MoonBucks Café sat in the heart of the city, nestled near a sprawling mall and close enough to the airport that the occasional roar of planes overhead became background music to the steady hum of coffee machines and conversation.
It wasn't a busy café.
Not really.
The mall had a dozen other coffee shops—fancy ones with imported beans and pastries that cost more than a meal. MoonBucks survived on regulars. On people who knew the baristas by name. On the kind of quiet that made it possible to hear yourself think.
That was why Yuuta had chosen this place.
Three days off a week.
Decent pay.
And a manager who only screamed at him occasionally.
He stood behind the counter now, his work apron tied loosely around his waist, his name tag slightly crooked because he'd stopped caring about straightening it months ago. A customer approached—middle-aged man, tired eyes, the kind of face that had seen too many meetings and not enough vacations.
"Welcome to MoonBucks Café." Yuuta's voice carried the practiced cheer of someone who had said these words ten thousand times. "What can I get for you?"
"One cappuccino and one chicken salad sandwich, please."
Simple.
Easy.
The kind of order that didn't make him hate humanity.
"Coming right up, sir."
He moved through the motions automatically—pulling espresso shots, steaming milk, assembling the sandwich with the kind of muscle memory that came from doing the same thing every day for years. A few minutes later, he placed the tray on the counter.
"Here you go. Enjoy."
"Thanks."
Yuuta forced a smile. "You're welcome."
The customer walked away.
Yuuta's smile died.
He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, his hands resting on the counter, his mind drifting to places it shouldn't go.
I miss Elena.
The thought came unbidden.
I miss her tiny giggles. The way she calls me "Papa" like I'm some kind of superhero. The way she runs at me full speed and jumps, completely confident I'll always catch her.
His chest ached.
And I miss...
He stopped himself.
No. Don't go there.
But he went there anyway.
I miss Erza.
The terrifyingly gorgeous, emotionally constipated queen of chaos who somehow became the mother of my child.
The woman who saved my life. Healed my wounds. Stood between me and death.
The woman who will probably kill me in a year.
He sighed.
Long.
Deep.
The kind of sigh that carried the weight of broken dreams and unpaid rent and a future that looked increasingly like a dead end.
"Bro..."
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Yuuta turned.
Jin stood beside him—tall, annoyingly handsome, with the kind of smile that made customers tip extra and bosses overlook his constant slacking. He was wearing the same apron as Yuuta, but somehow it looked better on him.
Like everything always did.
"Are you okay?" Jin's voice was actually concerned. "You look like a rejected K-drama side character who just got dumped in the rain."
"I'm fine." Yuuta shrugged off his hand. "Just let me wallow in peace."
"Wallow? In a café? During your shift?" Jin shook his head dramatically. "That's not wallowing, bro. That's just being employed."
Yuuta didn't laugh.
Didn't even smile.
He just turned back to the counter and stared at nothing again.
What's the point?
The thought circled in his mind like a vulture.
What's the point of saving money? What's the point of working? What's the point of any of it when that lizard queen is going to kill me in a year?
He thought of the sleeping pills in his bathroom cabinet.
Thought of how easy it would be.
Thought of never waking up.
Thought of never feeling this weight again.
"Maybe I should just..." He trailed off.
Didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
His eyes grew heavy.
His mind began to drift.
Sleep—real sleep, peaceful sleep, escape—pulled at him like a tide.
Then—
SMACK.
"OW! WHAT THE—?!"
Yuuta's ear was being yanked.
Not gently.
Not playfully.
With the kind of force that suggested someone was trying to tune him like a radio station from hell.
"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!" a voice thundered directly into his eardrum.
He turned.
And there she stood.
His boss.
The woman who haunted his nightmares and made his shifts feel like episodes of a survival reality show. She was short, fierce, and possessed of the kind of energy that made grown men cower and children cry.
Her name was Manager Park.
But everyone called her The Dragon.
(Not to her face. Never to her face.)
"What did I even do?!" Yuuta cried, still clutching his burning ear.
"If you've got time to space out, you've got time to scrub dishes!" She jabbed a finger toward the kitchen. "Move your lazy butt before I make you mop the ceiling!"
"Why am I always the target?! Jin's slacking too!"
Yuuta spun around, ready to sell out his so-called friend.
But Jin—
Jin was mopping.
Not just mopping.
Performing.
He moved across the floor with the grace of a ballet dancer, his mop spinning in arcs that caught the light, his expression one of pure, transcendent joy. Classical music seemed to shimmer in the air around him.
"Oh dearest Manager Park," he said, his voice rich with sincerity. "Forgive me. I was so engrossed in making our café shine for our lovely customers that I didn't even notice your presence."
He bowed.
Actually bowed.
Manager Park's face transformed.
Her eyes went wide.
Her mouth formed a small O.
Her voice, when it came, was practically reverent.
"Oh, Jin... such passion! Such commitment! You truly care about this café!"
Yuuta stared.
Dead-eyed.
This man flirts with every customer who breathes. He once used the espresso machine to make protein shakes during the morning rush. He called in sick to attend a K-pop concert.
But now—
Now he was a cleaning angel.
Manager Park whirled on Yuuta.
"You." Her voice snapped back to its usual volume. "Learn from him. You've got one hour. I want those dishes so clean I can see my reflection in them—and I better look fabulous."
"...Yes, boss."
She strutted away, her heels clicking against the floor like the sound of approaching doom.
Yuuta glared at Jin.
Jin winked.
"Timing, bro." He leaned on his mop like a victorious warrior. "It's all about timing."
Yuuta flipped him off with the grace of a man defeated by mop-based betrayal.
Then he turned.
Marched toward the kitchen.
Toward his true nemesis.
---
The dish pile waited for him.
Towering.
Greasy.
Malevolent.
It rose from the sink like a monument to human suffering—plates stacked precariously, cups coated in mysterious residue, utensils tangled in a metal mess that would take hours to untangle. The smell of old coffee and tuna melt rose from it like incense at a funeral.
Yuuta stared at it.
The pile stared back.
"This," he muttered, "is my life now."
He grabbed a sponge.
Turned on the water.
Plunged his hands into the warm, greasy abyss.
Behind him, the café hummed with its usual evening rhythm. Customers murmured. Cups clinked. The espresso machine hissed like a contented cat.
But Yuuta heard none of it.
He was alone with his thoughts.
With the memory of silver hair and violet eyes.
With the echo of a tiny voice calling him Papa.
With the weight of a year that might be his last.
"What am I even doing?" he whispered.
The dishes didn't answer.
They never did.
---
Star City stood apart from the world.
Not physically—it was still on the same planet, still part of the same country, still connected by roads and rails and the invisible threads of modern civilization. But in every other way, it existed in a different dimension entirely.
The city was famous for its tight security. Armed guards patrolled every entrance. Biometric scanners verified every identity. Drones hummed through the skies, watching, recording, protecting. The wealthy who lived here paid astronomical sums for this safety—for the assurance that nothing and no one could breach their walls.
It was, by many measures, the safest city on Earth.
More secure than Tokyo.
More exclusive than New York.
More private than anywhere else in the world.
But privacy had a price.
And in Star City, that price was paid in silence.
Rumors whispered through the streets at night—stories that no one dared speak aloud during the day. The businessmen who ruled this city, the rumors said, were not ordinary men. They were wicked. Evil. Connected to things that shouldn't exist.
No one could prove it.
No one dared try.
Those who questioned too loudly had a habit of disappearing.
---
At the heart of Star City, on a hill that overlooked all the others, stood the Muru Mansion.
It was a monument to excess—sprawling, ornate, dripping with the kind of wealth that most people couldn't imagine. Red stone mingled with white marble in patterns that seemed almost... deliberate. Almost symbolic. Strange markings carved into the walls caught the light in ways that made the eyes slide away.
Some said Aaron Muru was an Illuminati follower.
Others whispered of devil worship.
The truth was worse.
Every night, the mansion's security cameras recorded the same strange phenomenon. Young women—orphans, runaways, those without families to miss them—approached the gates. They were let inside. And they never came out.
Where they went, no one knew.
What happened to them, no one asked.
Those who tried to investigate were found dead. Brutally. In ways that made the newspapers censor their own articles.
The mansion kept its secrets.
And the world looked away.
---
Tonight, however, something was different.
Inside the mansion's deepest chamber—a room with no windows, no cameras, no record of its existence—Aaron Muru sat in the corner.
Curled against the wall.
His hands clutching his head.
His body trembling.
His lips moving in words that made no sense.
"Blood... so much blood... the mountain of skulls... the dragon... the DRAGON..."
He had been like this for hours.
Ever since the zoo.
Ever since her.
Allen Vaelorith stood in the shadows, watching his master crumble. His golden eyes gleamed with something between fury and calculation. Beside him, Xemon shifted restlessly, his multiple joints cracking with each movement.
"Lord Allen." Xemon's voice was a scrape of stones. "Your master is losing his mind. Perhaps we should find a new vessel. Someone more... stable."
Allen didn't respond immediately.
He was thinking.
Planning.
She ruined everything. My perfect scheme. My chance at the Children of Chaos. All of it, destroyed by that silver-haired dragon bitch.
His nails dug into his palm.
But I'm not done yet.
"We need his status," Allen said finally. "His fame. His influence. The access it gives us to sin." He glanced at Xemon. "Without him, we're just demons hiding in shadows. With him, we can feast."
"But he's broken."
"Then we fix him."
Allen walked toward Aaron.
His footsteps made no sound on the marble floor.
Aaron looked up as he approached—and in his eyes, Allen saw something he rarely saw in humans.
True terror.
The kind that didn't fade.
The kind that broke people.
"Please..." Aaron whimpered. "The blood... the mountain... the dragon... she's going to kill me... she's going to—"
Allen placed a hand on his head.
"My master." His voice was soft. Hypnotic. "I need you to give me full authority."
Aaron's eyes went blank.
"I... give you... full authority..."
"Good."
Allen smiled.
And then he worked.
His power flowed into Aaron's mind—searching, sifting, finding the memories that had broken him. The vision Erza had shown him. The mountain of skulls. The river of blood. The dragon who had held death in her eyes.
He erased it all.
Carefully.
Delicately.
Like a surgeon removing a tumor.
Then he began to rebuild.
Not the truth—the truth was useless now. But a new truth. A useful truth.
You didn't see a dragon. You saw a man. A man with red eyes. He ruined your career. He destroyed everything you built. He is your enemy now.
Yuuta Konuari.
Remember the name, who make you loser.
Hate the name, who make you Pathetic.
Kill the name, So that I can be her follower.
He didn't include Erza.
Didn't include her face or her presence or anything that might trigger the terror again. The memory of her was too dangerous—too powerful. It could break his manipulation.
But Yuuta?
Yuuta was human.
Yuuta could be destroyed and Allen Goal was his blood.
Allen stepped back.
Waited.
Aaron's eyes fluttered.
Opened.
Focused.
For a moment, he simply stared at the wall.
Then—
"YUUTA KONUARI!"
He grabbed a vase from the nearest table and smashed it against the floor. Porcelain exploded across the marble, shards scattering like shrapnel.
"That red-eyed BASTARD! He ruined my career! He destroyed EVERYTHING!"
Allen smiled.
Xemon smiled.
In the shadows beyond the door, the other demons smiled too.
"Contact a contractor killer," Aaron snarled. "NOW. I want him dead by morning."
Allen bowed.
"As you wish, my master. I will contact them immediately."
He turned.
Walked toward the door.
Paused.
Looked back at Aaron—at the puppet dancing on his strings, at the fool who thought he was in control, at the vessel that would continue to serve.
Enjoy your revenge, human, he thought. While it lasts.
He stepped through the door.
Into the shadows.
And began to plan.
---
To be continued...