Jane looks at her husband. As Jane gulps her wine in one swift sip, as if trying to drown the sudden discomfort that arises. Then Jane tries to insert a soft tone into her voice, like someone wanting to dampen a conversation that is starting to become dangerous. "I'm sorry, Mr. White, John and I don't..."
Before Jane can finish, John interrupts, quickly and sharply, "The other dagger is with my friend."
John himself isn't sure if he can trust Lance's words. But one thing is certain: John cannot provoke that man. Not tonight. Perhaps never.
Jane did not respond again. She only frowned and remained silent in her displeasure.
"Very good." Lance gestured with a slow, almost elegant hand movement. "Continue."
"Eddie and I bought those two daggers together," John finally said. John's lips moved as if holding something back—a secret or a fear. "The problem is, Eddie doesn't like it when I talk too easily. And Eddie... is obsessed with money. If I want to take the dagger, it's clearly not just a matter of asking nicely. Eddie will definitely want payment. Real dollars, not promises."
"That's fine," Lance said, glancing at his watch, the second hand ticking slowly, as if holding its breath. "I'll cover part of the cost. My friend will go with you. You can ask for the funds directly from him. I just want to see that dagger... as soon as possible."
John furrowed his brow. "Right now?"
"Yes." Lance nodded slowly, his eyes no longer on John but drifting out the window. "My friend is waiting for you at the door."
Lance may not be a wealthy man, but the Hand Organization has nearly unlimited funds—and more than that, it has hidden intentions that run much deeper than mere transactions. Kagenobu Yoshioka, the companion, is not just a 'friend.' If everything goes smoothly, Lance just has to pay. But if not... he will take the dagger by force. And if necessary, with bloodshed.
Eddie, John's colleague, is also not an ordinary person. A man of the underworld, full of secrets, full of sins. But even someone as tough as Eddie knows—there are types of threats that cannot be ignored. One of them: a professional assassin.
And John knows exactly who Kagenobu Yoshioka is.
He remembers clearly—too clearly—the day Nobu split a bullet in mid-air, as if it were just a slow-moving ping pong ball.
John's friends lay scattered around him, their bodies exposed like butchered meat on a slaughterhouse table. The floor was covered in pools of red, and although that event was long past, the smell of blood still seemed to cling to the roof of his mouth.
Nobu is not an ordinary human. Not anymore.
And now that man... stands on Lance's side?
John tensed. His brow furrowed deeply. Weren't they once bitter enemies? Didn't their duel shake half of the underworld? Wasn't... Kagenobu Yoshioka dead?
Is this a resurrection from the grave? An illusion? Or has everything been planned from the start—a deadly performance that deceives everyone?
John's face hardened. His wild imagination conjured scenes from a horror movie: blood splattering, cold-blooded betrayal, fake deaths, and false smiles hidden behind masks.
"Mr. Smith, please." Nobu's voice was flat. Cold. Leaving no room for emotion. His hand rose with precise movement, and his expression... was as frozen as winter in the Hitayama mountains.
John swallowed hard. Slowly, he turned to his wife, Jane, and waved a short hand with slightly trembling fingers. His steps were heavy as he got into the car.
Jane stood still, watching her husband leave from a distance. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes... held anxiety. Without saying a word, she turned her body and walked away, searching for Nancy in the crowd.
Lance did not react. There was no change in his expression. As if all of this were just a formality.
Nancy was not an ordinary girl. The little girl had evaded AIM's pursuit for years. Agile. Smart. Full of tricks. Even in casual conversation, it was hard to tell who was really interrogating whom.
Lance took a slow breath, then turned to a group of oddly dressed men beside him—still laughing, still sipping wine, still caught up in trivial conversation.
"Hey, look over here." Lance raised his hand. On his middle finger, a glowing ring emitted a soft white light that shimmered gently.
As all eyes turned to him, the light from the ring flickered in a regular pattern, dancing with a strange, intoxicating glow.
"Forgetfulness... is everything."
Lance didn't have a magic wand. But Lance had a lantern ring—an ancient artifact with equally deadly magic.
That afternoon, Lance had learned three important spells: the Activation Spell, the Forgetfulness Spell, and the Flying Spell. Lance wasn't a mental magic expert, and unleashing his Zanpakuto in public was too conspicuous. So, the best solution? Simple forgetfulness magic. Efficient. No blood.
"The Dow stocks are down."
"Yeah."
"That's a bloodbath."
"How are you?"
"This is a huge loss!"
"Hey, let's split the bill!"
The men suddenly lost their memory of the events from a few minutes ago. They immediately returned to their previous absurd conversation, as if there had never been an interruption. They didn't even realize one person was missing from their midst.
More than that, they no longer saw Lance. It was as if the man had vanished from reality.
And that was indeed Lance's intention. So, he didn't want to waste time arguing. He couldn't just pull out a knife because he was annoyed. Therefore, after erasing their memories... Lance chose to become invisible for a while.
Of course, a little lesson was still in order.
As he recited the forgetfulness spell, Lance infused a small bit of magic to stimulate their stomachs—just enough that in the next three to five days, the men would experience great discomfort every time they tried to sit on the toilet.
A little revenge... can be quite enjoyable.
A moment passed in silence, filled only with the sound of the wind and the faint hum of the magic ring that hadn't completely dimmed. Then quick footsteps echoed in the marble hallway. Nancy appeared, walking lightly, almost silently, and then stopped in front of Lance.
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