Darkness swallowed everything.
One moment I was walking beside Juna and Albus, carrying mail like any other day.
Then—
A violent crack at the back of my head.
The world flipped sideways.
When I came to, the first thing I felt was cold.
Not air.
Stone.
My cheek was pressed against damp cobblestone. My arms wouldn't move. My legs wouldn't either. Something tight dug into my wrists and ankles — chains. Thick. Unforgiving. My torso was bound too, forcing me into a curled position like some discarded object.
My mouth—
Cloth. Tied tight. I tried to speak but only muffled breath came out.
My heart began racing.
What on void…?
No.
No no no no.
This isn't real. This isn't real.
I jerked violently against the restraints. The chains clanked loud in the narrow corridor. Pain shot through my wrists as metal bit into skin.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't get up.
I couldn't even scream.
Tears blurred my vision before I even realized I was crying.
Footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the dimness.
"Ah damn, which one of you worms is making such a ruckus? You're ruining my break."
The voice was lazy. Irritated.
It got closer.
Two men stepped out from behind a heavy curtain that served as a door. Long trench coats. Greasy hair. Eyes that didn't look at me like I was human.
One of them twirled a metal baton in his hand.
They stopped in front of my cell.
"This the new one?" one said, leaning closer to the bars. "Looks scrawny."
"New fish always panic the loudest."
They smiled.
I thrashed harder, backing into the wall, chains scraping, lungs burning as I tried to shout through the cloth.
"What an annoying brat."
I crawled toward the bars instinctively — maybe to beg, maybe to fight, I don't know—
BANG.
The baton slammed into the iron bars inches from my face.
The entire cage rattled violently. The vibration shot through my bones.
"SHUT IT!"
BANG.
Again.
Metal screeched. Sparks flickered. My ears rang.
I flinched so hard I hit the back wall. My body wouldn't stop shaking. My breath came in broken gasps.
And then—
Warmth spread down my legs.
I froze.
I didn't even realize I had lost control until I felt it soak through fabric.
They noticed.
They laughed.
"Pathetic."
"Won't last long at auction."
Auction?
The word lodged in my chest like a blade.
For ten long minutes they lingered. Not hitting me directly — just striking the bars, kicking the cage, watching me panic. Watching me break.
Then they grew bored.
The curtain shifted as they left.
Silence returned.
Heavy. Suffocating.
I forced myself to breathe slower. In. Out. In. Out.
Look around.
Cobblestone walls. Damp. No windows. Faint lantern light casting long shadows.
And across from me—
More cages.
I hadn't noticed before.
Children.
A girl hugging her knees, eyes hollow.A boy staring blankly at nothing.Another curled on the floor, unmoving except for shallow breaths.
We were stacked like inventory.
I swallowed against the cloth in my mouth.
This is real.
I'm not waking up.
Damn it.
Albus.
You always jump in front of me.
Juna.
You always scold me for being careless.
Director Ochid. Miss Mio.
You're supposed to oversee everything, right?
So where are you?
Please.
Please don't leave me.
The thought of being alone here hurt worse than the chains.
Tears slid down my face again, dripping onto the stone.
My body felt small.
Worthless.
The word "auction" echoed in my mind.
What are they going to do to us?
I closed my eyes.
Not to sleep.
But because looking at the bars made it worse.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Damn it— damn it!"
I tore through the streets, nearly slamming into vendors and townsfolk as I sprinted past the marketplace. The smell of roasted food, fabric dye, and livestock blurred together into noise.
The park.
The fountain.
The church steps.
Near headquarters.
Nothing.
No green hair. No timid voice.
"An… where are you…"
Beside me, Juna wasn't running — she was flying.
She vaulted onto a fruit stall roof, kicked off a hanging sign, flipped over a laundry line, and landed lightly on a balcony rail. From there she pushed off again, sliding down a slanted wooden awning before rebounding off a stone wall.
Her boots barely made sound when they touched surfaces.
She scanned from above while I searched below.
Efficient. Precise. Athletic in a way that made me grind my teeth.
In the marketplace, I caught sight of Director Ochid questioning merchants. One shook their head. The director's jaw tightened — just barely — before he thanked them and moved on.
"Albus, any clue yet?" Mio's voice crackled faintly in my earpiece.
"No. Nothing yet, Miss Mio."
Before we split up earlier, she had given us prototype communication devices — tiny earpieces crafted by her and the twins. A messenger network project, she called it. For coordination across long distances.
Even under pressure, she thinks ahead.
Those twins really are incredible…
Sweat dripped into my eyes. My lungs burned.
"Did ya hear? There was a new catch on the market."
I slowed.
"…What?"
"It looked like a frail girl at first, but turns out it was some timid green-haired boy."
My heart stopped.
"That description—"
I shoved through the crowd, following the voices into a narrow alley between the marketplace and the church.
"Yeah, some punks decided to mess with me."
"No…"
"Good thing he had high value in the black market. Jackpot!"
Rage swallowed the exhaustion.
There they were.
Three of them.
Disgusting smiles. Relaxed. Laughing.
They noticed me.
"Huh? Who're you supposed to be?"
"Ohhh, looks like this one's mad. Wonder why~"
"Ohhh. This one's shaking. Is he scared?"
I wasn't shaking.
I was furious.
My fingers curled into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. The alley felt smaller. Closer. Like the walls were pressing in.
My vision darkened at the edges. My breathing hitched.
One stepped forward, twirling a knife.
The same disgusting smile! Augh! I'm so sick of it!
"Hey there, mister," the knife wielder said, stepping forward slowly. His boots splashed through a shallow puddle, sending ripples across the alley floor. "You know wandering into dark alleys can lead to bad things, right?"
He flipped the knife and caught it again.
Closer.
Closer.
I could smell cheap alcohol on his breath.
He shifted his wrist slightly — I saw it.
He was already preparing to thrust.
I moved first.
My fist drove forward, straight into his stomach.
The impact hurt me almost as much as him. My knuckles screamed. But it forced air from his lungs and sent him stumbling back into a crate. Wood cracked under his weight.
The impact jarred up my arm. He folded slightly — not down, but enough to stumble backward into his crew.
"Oh shit—!"
"That little punk!"
They rushed me.
What am I doing?! I don't even know how to fight!
The alley exploded into motion.
The one from the barrel rushed left to flank me. The third kicked the crate aside and came straight at me.
The ground was uneven — slick from spilled water and crushed fruit. My shoes slipped slightly as I tried to adjust my footing.
Think.
Think!
Instinct pushed me into a stance. Guard up. Weight forward.
Too slow.
A roundhouse kick slammed into my ribs.
I raised my guard too high.
A kick came from below.
A roundhouse slammed into my ribs with brutal precision.
The sound echoed sharp against stone.
Pain burst through my side. My body lifted off the ground for a split second before I crashed into the wall. The back of my head bounced off stone. Dust fell from above.
The world tilted sideways.
I tasted iron.
My lungs wouldn't work.
The alley ceiling seemed too far away.
"Well, looks like we've got another one to—"
A shadow cut across the narrow strip of light above.
The world spun.
I hit the wall hard enough to knock breath from my lungs. Something metallic filled my mouth — blood. My vision blurred.
Stamina's gone… I ran all day…
No.
Not a shadow.
Juna.
Then—
Impact.
Juna dropped from the rooftop edge like a spear. She didn't land fully — she hit the wall mid-descent, pushed off, rotated in the air, and drove both knees into one man's shoulders. The force sent him slamming face-first into the cobblestone.
Before he could even react, she pivoted, her leg snaking around his neck in a clean lock. A twist.
His head hit stone.
Still.
The other man staggered backward in shock.
Juna barely paused. She used the wall itself as leverage, running two steps up vertically before flipping backward to create distance between them.
Her breathing was steady.
Controlled.
"Albus!"
Her voice snapped me back into focus.
She knelt beside me, her hand warm against my shoulder.
She rushed to me, kneeling. "Are you alright?"
"Can you stand?"
I coughed, nodding despite the pain.
"They know… where An is…"
Juna froze.
Her eyes shifted to the group.
Recognition flashed across her face.
She followed my gaze.
The terrified one.
The same guy from lunch.
"The one from lunch…"
I pushed myself up, ribs screaming in protest.
"Yeah."
Before we could move—
"I see. Good job, you two."
Director Ochid.
He stepped into the alley, and the air changed.
His sleeves stretched around muscle that looked carved from stone. His posture wasn't loud — it was controlled. Dangerous.
"Which one?"
Juna and I exchanged a glance and pointed.
The terrified one.
The director nodded once.
"We'll take him in for questioning."
His hand softened as it rested briefly on our heads.
"Leave the rest to me."
The knife-wielder lunged.
"Director!"
Too late.
Ochid moved.
His hand caught the attacker's wrist mid-swing. A sharp twist — bone cracked audibly. The knife fell.
Three jabs — chest, jaw, ribs.
Each strike precise. No wasted movement.
Then a straight front kick.
The man flew backward, colliding with the stone wall so hard a spiderweb crack formed behind him.
The man dropped.
Not dead.
But finished.
The last one bolted.
Juna reacted instantly, sprinting and sweeping his legs mid-stride. She locked him upright just long enough—
he last one tried to run.
Juna reacted instantly, sweeping his legs and pinning him upright with a tight leg hook.
"Now!"
I forced myself forward, ignoring the scream in my ribs.
Jump.
Both feet forward.
Impact.
He hit the ground.
Ochid looked at us and smiled.
Not pride in strength.
Pride in teamwork.
He lifted all three men over his shoulders like sacks of grain.
Juna and I just stared.
I really need to train more…
"Status?" Mio's voice buzzed through the earpiece.
"We have a lead. Returning to headquarters," Ochid replied calmly.
"Excellent as always director. Update me on arrival."
The walk back felt slower.
Juna let me lean on her shoulder. My ribs throbbed.
"You were cool back there," she muttered.
Her ears were red.
The director whistled softly.
"I was just trying to look cool," I admitted.
Now I was red too.
We both laughed.
The director smiled quietly ahead of us.
And together, we walked back toward Messenger Headquarters.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The thug was tied to a thick wooden chair bolted to the floor.
Wrists bound behind him. Ankles strapped tight. A rope around his chest keeping him pinned upright.
The room was dim — one lantern overhead casting long shadows across stone walls. The light made the bruises on his face look darker than they were.
The entire crew stood in front of him.
Mio near the table, hands folded.Juna stiff at my side.The twins peeking nervously from the back.Director Ochid silent — arms crossed.
I stood closest.
"Where is he?" I demanded.
The thug spat blood onto the floor.
"Don't know."
A lie.
Juna stepped forward. "You were bragging in the alley."
He smirked.
"People brag about a lot of things."
My fist tightened.
"Tell us where An is."
He leaned back in the chair as far as the rope allowed.
"Make me."
Something in my head snapped.
I moved before I realized it — fist raised, rage swallowing reason.
A hand caught my wrist mid-swing.
Firm.
Unmovable.
Director Ochid.
"Step back, Albus."
His voice wasn't loud.
But it left no room to argue.
"I can handle this."
There was something in his eyes.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Like he'd been here before.
I hesitated… then stepped back.
Guilt crept in immediately.
Why does he always have to carry this part?
The director removed his coat slowly and draped it over a chair.
"I've done this before," he said quietly.
Foreshadowing hung heavy in those words.
He stepped in front of the thug.
The room grew still.
"No theatrics," Ochid said calmly. "Just answers."
The thug laughed again.
"Or what?"
The punch came so fast I barely saw it.
A straight jab to the stomach.
Air exploded from the thug's lungs.
Not wild.
Controlled.
Another hit — ribs.
Another — jaw.
The chair tipped but didn't fall.
Ochid grabbed it and steadied it.
"You will speak."
The thug wheezed, tried to laugh through pain.
"You don't scare me."
Ochid's expression changed.
Not louder.
Colder.
He grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him back into the chair.
"You sell children."
Silence.
The next hit wasn't fast.
It was deliberate.
A crushing blow to the gut that folded the man inward against the restraints.
Minutes passed.
No screaming theatrics.
Just dull impacts and strained breathing.
Finally—
"Alright! Alright!"
The thug coughed blood onto the floor.
"He's in the Underlayer!"
The word froze the room.
"Being sold," the thug continued weakly. "Auction house. Tonight they display him. By dawn he's gone."
"Gone where?" Mio asked sharply.
The thug's smile returned, cracked and bloody.
"Depends on the buyer."
My stomach dropped.
"Whole body if someone's rich enough…"
He laughed weakly.
"Or chopped up. Organs fetch good coin."
Juna inhaled sharply.
The twins covered their mouths.
I couldn't breathe.
Chopped—
My vision blurred.
Ochid's hand tightened around the thug's collar.
"Continue."
The thug swallowed.
"Kid's family was already drowning in debt. Underlayer lenders marked them months ago. When word spread… bounty went up."
He chuckled weakly.
"Like a shower of gold. Everyone wanted a piece."
Something changed in Ochid.
Not rage.
Something deeper.
"You people never change," he muttered.
The next strikes were different.
Not controlled questioning.
Personal.
He drove his fist into the thug's face again and again. The chair cracked against the stone. Blood sprayed across the floor.
"You never change," he repeated.
Mio stepped forward quickly.
"Director."
No response.
"Director."
She grabbed his arm.
"Enough."
For a moment, it looked like he didn't hear her.
Then he stepped back.
Breathing hard.
Knuckles bruised and split.
He didn't look at us.
He just walked out of the room.
The door shut behind him.
Silence swallowed the space.
The thug hung limp in the chair, barely conscious.
Juna stared at the floor.
I felt useless.
We trained. We ran. We fought.
And still An was… merchandise.
I swallowed hard.
No.
Not yet.
He's still alive.
Mio straightened slowly.
"Twins, secure him."
They hurried forward.
"I need a moment," she added, already moving toward her workshop.
Hours passed.
The headquarters felt heavier than usual.
Director Ochid sat outside on the stone steps, staring at nothing.
Juna leaned against a pillar, arms wrapped around herself.
I clenched my fists.
I should've been stronger.
Should've gotten there sooner.
But drowning in that won't help him.
He's alive.
That's enough.
The door to Mio's workshop burst open.
"Everyone."
Her voice was steady — but urgent.
We gathered around a table covered in maps and mechanical components. Wires ran across parchment. One of the prototype earpieces lay dismantled beside a strange tracking device the twins had helped design.
"I found him."
My heart stopped.
"How?" Juna asked.
Mio adjusted her glasses.
"The prototype devices emit faint signal signatures. When An was taken, his unit was damaged but not destroyed. I amplified residual frequency patterns."
She pointed to a marked location beneath the city.
"The Underlayer. Auction chamber."
A red circle.
Deep beneath the eastern district.
"Sale begins before dawn."
The director re-entered quietly, jaw set.
Mio looked at all of us.
"We do not rush blindly."
She began outlining a plan across the map.
Entry points through sewer access.
Diversion at the eastern stairwell.
Signal jamming to disrupt buyer communications.
Ochid would handle primary force.
Juna and I extraction.
Twins control communications above ground.
"We move in three hours."
The room shifted.
No more despair.
Just focus.
I looked at the red circle again.
Hold on, An.
We're coming.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cage was colder at night.
I lay on my side, chains clinking softly whenever I shifted. The stone beneath him held the chill of the earth itself. A single torch down the corridor flickered, throwing long distorted shadows across the bars.
My cheeks were wet.
I haven't noticed when he started crying again.
It wasn't loud sobbing anymore.
Just silent tears sliding down into the dust.
They're coming.
I had told myself that earlier.
Albus would panic.Juna would move fast.Director Ochid would find a way.Miss Mio would think of something.
Right?
…Right?
Hours passed.
No footsteps that mattered.
No familiar voices.
Just guards laughing in the distance.
Maybe they didn't notice I was gone.
Maybe I'm not that important.
The thought hurt more than the chains.
Metal scraped.
The corridor gate opened.
Heavy boots approached.
The Headmaster.
Tall. Broad. Rings on every finger. Expensive coat that didn't belong in a place like this. His smile never reached his eyes.
"Well now," he hummed. "Time to shine."
An shrank back instinctively.
"I won't go."
The words were small.
The Headmaster tilted his head.
"You won't?"
An shook his head weakly.
A kick slammed into his ribs.
Air vanished from his lungs.
He folded inward, coughing violently. Before he could recover, fingers grabbed his hair and forced his head up.
"You don't get to refuse," the Headmaster said lightly. "You're inventory."
Another strike to the stomach.
Not wild.
Efficient.
Enough to make resistance pointless.
My limbs stopped fighting.
Not because I wanted to give in.
Because my body couldn't keep up.
They unlocked the cage and dragged him to his feet. Chains removed from ankles but wrists still bound in front — presentation matters.
As we walked through dim corridors, I forced what's left of my voice out.
"…Why?"
The Headmaster didn't answer at first.
"…Why are you doing this to me?"
A laugh echoed against stone.
"Doing this to you?"
He leaned close enough that An could smell perfume masking rot.
"You people sell yourselves."
An's brows trembled.
"Debt. Weakness. Poverty. Your family owed more than they could breathe."
He chuckled.
"You should be grateful. At least your body has value."
An's fists trembled.
"What about my mother?"
That made the Headmaster grin wider.
"Ah. The woman."
He shrugged.
"Don't know. Some enthusiast bought her early. Overpaid too."
He laughed.
"Maniac type. Took her somewhere private."
An's heartbeat thundered.
"…Is she alive?"
The Headmaster smirked.
"Could be. Could be worse."
Silence swallowed me whole.
steps faltered.
eyes — once bright green — dulled.
Color drained.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The corridors opened into a larger chamber.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The corridor widened slowly before opening into something almost theatrical.
The air changed first.
It wasn't damp like the holding cells.
It smelled of incense. Expensive perfume. Wine.
They wanted it to feel prestigious.
The chamber itself was massive — carved into a circular cavern reinforced with iron beams and polished stone. Tiered balconies wrapped around the perimeter like a coliseum. Each level lined with velvet-draped railings in deep crimson and black.
Dozens of lanterns hung from chains overhead, their flames steady and golden, reflecting off polished marble floors at the center.
This wasn't some back-alley trade.
This was infrastructure.
An was dragged onto a raised platform shaped like a half-moon stage. Behind him, heavy curtains concealed a gated iron door — likely leading back to holding cells.
A spotlight lantern angled downward.
Warm light.
Designed to make skin look healthier.
To hide bruises.
The auctioneer stood tall in a tailored coat of dark violet. His mask was white porcelain with gold etchings around the eyes and mouth — expressionless but elegant.
He raised one gloved hand.
The murmur of the crowd softened into attentive silence.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began smoothly, voice amplified by the acoustics of the cavern. "Tonight's selection continues with a particularly unique acquisition."
An's wrists were untied — not to free him.
To display him.
Guards stood close behind.
"Approximate age: mid-adolescent. No visible long-term physical damage. Rare eye pigmentation. Clean medical scans."
Medical scans.
They evaluated him like livestock.
An's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
He looked up at the audience.
Rows upon rows of masks.
Some animalistic — wolves, ravens, serpents.
Some refined — smooth silver ovals, gilded faces with painted smiles.
Some grotesque — exaggerated features carved into grins.
Their identities erased.
Their wealth displayed in clothing.
Silks. Embroidered coats. Jewelry glinting beneath lanternlight.
Some held small numbered paddles.
Others wore rings embedded with gemstones — likely signaling devices.
They weren't shouting chaotically.
They were calm.
Patient.
Professional.
"Opening bid," the auctioneer announced.
A chime rang.
A number appeared on a mechanical board beside the stage — operated by hidden staff.
A hand lifted.
Another followed.
The price climbed steadily.
No urgency.
Just appetite.
An's breathing became shallow.
They're buying me.
They're actually—
A woman in a feathered mask leaned toward her companion.
"Good posture. Should age well."
A man in a gold fox mask examined An like he was assessing fabric quality.
"Teeth look intact."
An felt heat rise in his chest.
Humiliation.
Fear.
Powerlessness.
The heavy-breathing man in the front row leaned forward further than the rest.
His mask was grotesque — thick porcelain shaped like a warped pig's snout. Sweat dampened the edges. His breathing rasped through the small holes.
He didn't hold up a paddle.
He simply raised two fingers lazily.
The number jumped drastically.
The crowd murmured in appreciation.
The auctioneer smiled behind his mask.
"Ah. A decisive participant."
The man's eyes never left An.
Predatory.
Possessive.
An's knees trembled.
The stage suddenly felt too large.
Too exposed.
The guards behind him adjusted their grips subtly — not to restrain him, but to prevent collapse.
The pig-masked man leaned close enough that his voice reached An without echo.
"You look just like her," he whispered.
An's breath caught.
"Your mother."
Time slowed.
"Such spirit at first."
His voice dripped amusement.
"But everything breaks eventually."
An's hands trembled.
The crowd blurred at the edges.
The man chuckled softly.
"Used until there was nothing left worth keeping."
A flick of his fingers.
"Discarded."
The word echoed louder than the auctioneer's voice.
Discarded.
An's legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees on the polished marble stage.
The cold of it seeped through his skin.
The bidding continued above him.
Numbers climbing.
He couldn't hear them clearly anymore.
Inside his head, something was unraveling.
If she's gone…
If I couldn't protect her…
If I couldn't even—
His thoughts spiraled darker.
It would be easier to stop.
To stop being a burden.
To stop costing people.
His gaze drifted toward the edge of the stage.
A sharp enough fall headfirst onto marble—
It would end before the guards reacted.
The auctioneer's voice grew irritated.
"Stand him up."
Hands reached for An's shoulders.
Then—
A voice cut clean through the hall.
"That won't be necessary."
It didn't echo.
It carried.
Calm.
Authority threaded through it.
Every head turned.
At the highest balcony entrance stood two figures.
Masked.
One tall and broad-shouldered, posture unshaken.
The other composed and observant, cloak flowing slightly behind her.
The auctioneer narrowed his eyes.
"Private buyers must follow procedure."
The taller figure stepped forward.
"We aren't buyers."
A faint tremor passed through the audience.
Guards adjusted their stance.
Then—
A sharp whistling sound from above.
CRASH.
The central chandelier shattered.
Glass rained down like falling stars.
Two silhouettes dropped through the debris.
One landed with a controlled roll.
White hair catching lanternlight beneath a half-mask.
The other flipped mid-air, boots striking directly into the chest of the pig-masked man.
He slammed backward into his seat, splintering it.
Gasps.
Shouts.
Chairs scraping.
An's head lifted slowly.
The white-haired boy straightened, stance familiar.
The red-haired girl adjusted her footing, eyes scanning for threats.
They moved with purpose.
Not random attackers.
Not mercenaries.
Focused.
On him.
An's vision sharpened.
The dull gray inside his eyes flickered.
A faint spark of green returned.
They came.
Even into this place.
Even here.
He didn't know who they were behind the masks.
But his heart recognized something his mind couldn't yet name.
Hope.
Small.
Fragile.
But alive.
CHAPTER 5 ENDS...