier swung the barrel toward Leo’s face.
“What did you say, kid? Who are you to order me around, huh? EH?”
Leo froze.
“I-I-I-IM IMPORTANT! Y-YOU CAN’T JUST SHOOT ME!”
“Hold it,” another guard called out. “Escort confirmed. The kid’s name is Leo. The boss personally brought him. He’s an esteemed guest.”
The first guard grunted and lowered the gun.
“Hmph.”
“PHEW!” Leo wiped his forehead dramatically.
Then, instantly shifting to annoyed arrogance, he stuck his tongue out.
“HA! Loser. Screw you.”
“Quit mouthing the guard and move, Leo.”
Leo stuck his tongue out again as they walked past.
The guard rolled his eyes.
“Childish.”
The gates opened.
Leo stepped inside.
And froze.
The underground expanse unfolded like a hidden metropolis — neon-lit corridors, steel structures built into cavern walls, layers of interconnected platforms. It was organized chaos. Brutal and beautiful.
“WOOOOOW! What’s all this?! This is simply BEAUTIFUL!”
“Stop gawking. We have business to handle, oh esteemed guest.”
“Hmph. Say what you want. I have been entrusted with something significant. The boss will never be dissatisfied with his investment.”
“So you say.”
“Trust me, my dear friend…”
Their voices faded as they walked deeper into the underworld.
