On the sidewalk, beneath the glow of a lone streetlamp, Johnny staggered forward. His face was flushed crimson, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he swayed side to side, singing under his breath—loud, shameless, and painfully off-key.

  “Ohhhh my looooveeee—

  how faaarrr have you coooomeeee—

  I sing and daaaance and waaaalk acrosssss

  this beauuutiful, beauuutiful, beauuutiful looooveeee~”

  From the shadows nearby, several guards watched him closely.

  “What’s happening?” one of them muttered.

  “No idea. Just some crazy drunk wandering around.”

  “That’s suspicious. This area doesn’t lead anywhere except the amusement park.”

  “Who knows? Probably got wasted there and lost his way.”

  “But… why would anyone drink at an amusement park?”

  “Does it matter? Just shoo him away.”

  As the guards began walking toward him, Johnny noticed—and immediately leaned into the act. His movements became more exaggerated, his voice louder, sloppier.

  That was the signal.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—WELCOME TO THE SHOOOOW—HIC!”

  Every gaze snapped toward him.

  In an instant, the guards tensed. Weapons were half-raised, eyes sharp. It was strange—villain syndicates were usually careless, even arrogant. But Velcrasa was different. Even the smallest distraction was treated as a potential threat.

  “Get this crazy bastard out of here. Quickly.”

  “What’s the problem?” Johnny slurred. “I’m just tryna enjoy the showww~”

  Time began to tick.

  9…

  8…

  7…

  6…

  Arthur and Yumi moved.

  They slipped past the perimeter without using a single ability, shoes barely brushing the ground, bodies low and precise. No sound. No hesitation.

  5…

  4…

  The guards lost patience.

  A gun was raised, its barrel aimed directly at Johnny’s head.

  “If you don’t move right now, you’re dead.”

  Johnny raised both hands exaggeratedly. “Whoa, whoa—no fun at aaallll… fine, fine, I’m leavin’.”

  3…

  2…

  1…

  Arthur and Yumi vanished.

  Johnny turned the corner and immediately let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, breaking into a jog. Behind him, the guards exchanged uneasy glances. Something felt off—but with no evidence, they stayed silent.

  A flawless infiltration.

  “Hey,” Arthur muttered as they walked. “Why does this place have no guards?”

  “Unnecessary, maybe,” Yumi replied. “Or it’s a special day. Either way, it’s convenient. We’ll catch up with Johnny later—keep moving.”

  The passage ahead was narrow, like an abandoned mine stretching endlessly in one direction. Wooden floors creaked underfoot, the sound echoing faintly. Stone walls pressed in on both sides, dim lamps mounted at equal intervals casting long, uneasy shadows.

  It was suffocating.

  Eventually, they reached a heavy metal door.

  ENTER WITH CAUTION — RED TERRITORY

  Syndicates like Velcrasa weren’t alone. To distinguish territory, each was assigned a color.

  Red belonged to Velcrasa.

  They pushed the door open.

  What lay beyond defied all expectation.

  An underground city unfolded before them—towering structures scraping an artificial skyline, sprawling markets, glowing signs, streets packed with people of every kind. It wasn’t a hideout.

  It was a civilization.

  Yumi’s breath hitched.

  “This is bad,” he muttered. “Their influence isn’t just unchecked—it rivals an entire nation. How did the organization allow this?”

  “Yumi,” Arthur said casually, already stepping forward. “Quit staring. We’ve got work.”

  “…Right. Let’s head down. And don’t draw attention.”

  They descended into the city without a single challenge. No guards stopped them. No checkpoints questioned their presence.

  Simply entering meant acceptance.

  The only exception was identity.

  Velcrasa memorized every individual banned from their territory—royal elites, rival syndicates, threats.

  Arthur and Yumi were none of those.

  Unregistered. Unknown.

  Negligible.

  “Arthur, listen,” Yumi said quietly as they blended into the crowd. “This is a massive syndicate. We can’t just destroy everything.”

  “Why not?” Arthur asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Yumi let out a hard sigh. “If war breaks out, it’ll spill to the surface and expose far more than intended. We need to keep this discreet. We gather information, locate the head—assuming he’s here—and take him down quietly. Until Johnny rejoins us, we wait and observe.”

  Arthur frowned, clearly unimpressed.

  “…Fine. Whatever. Let’s split.”

  Without another word, they parted ways, disappearing into the heart of Velcrasa’s underground city.

  They split in opposite directions, each searching for clues in their own way.

  Arthur’s approach, however, was painfully simple.

  "…Where do I even start?"

  He scanned the streets lazily. There are way too many people here. I’m not interrogating everyone one by one. That’s just irritating.

  He walked without purpose, hands in his pockets, gaze drifting—until something caught his attention.

  In a narrow corner between two buildings, several men had pinned down a girl. She was frail, her body trembling as she struggled weakly. Long crimson hair was tied into a ponytail, strands torn loose and clinging to her pale face. Her golden eyes were wide with fear, skin ghostly white under the dim lights.

  Arthur stopped—but only for a moment.

  He observed the scene with detached interest, then let out a faint smirk.

  Wow. Classic cliché, he thought.

  Helpless girl. Shady thugs. This is where some hero usually shows up, right?

  He shrugged inwardly.

  Not my business. Let some random have the spotlight. They should call me Cupid—I’m practically helping someone start a relationship.

  Boy, girl… who knows.

  Or maybe no one helps at all. That’s just how the world works. Be strong.

  With that, Arthur turned away.

  He had taken only a few steps when—

  Thunk.

  Something slammed into his back.

  Arthur stiffened.

  Behind him, the girl had stumbled free—blood trickling from a small cut on her cheek. Her legs gave out, and in her panic she’d run straight into him, bouncing off his back and collapsing onto the ground with a soft cry.

  Arthur froze.

  His expression flattened into a comically blank stare, eyes and mouth reduced to exaggerated lines, his head practically circular.

  Mother… what kind of karma is this?

  I ignored it. It wasn’t my business. So why—damn it.

  The girl squinted through tears, pain etched across her face. Realization struck her all at once, and she scrambled closer.

  “P-Please—help me!”

  Arthur looked down at her calmly—annoyed, even.

  Before thinking, he muttered out loud,

  “What? No way. I already ignored you once. Why should I help you now? I’m out.”

  He turned his back.

  A hand shot out and grabbed his shirt.

  “YOU IGNORED ME?” she snapped. “BASTARD!”

  Arthur blinked, genuinely confused.

  “…Wait. You can read minds? How did you know that?”

  She stared at him like he was insane.

  “Because you said it out loud, you stupid mutt!”

  Her accent twisted the words strangely—angry, yet oddly cute. That detail stuck in Arthur’s mind for reasons he didn’t bother questioning.

  Ah. Right.

  That bad habit again.

  Before the exchange could continue, heavy footsteps approached.

  Five men emerged from the shadows, weapons loose in their hands.

  “Hey, kid,” one of them said lazily. “Quit dawdling and hand the girl over. Be a good boy.”

  Arthur tilted his head.

  Why do they sound like pirates? That’s weird.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “I don’t really care,” he replied flatly.

  The girl’s heart sank. Desperate, she grabbed his sleeve tighter.

  “I-I’ll pay you! Please—anything—!”

  Why am I even offering him money? she thought in panic.

  He clearly doesn’t care. No one here does. My legs hurt—I can’t even stand… Is this it? Am I just going to be dragged away?

  Worse… what if—

  Arthur suddenly pulled her behind him.

  The motion was gentle—unexpectedly so.

  She looked up, stunned.

  “You better keep your word,” Arthur said calmly.

  The thugs grew impatient.

  “Tch. You’re taking too long.”

  “Yeah. Just die already.”

  One lunged forward, dagger flashing—its blade coated in a venomous sheen. He moved with the practiced skill of a brawler.

  It happened fast—too fast for an ordinary eye to properly follow. The dagger flashed under the streetlight, its blade coated in a slick, dark sheen that caught the glow as it sliced through the air, aimed straight for Arthur’s chest.

  Arthur didn’t look surprised.

  He didn’t even step back.

  Instead, he shifted.

  Just one leg slid sideways—barely a movement, almost lazy. Yet to the thug, the world warped. His vision stretched, the moment dragging unnaturally long, as if time itself had thickened. He knew he should have hit something. He felt the forward momentum carrying him on. But Arthur was no longer there.

  Before his mind could catch up, a hand clamped around his throat.

  The grip wasn’t frantic. It was precise. Cold.

  Arthur twisted his body and dragged the man down with terrifying ease, slamming him against the pavement. The thug gasped, eyes bulging, instinctively tightening his grip on the dagger—only for Arthur’s other hand to snap around his wrist.

  There was a sharp, sickening crack.

  Arthur rotated the arm the wrong way, bone screaming as it dislocated, then forced the man’s own hand inward. The dagger never left his grasp. In one clean, merciless motion, Arthur drove the blade into the side of the thug’s neck.

  Blood burst out in a hot spray.

  The man convulsed once, his face rapidly turning purple, mouth opening in a silent, desperate cry before his body went limp.

  Dead.

  The remaining thugs froze.

  Fear crawled into their eyes the moment the body hit the ground.

  “T-Tch—!” one of them stumbled back, glancing around wildly.

  Arthur was gone.

  Before they could even shout, a shadow appeared behind them.

  Arthur seized two of the thugs by the head—one in each hand. There was no buildup, no warning. He slammed their skulls together with brutal force.

  CRACK.

  Both men dropped instantly, bodies crumpling like broken dolls.

  The fourth thug reacted on instinct, throwing a wild punch fueled by panic. Arthur stepped in, the blow grazing past his shoulder. Arthur’s knee came up next—fast, sharp—and smashed into the man’s side.

  Something shattered.

  The thug screamed as his elbow bent at an impossible angle, the arm useless now, hanging limply as he collapsed to his knees.

  Only one remained.

  The last thug’s legs gave out completely. He fell backward onto the pavement, scrambling uselessly, palms slipping in blood. As he looked up, he saw Arthur standing there—backlit by the streetlamp.

  Arthur’s eyes glowed faintly blue.

  Not brightly. Not dramatically.

  Just enough.

  Enough to feel wrong.

  A silhouette of death.

  The thug’s mind snapped.

  “W-WHAT IS THIS—?” his thoughts spiraled. Who is he? Why is he here? We didn’t pick a fight with a human—this is a monster. A devil. We’re being punished.

  Arthur stepped closer.

  Each footstep echoed like a countdown.

  The thug shrieked, voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.

  “NO—STAY BACK—GET AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed, flailing uselessly. “SOMEONE—PLEASE—HELP ME—!”

  Arthur stopped in front of him.

  He crouched, grabbed the man by the head, fingers digging into his hair—and lifted.

  Then slammed.

  Once.

  The skull struck the pavement with a wet, thunderous impact. Blood splattered outward, painting the ground in dark red.

  Silence followed.

  Arthur stood up slowly, the street now littered with bodies, blood pooling beneath the dim streetlight as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  The girl stood frozen.

  What… did I just see?

  He might be stronger than my brother…

  This is bad. Very bad.

  As Arthur approached her, she flinched violently, mistaking his shadow for another attacker. She shut her eyes, bracing for death.

  Instead—

  Clap.

  Arthur clapped his hands together.

  “Hey. Are you listening?” he said casually. “Where’s my money? I finished the job.”

  She gasped, breathing hard—then slowly relaxed when she realized he wasn’t attacking her.

  Forcing a smile, she said,

  “Ah—haha—right! I don’t have money on me right now, but… my brother does. A lot, actually. He’ll thank you himself. Come with me, okay?”

  Behind the sweetness lay calculation.

  Let my brother handle him.

  To avoid suspicion, she brightened further.

  “Come on, come on!”

  Arthur stared at her for a moment, then shrugged.

  “Whatever. I’m starving anyway. Feed me too.”

  As they disappeared into the night, the scene shifted far above the city—to the Sky Tower, the tallest structure piercing the clouds.

  At its summit lay a vast chamber, eerily minimalist. A massive brown desk dominated the room, its polished surface gleaming under soft ambient lighting. Opposite it sat two luxurious brown leather couches, positioned with deliberate symmetry. Aside from these furnishings, the space was empty—its emptiness intentional, suffocating.

  Seated upon the couches were six individuals—four men and two women—each carrying an unmistakable presence.

  Behind the desk stood a man whose very silhouette radiated ambition and authority.

  As he leaned forward into the light, his features became clear.

  He was tall—just over six feet—with a broad, solid build restrained by a finely tailored suit. Blonde hair was slicked back neatly, framing a face lined with age-earned wrinkles. A deep, bear-like scar tore across one cheek, giving him a savage edge. One eye glowed a sharp, calculating blue; the other was blind and lifeless, clouded by old battles.

  To the underworld, he was known only by an alias:

  Titus.

  But his true name—the one whispered only in fear—was Ulrik Velcrasa, the undisputed head of the Velcrasa syndicate.

  At his side stood a male secretary clad in a butler’s uniform, black hair slicked back just as immaculately. The man leaned in, murmuring quietly into Ulrik’s ear.

  “Our observers have detected an unknown individual causing disturbances within our territory.”

  Ulrik’s lips curled into a thin, irritated smile.

  “I won’t tolerate disorder,” he said coldly. “Not in my city. Not under my name.”

  He straightened, placing both hands on the desk.

  “Bring him to me. I’m bored.”

  A faint glint flickered in his lone good eye.

  “I want to see what kind of toy he is.”

  At that, the atmosphere shifted.

  The six figures rose slightly, instinctively attentive. This was the Hexagon—Velcrasa’s elite.

  First was Vesten, an average-height man with messy black hair and an unbothered, almost lazy demeanor. He looked relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing.

  Next stood Malrik, short green hair neatly kept, thin glasses perched on his nose. His sharp green eyes resembled those of a detective dissecting a crime scene before it even occurred.

  Beside him was Polly, a woman with beautifully wavy black-purple hair cascading down her shoulders. Her violet eyes gleamed with cunning intelligence, her pale skin flawless—danger wrapped in elegance.

  Then came Bear—a mountain of muscle with a massive frame and brown side-parted hair. Despite his brute-like build, his expression was surprisingly gentle, almost soft.

  Next was Rae, small in stature with long black hair and bangs framing her cute face. Hazel eyes shone with quiet alertness—she looked harmless, but that illusion was intentional.

  Finally, standing slightly apart from the rest, was the lieutenant—second only to Ulrik himself.

  Caraso.

  Crimson hair and matching eyes burned with unyielding resolve. His build was powerful, refined through relentless combat. Unlike the others, his presence alone carried pressure—he was not merely dangerous, he was disciplined.

  They all understood without needing further explanation.

  “Understood,” they said in unison.

  The scene shifted once more.

  Far below the city, deep beneath its streets—

  Johnny trudged forward through the sewers, his expression pale and hollow, bat wings drooping uselessly behind him.

  “Why… just why…” he muttered weakly.

  “WHY THE SEWERS? THIS IS DISGUSTING.”

  The stench was unbearable. Moist stone stretched endlessly ahead, pipes groaning overhead like mocking laughter.

  Tracking Yumi and Arthur was easy—his abilities made that part effortless.

  Actually reaching them?

  That was hell.

  The only viable route connecting the Velcrasa base spanned nearly two kilometers, forcing him through a maze of sewer tunnels that felt deliberately endless.

  Honestly… this isn’t worth it, Johnny thought miserably.

  If I get caught down here, I’m absolutely causing a diplomatic incident.

  Step after step. Minute after minute.

  Then realization struck him like a hammer.

  “Ohhh no…”

  His face drained of what little color remained.

  “This is going to take forever.”

  Arthur.

  Yumi.

  Especially Arthur.

  Without me there, they’re definitely going to ruin the mission.

  Johnny groaned loudly, dragging himself forward.

  “There’s no end to this,” he whined. “I swear, I didn’t even do anything evil. Why am I being punished like this?”

  And so he continued walking—

  his expression ghostly,

  his resolve crumbling,

  his suffering entirely self-inflicted.

  Yumi’s path led him somewhere far more ordinary than he expected.

  A pub.

  Loud laughter filled the air, mugs clattered against wooden tables, and drunken voices overlapped in chaotic harmony. The place felt lively—almost celebratory—as if everyone inside had just returned from some victorious adventure.

  Blending in seamlessly, Yumi sat at the bar wearing a plain brown coat, a mug of beer resting in his hand. He drank slowly, deliberately, his posture relaxed. To anyone watching, he was just another patron enjoying the night.

  In reality, his senses were stretched thin.

  He listened—not to the noise itself, but to the gaps between it.

  “…hic—listen, listen,” a slurred voice nearby muttered.

  “You see—hic—the boss is actually staying in this part of the territory.”

  Yumi’s eyes flickered slightly, but his expression didn’t change.

  “It’s terrifying, really,” the man continued, laughing drunkenly. “But I love the boss. He lets us do whatever we want—hic—it’s amazing…”

  Yumi committed the words to memory.

  Just then, the bartender approached, wiping a glass with a rag.

  “Another refill?” he asked casually.

  Yumi nodded once.

  As the bartender poured, he leaned in slightly.

  “Say,” he murmured, “you’re here for information, aren’t you?”

  Yumi didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him.

  The bartender’s smile thinned, suspicion creeping into his eyes.

  “You know,” he continued softly, “we sell information here. With the right price, of course. Say whatever you want—it’s fully confidential.”

  Yumi’s fingers tightened around the mug.

  Trusting anyone here would be a mistake.

  Without a word, he stood up, placed money on the counter, and gave a polite nod.

  “I’ll be leaving.”

  As he walked out, he didn’t notice the bartender’s sharp gaze—or the way he leaned toward a man in a similar brown coat seated nearby and whispered something too quiet to hear.

  Outside, the night air hit Yumi’s lungs.

  He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, a faint headache forming behind his eyes.

  "…This is frustrating."

  He organized the information he had gathered so far.

  Alright. First—this area is considered the capital territory, the core of major industries and manufacturing.

  According to the woman at the store, the legality of their operations is… questionable, at best.

  Next—security.

  Velcrasa tightens external security heavily. There’s a functional barrier capable of detecting ability usage. My information is limited on what happens afterward, but it’s safe to assume shadow guards deploy the moment an ability is activated.

  That explains it.

  Why there was no resistance when we entered.

  Why there was no security in the narrow alleys.

  They wanted us to relax. To lower our guard.

  Yumi clenched his jaw.

  Arthur…

  This also explains why the boss himself is stationed here.

  And then there’s that name…

  Caraso.

  I can’t be certain yet, but he’s clearly important.

  Yumi sighed, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders.

  “This is basically the limit of what I can gather,” he muttered. “I can’t push any further without drawing attention.”

  If only I knew exactly where the boss was…

  His gaze drifted upward instinctively—to the massive tower piercing the skyline.

  Honestly, that thing is practically screaming, I’m right here, you dumbass…

  But assumptions get people killed.

  “Oh well,” he said quietly. “I’ll gather more.”

  His expression darkened slightly.

  “And where is Johnny anyway?”

  Arthur better be doing his job too.

  As he walked, voices from the side caught his attention.

  “…Hey, did you hear?”

  “Apparently there’s an intruder.”

  “I don’t know all the details, but they’re launching the Hexagon after him.”

  Yumi stopped cold.

  The Hexagon…?

  What is that? A team?

  Then—

  A familiar scent reached him.

  No.

  More than familiar.

  His eyes widened.

  …I know who the intruder is.

  Panic surged through him.

  With no hesitation, Yumi broke into a sprint.

  “I just know it’s you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Damn it, Arthur—you dumbass.”

  The scene shifted.

  Arthur stood in front of a modest home—the girl’s residence.

  Inside, the atmosphere was quiet.

  “By the way,” Arthur said casually, leaning back slightly, “not that I’m interested—but it’s basic manners. What’s your name?”

  She blinked, then smirked.

  “My name?” she teased. “Why? You trying to hit on me? Sorry—you’re not my type.”

  Arthur let out a long, uninterested hum.

  “I’m Arthur Quarry,” he replied flatly.

  Her playful demeanor faltered for just a moment.

  “…Alice Crimson,” she said.

  Arthur raised an eyebrow.

  “Cute name,” he said lightly. “For someone like you.”

  “…Mm,” Alice replied, already turning away. “Right.”

  She began preparing tea.

  Arthur watched silently, though something nagged at the back of his mind.

  …There’s something I’m forgetting.

  I know there is.

  He frowned slightly.

  I’ve deviated so far from the task that I completely lost it.

  Eh. Whatever. Yumi will remind me.

  Alice returned, setting the tea down—and a small pouch beside it.

  “Here,” she said. “1,420 crowns.”

  (Roughly equivalent to 542 dollars.)

  Arthur’s eyes lit up briefly.

  With a smug, almost cat-like grin, he nodded.

  “Indeed, indeed. Quite generous for a simple task. This is more than sufficient.”

  He glanced around. “You mentioned your brother would be here, though.”

  Alice’s expression darkened.

  “…Yeah,” she muttered. “I thought he would be too.”

  “Well,” Arthur said, standing, “I’ll be on my way.”

  Suddenly—

  “WAIT!”

  Alice jumped to her feet.

  Arthur froze. “…Why?”

  “Because,” she blurted out, “you haven’t eaten!”

  Arthur stared.

  “…Oh.”

  It hit him like divine revelation.

  “Oh shit,” he said. “You’re right. I am hungry.”

  He crossed his arms. “Fine. But be quick.”

  Alice smiled brightly and rushed toward the kitchen.

  The moment she was out of sight, she pulled out her phone.

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed a familiar number.

  “…Brother,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

  Caraso.

  “—”

  She hung up, eyes hardening.

  From the kitchen, she peeked through the doorway, watching Arthur carefully.

  He sat there, bored, unaware of the storm quietly gathering around him.

  She would make sure he stayed.

  Until her brother arrived.