Vera stared at Ren, her gaze locked like a vice. Her cobalt hair stood in stark contrast to eyes that now radiated pure, unadulterated shock. She had been negotiating with a man she assumed was in his mid-twenties—someone a few years her senior. The reality was a boy barely out of his teens who had already mastered the art of slaughter.
A suffocating silence descended. Even Isaac looked shell-shocked by the fact that Ren was the youngest among them.
"Vera, get out of my way," Isaac growled, breaking the quiet. "This time, I'm actually going to hit him."
Isaac lunged, his hand reaching for Ren's collar, but Vera shoved him back, forcing a safe distance between them. She needed to end this now.
Nineteen. The word echoed in her mind. He just walked out of the Eye Tower massacre, left the police in a tailspin, and he's not even legal yet? The realization was a cold, jagged pill to swallow.
Vera's face went pale. She no longer saw a seasoned professional; she saw a youth who had been branded by absolute brutality. A chill crept down her spine. This wasn't just skill—it was a violation of the natural order. A boy with eyes that empty should be worrying about final exams, not deciding which carotid artery to sever. Ren was an anomaly, a glitch in the world that needed to be contained.
Ren didn't flinch. He met Isaac's fury with the same dead stare. "Age is logistical data. No different from height or weight. It doesn't change the quality of my work."
"It changes the morals, Ren!" Isaac snapped, his voice shaking with controlled rage. "Did you never have a childhood? What kind of monster are you?"
Ren exhaled heavily—a rare defensive gesture. "I am the most efficient result of a broken system, Isaac. I don't have time for teenage moods. I have a job to finish."
Vera realized that to control this nineteen-year-old anomaly, she had to wield her authority and her years. She stepped into Ren's personal space, closing the gap.
"Listen closely, Assassin Ren," Vera said, her voice a low, dangerous hum. "I don't care who you've killed or how many necks you've snapped in some dark hallway. But you will understand one thing: I am the boss here. And I set the code."
She didn't blink. "You're nineteen. You know better than anyone how easily children are crushed by this world. You agreed not to touch kids—that's a given. But the line goes further."
Her eyes burned into his.
"This Red Line extends to age. You are forbidden from taking targets under twenty-one. No assassin kills a 'peer' under the legal age of adulthood. If you break that rule, I will personally see to it that all of Rich City hunts you into a shallow grave. Is that clear?"
Ren studied her. He didn't see an angry woman; he saw a leader establishing a perimeter. It was logic he could respect—a way to secure his digital network of blades.
He gave a sharp, single nod. "Accepted. The twenty-one-year-old threshold is a valid parameter. It will be hard-coded into my new Red Line."
Vera had won more than a lethal partner; she had asserted moral dominance, using Ren's own youth and trauma as a tether. The CUBE Alliance was no longer just a technical agreement; it was a pact bound by blood and ethics.
Two hours later, the bunker's main screen flickered to life. A news anchor read the official statement from Central Police.
"The Eye Tower tragedy, which claimed dozens of lives, has been officially ruled a coup attempt by former General Aslan. Forensic evidence suggests that Aslan, the sole heir to the Baron Frey estate, orchestrated the massacre before taking his own life on the helipad. Sources suggest his wife's deteriorating mental health was the catalyst for this extreme act."
The anchor sighed. "As there are no surviving legal heirs, the Rich City Central Government will temporarily assume management of all Baron Frey's assets."
Vera watched the screen, a mix of disbelief and grim relief on her face. "They swallowed the narrative whole."
Isaac just stared at the screen, his resentment buried under a layer of exhaustion.
Ren showed no joy, only confirmation. His head throbbed—the price of a successful strategy. He remembered that split-second provocation in the ballroom. If Aslan hadn't shot Frey, this would have been a mess. Lucky for me, he took the bait.
At Police Headquarters, Inspector Laevatein killed the projector. She slammed her hand onto the desk, the sound muffled but heavy. She knew the narrative was a lie—a clean, expensive lie bought by those in power. Their priority was the assets, not the truth.
Her phone rang. She answered immediately when she saw the caller ID.
"Inspector Laevatein," a voice said on the other end—elegant, authoritative, and cold.
"Do not touch the Eye Tower case again. This isn't something you can solve with your ego. As an Inspector, you understand that, don't you?"
Laevatein swallowed hard, her professional mask cracking. "Understood, General Rose."
The case was closed. No mention of Santino. No mention of AEGIS. Her gut twisted with the urge to rebel, but the system had moved faster than she could.
SANTINO'S CLUSTER – NIGHT
The luxury lights of the Santino cluster reflected off the wet asphalt. Ren walked inside, reclaiming his place within the opulence he was exploiting. Isaac's jacket was draped over his shoulders, hiding the arm sling—a reminder from Lulubel that his wound demanded a week of patience.
He went straight to the second floor, seeking the silence of his room. The Eye Tower felt like a fever dream now.
He thought back to the moment he pulled the trigger. His first time using a gun on a human. He felt nothing. No 'art,' no 'aesthetic.' Just a hollow, heavy sensation. He exhaled, annoyed at himself for breaking his own assassin's code.
A soft, firm knock broke the silence.
"Young Master... it's me, Erebos." The voice was raspy.
Erebos entered the room. The sound of the lock turning—a sharp click!—cut through the quiet like a gunshot.
Ren stood with his back to Erebos, looking out at the city lights. "You don't usually lock the door for an interrogation report," Ren said, his voice as sharp as a hidden dirk. "What do you want to say?"
"The interrogation went as planned. I told Inspector Laevatein exactly what you suggested," Erebos reported, his tone flat. He took two steps forward, maintaining a respectful distance. "I brought the duplicate invitation as proof of Santino's 'illness.' And... I confirmed there is no member named 'Daniel' in our ranks."
"Good. Santino's habit of bribing everyone up to the Commissioner worked in our favor. A mere Inspector like Laevatein can't fight her superiors." Ren turned slowly, his amber eyes pinning Erebos to the spot. "And the 'one more thing'?"
Erebos didn't answer right away. He swallowed—a gesture of vulnerability from a man who had just stared down the police without blinking. His muscular hands trembled, fisted at his sides.
"I..." The word died in his throat.
Ren waited. His silence was a demand.
Erebos took a final breath, like a man facing the gallows. He dropped to the floor, his knees hitting the hardwood with the sound of breaking glass. He bowed low, his head touching the ground.
"Young Master Ren," Erebos finally spoke, the name leaving his lips with a mixture of reverence and fear.
Ren allowed a thin, rare smile to touch his lips. He had never given that name to Santino or his men. This was the first time he had heard his name spoken with a full title by Erebos.
In that moment, Erebos knew the game was up. He was ready to spill everything.