---
Curiosity filled the air.
Ross sat on the bed by the window, steam curling up from two cups of hot chocolate on the table. Milo leaned back in the office chair, eyes sharp and searching. This was his real chance to learn what truly happened that day.
A few hours earlier, after Milo's failed attempt to press him, they struck a deal: Ross would talk if Milo helped fix the fence. Milo had been so desperate that the thought of a sixteen-year-old knowing something about his father's death didn't even sound ridiculous anymore.
Ross took a slow sip, then set the cup down.
"Listen, I don't know anything about your father."
Milo's face tightened, but Ross lifted a hand.
"I don't even know much about myself."
Milo frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ross hesitated, eyes drifting to the night outside. "The only thing I'm sure of is… sixteen years ago, I woke up inside a cave. Alone. No memories. No name. Just hunger chewing me alive."
Milo didn't interrupt this time.
"I ate whatever I could find. Fruits. Roots. Sometimes things I'd rather not say out loud." His lips curled into a bitter smile. "Hunger doesn't let you stay human for long."
"And then?" Milo pressed.
"After days of wandering, I stumbled on a small house deep in the forest. A couple lived there—they were chefs, kind people. Took me in, even though I was a stranger."
"The chefs?" Milo asked, narrowing his eyes.
Ross nodded. "Yeah. For a while, I almost believed I belonged there. But then… the dreams started."
"What kind of dreams?"
Ross leaned forward, his voice dropping. "A voice that sounded exactly like mine. It kept telling me to picture a katana, to whisper the same word again and again."
"What word?"
"Nightpainter." The word seemed to chill the air between them.
"At first I thought it was nonsense. But the voice… it felt real. I trained with it for months. Nothing. Until one night—I finally did it. The blade appeared."
Milo's eyes widened.
"I was so happy I tried again. That time, my body overheated, my clothes scorched, and I blacked out. In that space—dream, vision, whatever you want to call it—I saw them."
"What?" Milo guessed.
Ross's gaze sharpened. "Seven bangles. Identical, floating, circling me. But one was different."
"How?"
"A crack ran through it. Like it didn't belong."
"Interesting," Milo muttered.
Ross tilted his head. "You don't sound surprised."
"My father owned one of those bangles," Milo said, his voice low. "The cracked one."
Ross froze, breath caught in his throat. "…That's the connection?"
"It might be."
"So how do we know for sure?"
Milo leaned forward now, the fire back in his eyes. "I have an idea."
"What's your plan?!" Ross asked. "We need more information about the bangels but most of its locked away. Only the higher-ups know how to access it … including the chairman!"
"So" Ross suggested.
" I could talk to him and find out what he knows!"
"Didn't you try that before. What makes you think it'll work now?"
"You! I just have to tell him about you!"
"Try your way, then. But mine's better!"
And so, they agreed—though the pairing of a man with little virtue and a man with too many principles didn't seem promising at all.
---
Meanwhile — Blantyre City
A sleek limo rolled to a stop before a glass skyscraper. From it stepped a woman in a red dress beneath a black coat, black shades hiding her eyes. Her long crimson hair shimmered like fresh blood under the lights.
She entered the building. The lobby was barren—just white vases of red flowers, their fragrance thick and intoxicating. Above the entrance, a frozen sign read: Blantyre City Bank.
"It's good to be home," she murmured, inhaling deeply.
To her left, dead accounting panels blinked. Straight ahead, a single elevator marked MVP. She stepped inside, pressed U27, and began her ascent.
Ding!
The doors opened to a vast lounge. Unlike the empty lobby below, this floor was alive—with humans whose eyes Saud otherwise.
"You're late," said a man on the couch. His black hair framed a vacation shirt and shorts. A book rested in his left hand, a pen tucked behind his ear.
Name: Aikow
Rank: #11
"Being over a hundred years old is starting to take its toll," teased a pink-haired girl at the dining table, braces flashing.
Name: Bridget Aikow
Rank: #10
"You kept a hairy man waiting!" a tall teen complained, puffing out his bare chest with its single lonely hair. His pink shirt hung open; white trousers clung perfectly.
Name: Fernando Vonzilez
Rank: #8
"I went for a celebratory drink," the woman replied, dropping into a seat beside Aikow.
Name: Janet Gregorial
Rank: #5
She leaned close. "I'm horny. Wanna take me for a ride?"
"I can't—chapter four. They're introducing the villains," Aikow muttered, eyes fixed on his novel.
"I'll take you for a ride," Fernando grinned.
But before Janet could answer, the floor rippled. A woman rose from it like liquid shadow. White-tinted hair framed eyes of blue with crimson pupils. She wore a striped dress and transparent glasses, a lollipop twirling in her mouth.
Name: Ayanda Olamide
Rank: #2
"She'd kill you halfway through," Ayanda remarked coolly.
Fernando scowled. "Quit underestimating me."
"How'd it go?" Ayanda asked, flicking her lollipop aside and opening a kitchen cabinet. Six bangles lay inside, shoved in carelessly.
"Better than expected," Janet answered. "Even turned someone on the way. Figured it'd speed things up."
"You love torture," Ayanda said flatly.
"I thrive on it."
Ayanda smiled faintly, her fingers brushing one of the bangles. "Soon… our Lord will rise. And then the real fun begins."