A remote island in the country of Spain, where a tower was built, a line of expensive black cars zoomed into the park. The cars ranged from vintage classics to the most modern versions.
Inside a particular black Pininfarina Sergio Ferrari, a man played a game on his phone, arguing with whoever he was playing against, throwing his hands in the air with every statement. The driver in the front seat shook his head at his master's childlike behavior, not the least surprised by his antics.
"Sir, we've arrived. It would be appropriate for you to leave now so you aren't the last person to arrive for the meeting, especially since you initiated it."
The young man stopped the game he was playing.
"So?"
The driver sighed heavily, clearly accustomed to his behavior.
"It wouldn't look good if you were late. That's all I'm saying, young master."
"No, that's not what I'm saying. Of course, it would look disrespectful if I were the last to arrive since I was the one who called this meeting among the world leaders—though I don't care."
"What are you trying to say?"
"We're already late. There's no need to stress about it."
The driver's face knitted into a frown. "Young master…"
The man finally dropped the phone, his playful expression turning stoic in an instant as he stepped out of the car.
The ocean wind blew, causing his coat to sway with the breeze. He adjusted his wristwatch and deadpanned…
"Let's go."
Gracefully walking toward the huge doors that separated the outside world from the events inside, the door was opened.
"How dare he! Who does he think he is?"
The young master chuckled to himself as he heard the commotion caused by his lateness. Normally, he shouldn't have been able to hear them from such a distance, but he heard them clearly.
"Guess I'm a celebrity no matter where I go."
The air was scented with the faint smell of cinnamon and lemon. Fluorescent lights brightened the large hall, giving it an almost ominous glow. The walls were painted ash, with chandeliers hanging from the ceilings.
"The elevator, sir," the driver directed.
The doors opened with a *ding*, and he stepped inside, his expression cold and unwavering.
"Young master, your father has asked that you do your best not to make a scene, at least for today."
"Oh, Aldred! Please, indulge me! What scene is there to make when it's just a simple discussion about naming?"
"The thing is… young master, he's there."
"What did you say?"
"The don told me not to mention it to you…"
"Then I'm guessing my father is your master, seeing as you felt comfortable keeping this from me. And you know how much I hate his guts."
Silence.
The elevator doors opened again, and they both stepped out, their eyes locking directly on the massive golden doors ahead.
Dipping his hands into his coat pockets, he moved forward toward the door, leaving the driver behind.
"I can't promise anything, but if a fight breaks out, I won't kill anyone. Tell him that."
"That's good enough, master," the driver said with a small bow as he watched his master retreat into the room. "I seriously hope you keep your promise. Cleaning up your messes is extremely tiring."
---
The round table was somewhat divided into two, like the yin and yang symbol of Asian culture. On the right side, the air was filled with sweet-smelling perfume and expensive wine. On the left, the faint smell of cognac and cigars lingered.
The young man's eyes lazily scanned the room, taking in the faces of everyone present until he found his target. He was the same as always, composed and unwavering,his hair was the same as always, finely braided and complementing his face perfectly.
His expression darkened further. He knew what buttons to push.
"Well, since we're all here, let's start." He stated.
"Are you seeing this kid? He barges in after wasting our time. Who the hell do you think you are?" A burly man in a brown suit yelled, his face red with anger and frustration.
The young man's lips twisted into a smirk. "Zhenya… do you perhaps not know who I am?"
"Who cares who you are?! Apologize immediately!"
"For what?" Zhenya questioned calmly.
The man's face turned red. "Look at you, so young and yet so disrespectful to your elders!"
"Hmm… I guess it's true that newcomers have a certain smell."
Zhenya slowly stood from his seat and strode toward the man, his steps casual and deliberate.
"You know something…" he muttered, "the truth is, you never know the psychopath sitting next to you. At least, that's what your people call us." He shrugged, glancing toward the man with the braided hair.
Before anyone could react, the large man was on the floor, bleeding. Zhenya had stabbed him, though no one could see the weapon.
"Zhenya!" the man with the braided hair yelled, slamming his fists on the table as he stood.
Zhenya smirked lazily. "Lucian, my beloved. Have you finally recognized me? I was starting to worry you'd forgotten me, my love."
"Shut it!" Lucian roared. "If he dies, you'll pay."
"How?" Zhenya chuckled. "Will you slit my throat like last time? The scar is still there, in case you've forgotten."
"That man you just stabbed is the new representative of France!"
"I knew it,he's new." Zhenya muttered casually before returning to his seat. "Don't worry, he's not dead."
His face suddenly became devoid of any emotion.
"Now, let's vote on the name."
Two people stood up from among the attendees and introduced themselves.
"Vera Zara. I'll be recording the minutes and representing the dark side."
"Maxwell Simon. I'll be recording the minutes for the bright side."
An elderly man from the bright side announced, "This meeting was convened to decide on a proposed name change for the people of the dark side. The representatives of the higher authorities on the dark side have successfully come up with a name of their own." He paused, taking a deep breath. "All in favor, please raise your hands."
Everyone on the dark side raised their hands in support, while those on the bright side remained still.
Zhenya rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Stiff-necked till the end."
A representative wearing round glasses that oddly suited his face spoke up. "We're not against you changing your name, but don't you think it's unfair for only your side to have this privilege?"
"Well, nobody asked you to be dumb," a petite woman in red blurted out, completely uninterested.
"Sure, if that's what you want. Petty of you to think we'd propose this motion only for our sake," Zhenya commented.
"Guess your brains are short-circuited," the woman added, raw sarcasm dripping in her voice.
"Fine then, we all agree to the motion. Now, what name have you chosen for your people?"
Zhenya smiled in glee. "From now on, we will be known as the Shadowers."
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