ARENA DISTRICT | SECOND WEEK OF MARCH 2324
Three days after the incident, the Rich City media was still obsessed with the chaos at the God Hands Gallery. Inside the Santino cluster, the office was deathly quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the air conditioning. Ren sat hunched over Baron Frey's connection files—data he'd bought with his own credits from Vera, refusing to let it be a mere favor for his recent "performance."
Scanning the list of aristocratic names, one caught his eye. A thin, dangerous smirk pulled at his lips.
"So... he's Frey's brother," Ren whispered to the empty room. "Unbelievable. This just got complicated."
He had slipped through the man's fingers once before, years ago. This time? This time, the man would surely come for blood. Despite the weight of the name, Ren's expression remained a mask of marble.
The door burst open without a knock. Santino stormed in, face ashen, sweat slicking his brow. Ren narrowed his eyes. He could have reprimanded his "superior" for the lack of etiquette, but the raw terror in Santino's eyes stayed his tongue.
"You! What the hell were you thinking at that gallery?!" Santino demanded, his voice cracking. "For three straight days, it's been all over the news! What was the point of that stunt?!"
Ren met the panic with an infuriating calmness. He leaned back, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. "What I do is none of your concern."
"It becomes my concern when it ruins me!" Santino hissed, slamming a thick sheet of stationery onto Ren's desk. His hands were shaking—the tremor of a man who realized he had unleashed a monster he couldn't leash. "Because of your little show, I have a letter here from Baron Frey's household. You've made an enemy far too big for this group to handle!"
Ren picked up the letter slowly, relishing the way Santino held his breath.
An invitation to a banquet.
A trap. A blatant ambush set by Frey after seeing Ren as an anomaly that needed taming. It was obvious to anyone with a pulse, but Santino was too blinded by fear to see it.
"You're baiting them!" Santino continued to hiss. "These people are the tyrants of Rich City! You're just stacking the deck against us!"
Ren didn't deny it. "You're right. I should take responsibility." He folded the paper in half. "I'm going."
"What?!" Santino's panic spiked. "Don't be a fool! You're walking into a lion's den—at least take Erebos with you!"
Ren stood up, his lean frame towering over Santino, dominating the space. He stepped forward, ignoring the fear radiating off the older man. Then, with a slow, insulting flick of his fingers, he snapped Santino's forehead. The sound echoed in the quiet room.
Santino winced, clutching his head.
"Wake up, Santino," Ren whispered, his voice like ice. "I didn't do this without a reason."
His tone shifted back to one of absolute authority. "Erebos and his men stay here. They are the insurance for our assets—this cluster and the warehouse. I can't be in two places at once. Their job is defense while I'm gone."
The logic seemed to ground Santino. He fell silent, listening intently.
"As for me," Ren concluded, his crimson eyes flashing with the thrill of the hunt, "I'm going for the heart. Alone."
He corrected himself with a ghost of a smirk. "Physically alone, anyway." Between his twin daggers and his new digital blades, he was anything but vulnerable. "Get Erebos in here. I have orders for him."
An hour later, Ren was behind the wheel of Santino's grey SUV, driving toward a confirmed rendezvous point: a nondescript diner on the edge of the Arena District, where it bled into the grime of the Merge. Vera had chosen the spot specifically—an anomaly of a place with zero scanners or wiretaps.
The air inside smelled of heavy spices and grease, a sharp contrast to the expensive cologne that usually followed Ren. Vera was already there, tucked into a corner booth behind plates of home-style food that served as their alibi for a million-credit information exchange.
"You're overdressed for a first date at a dive like this," Vera noted, her turquoise eyes scanning him. She noticed his eyes weren't red today; he was wearing amber-tinted lenses.
Ren pulled out a chair. "Clothes are just costumes. And I'd never pick a place this cheap for a real date. Now, let's talk about settling your debt."
Vera nodded, taking a sip of ice water. "I had to verify every frequency perimeter before giving you these coordinates. Frey won't find us here."
Ren had to admit, the file on Baron Frey—including the discovery of his brother, the ghost from Ren's past—was worth every credit.
Vera slid a slim tablet toward him. "Thanks to you, we cracked the AEGIS core data and built a backdoor through the city's latest firewall. You might not care, but that's our lifeblood."
Ren said nothing, but secretly, he was relieved to have the only thing he couldn't kill with a knife—digital intelligence—on his side.
"So, what's the plan for the 'invitation'? Give me the details," Vera said, her voice dropping to a professional whisper.
Ren leaned in. "It's a set-up. The invitation gives me a four-day window. We use that time to dismantle the AEGIS system in the Baron's Eye Tower." He watched her reaction. "Getting in is easy—I'm a guest. Getting out is the problem. That's where you come in."
Vera pulled up the floor plans. "Floor six, Executive Suite. It's a ballroom. Elevator access requires an ID card, and you're right, the AEGIS nodes are everywhere. Three days is enough for us to prep the digital side."
"I need you on the CCTV feeds before I even step inside," Ren explained, gesturing to the small earpiece she wore. "On my signal, you open the extraction route. Jam all comms in the Tower. If CUBE can scramble Frey's personal line, even better."
Vera sighed, her finger hovering over the 3D projection. "To jam it effectively, we need to be close. CUBE is based in the Merge; the Tower is in the Arena. One of us has to be within two kilometers of the target, Ren."
She paused, tilting her head as if listening to a faint voice. "I hear you, Isaac. Relax."
Ren realized he hadn't turned his own on. He reached into his pocket and clicked the earpiece into place. Immediately, Isaac's distorted, frantic voice flooded his ear.
"—wait, you haven't been listening this whole time?!" Isaac barked. "No wonder you weren't answering!"
Ren felt a rare flicker of guilt. He closed his eyes for a second. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What's the question?"
"The guarantee!" Isaac yelled. "How do you guarantee CUBE's safety? You're picking a fight with the elite and the Loyalists. If your plan fails, we aren't equipped to handle that kind of heat!"
Isaac was right. If CUBE went down because of him, it would leave a sour taste in his mouth. For a split second, the trauma of the past—of Riko's cold body—threatened to surface. He pushed it down and grabbed the tablet, scanning the map of the two-kilometer radius.
He found it.
"I have a safe house. Within the two-kilometer effective range." Ren pointed to a spot on the map.
Vera's eyes widened. "Wait, isn't that the—"
"Don't worry. My guarantee is there," Ren cut her off.
Isaac was still panicking. "Vera? You're going with him again? It's a suicide mission! Even at two kilometers, the connection will be garbage!"
"How much can you give me?" Ren pressed.
Isaac's fingers danced over a keyboard on the other end. "Given the AEGIS interference? You'll get 30 to 60 seconds of clear comms every hour. Expect heavy static in between."
"That's enough," Ren grunted. He glanced at Vera with a strange look. "And one more thing, Isaac. Rest easy. The 'hue' that catches my interest is pink, not blue. She'll be fine."
Vera froze. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, unsure if it was a joke or some cryptic code. "Don't say embarrassing things," she hissed, snatching the tablet back. "Safe house confirmed. Let's finish the specs."
The awkwardness vanished, replaced by the weight of their pact. Under the dim lights of the cheap diner, they dissected Frey's trap, mapping out every trigger and every twenty-second window where the digital blade would need to strike.
THE DAY OF THE BANQUET
The executive ballroom on the 6th floor was a stage of opulence and death. Baron Frey, however, preferred to watch from his office two floors up, maintaining a safe distance from the "filth" he was about to catch.
A knock came at his door. The Head of Security entered, looking more strained than usual.
"Baron Frey," he reported, his voice tight. "My apologies for the delay. We just ran the visual from the God Hands Gallery through the database. The 'nobleman' in the footage... he's a match for a Platinum Tier fugitive."
He handed over a folder. "The crimson retinas and bone structure are identical. Only the hair color changed—likely a disguise."
Frey opened the document. His eyes skipped the technical jargon and landed on a single number printed in bold red: 10 Billion Marble.
Frey's breath hitched. This wasn't a business rivalry anymore. This was walking gold.
"Cancel the elimination," Frey ordered, his voice sharp with greed. "I want him alive. I want that bounty. I'm certain that even if the invite was for Santino, this ghost will be the one walking through those doors."
Before he could finish, a more authoritative knock sounded. The security chief stepped aside as Aslan, Frey's younger brother, entered. Aslan didn't share his brother's arrogance; he carried a quiet, lethal stillness.
"I know the situation, brother," Aslan began, his eyes fixed on the wanted poster in Frey's hand. "Including the stranger in the gallery."
Frey narrowed his eyes. "You know him?"
"I do." Aslan nodded once, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his eyes. "We have unfinished business. Leave the capture to me. Entirely."
Frey scoffed. "Who exactly are we talking about, Aslan?"
Aslan tilted his head, tasting the name on his tongue. A predatory smile touched his lips.
"Shiroi Hitsuji," Aslan answered, his voice like a winter gale. "The lead assassin of Higanbana."
Frey frowned, the name of the terrorist group echoing in his mind. Who could forget the night the Marble Kingdom fell?
"Higanbana," Frey repeated. "The group that tore down the monarchy last year?"
"The very same," Aslan confirmed. "That's why his head is worth a fortune. But for me... this isn't about politics or kingdoms. This is personal."
Frey was intrigued. Aslan rarely showed this kind of intensity. "What could a terrorist possibly have done to make it 'personal' for you?"
Aslan looked away, his gaze drifting to a bitter memory. The security chief held his breath.
"Two years ago," Aslan whispered, turning back to Frey, his eyes burning with a cold, repressed rage. He took a deep breath, dragging up the pain he had buried for so long.
"That night... Shiroi Hitsuji..."
As Aslan finished the sentence, the room went cold. Frey, whose mind was usually only on credits, stood frozen. Even the professional security chief swallowed hard, his face contorting in genuine shock.
They weren't just catching a fugitive. They were walking into a vendetta far more twisted than any of them had imagined.