In the cozy glow of a lavish study, a man sat by himself, basking in the soft light of a chandelier.
The gentle hum of classical music floated through the air from an old record player, each note from the violin drifting lazily around the room like wisps of smoke.
He held a glass of amber whiskey, half-empty, letting it catch the flickering firelight as he swirled it absentmindedly.
Then—
Footsteps.
Measured. Softly echoing against the marble floor.
Mischa walked in the mansion, she carried two sleek briefcases, their steel edges glinting in the chandelier's golden light.
Stopping a few feet away, she bowed slightly and spoke with her usual calm precision. "Young Master… I've finally brought the briefcases you asked for."
The man lifted his gaze from his drink.
Zheng Yan his black hair was short and impeccably styled, framing a face that wore a frown. His sharp green eyes glinted from beneath the shadow of his brow analytical and cold.
He set his glass down gently, the soft clink resonating through the study.
A slow smile crept onto his lips. "Good," he said, his voice smooth yet heavy with authority. "Put them on the table."
Mischa stepped forward and carefully placed the two briefcases on the glass table, the metallic click of the latches resonating in the stillness of the room.
Zheng Yan remained silent for a moment, leaning back in his armchair. The golden liquid in his glass caught the light from the chandelier as he swirled it, his gaze locked onto her every move.
"How did it go?" he finally inquired, his voice steady—perhaps too steady.
Mischa hesitated, her face a mask of neutrality for just a heartbeat. Then, like a hint of mischief breaking through a serious facade, a small smile crept onto her lips.
She briefly revisited the memory—the dealer's furious expression, his voice cracking with anger each time she pointed out the crookedness of his tie. The way his fury morphed into fear just before she walked away.
"It went perfectly well," she replied softly, her smile widening slightly as if relishing the recollection.
Zheng Yan's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He lifted his glass, took a sip, and set it down with careful precision.
"Good," he said, the single word laced with quiet satisfaction.
But then his tone shifted—just a touch.
"And when you took them, Mischa… there wasn't any trouble, was there?"
The question lingered in the air like a wisp of smoke.
For a fleeting moment, her calm demeanor faltered, a flicker of memory surfacing—Taura and Assad, the chaos, the chase.
But just as quickly, it vanished. Her expression returned to one of tranquility, her voice smooth and unruffled.
"No, Young Master. Nothing happened."
Zheng Yan scrutinized her in silence, the glint in his green eyes sharper now, as if he were dissecting her words, probing her.
Then, after a long, quiet pause, he smiled again, this time with genuine amusement.
"Excellent."
Zheng Yan's eyes wandered downwards.
What lay beneath his feet wasn't glass it was water. A vast, clear basin spanned the entire room, glowing softly under the light of the chandelier.
Below the surface, mermaids and mermen floated aimlessly, their once-vibrant scales now dulled by fatigue. They moved in slow, lazy circles, their expressions vacant, their eyes empty trapped in a shimmering prison that taunted the ocean they had once called home.
Among them, two mermaids that look very identical to Mya were visible, their delicate features pale in the watery glow. They pressed their hands against the glassy barrier, looking up at the man above the one who held their freedom in a glass of amber liquor.
Zheng Yan swirled his drink, watching the liquid catch the light like flames. He took a slow sip, relishing the taste before exhaling in quiet contentment.
"This Jacks Danielz whiskey…" he started, his voice deep and smooth, laced with amusement. "Isn't it divine, Mischa? Especially with the scene below me."
He tilted his head slightly, admiring the tortured beauty beneath. "It adds a certain… depth to the flavor."
Mischa bowed gracefully, her tone as serene as ever. "Yes, Young Master. I couldn't agree more."
Her words floated softly through the chamber, mingling with the gentle sounds of water — the muffled echo of sorrow rising from below.
Zheng Yan smiled, a subtle curve of satisfaction gracing his lips as he raised the glass again, letting the reflection of the swimming captives dance across its surface.
After Mya was given the pills, Shuren leaned back in her chair and let out a soft sigh. She turned to Mya and said, "Why don't you go hang out with Taura for a bit? I need to have a private chat with Assad."
Mya looked a bit bewildered at first, even a little frightened. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them. But when she caught the serious expression on Shuren's face, she nodded slowly and got up. "Okay," she replied quietly before stepping out of the office. The door clicked shut behind her.
Assad glanced at the door, then back at Shuren, a slight frown creasing his brow. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with caution.
Shuren didn't respond immediately. She sat there, her gaze fixed on the desk, her fingers lightly tapping against the wood. It was clear something was troubling her — Assad could sense that much.
He leaned in a bit closer. "Shuren?"
Shuren leaned forward slightly, her voice steady but icy. "How was it?"
Assad blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Your powers," she said slowly. "What was it like… killing Mya's sister?"
The atmosphere in the room turned tense. Assad's breath hitched in his throat, his expression hardening. For a moment, he was frozen — only his eyes moved, searching her face for any hint of deception.
"…How do you know that?" he asked in a low voice. It was calm, but there was an underlying tension that suggested danger. "We never talked about it."
Shuren sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You're still in the dark," she said, her tone flat, almost disappointed. "You really don't grasp what's going on around you, do you?"
Assad stared at her, his mind racing. The silence between them thickened, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a strange sensation — unease.
She rose from her chair and started to pace, the sound of her heels softly clicking against the floor. "Here's something you might not know, Assad."
He watched her intently, trying to decipher her expression — but her face was a complete mystery.
"Do you remember when you told us about being stabbed with a syringe?" she pressed on.
"Yeah," Assad replied, a hint of caution in his voice.
"And that the liquid inside was red and black?"
Assad frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah, I remember, Shuren. You said it was sacred water. Kiichi mentioned the same thing during our sparring. What's your point?"
Shuren's gaze dropped to the floor, her voice steady yet laden with significance.
"Those powers you have…" she began slowly, "they're known as Kakurei. But most people just call it Kaku."
Assad blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Kaku?"
She nodded. "It's what happens when someone gets injected with sacred water. The color of that liquid—or the blend of colors—decides what you become. That's how Sionele come into being."
Assad leaned in, curiosity piqued. "Sionele? What does that mean?"
Shuren let out a weary sigh and settled back into her chair, crossing her legs. "Sionele are rare individuals who unlock their powers. Some through the sacred water, like you… others, through entirely different means."
Assad frowned. "Different means?"
"I don't have the energy to explain it all right now," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her tone was gentle, but her eyes remained sharp. "You'll get it when the time is right. When you witness it for yourself."
Assad glanced down at his hands, recalling the searing sensation in his veins from that day—the mix of pain and power he could never quite articulate.
"…Sionele, huh," he murmured.
Shuren offered a faint, almost wistful smile. "Yes. And you, Assad… are one of them."
Shuren's expression turned serious as she leaned against the desk, her pistol catching the light just right.
"You know, you can actually advance into ahead," she said, her voice low and measured.
Assad glanced up, puzzled. "Advance?"
"Yeah," she replied, "but it's not as straightforward as it sounds. To do that, you either have to find the opposite color of the sacred water you were injected with… or the same one." She paused, locking eyes with him. "But that's a one-way ticket to death."
Assad's eyes widened a bit. "Why's that?"
"Because," Shuren said, her tone icy, "to truly unlock those powers, you have to stab yourself in a vital organ. That's the cost. You might survive it once, maybe by sheer luck or willpower, but try it again, and you're done for. No doubt about it."
Assad fell silent, his mind racing back to that day—the burning syringe, the agonizing pain in his chest, the sensation of something fighting to break free inside him. He had been stabbed near his heart. A vital organ.
"…That makes sense," he muttered.
Shuren smirked slightly, though her eyes remained devoid of warmth. "Of course it does. But there's more to it."
Pushing off the desk, she stepped closer to him. "When you awaken, there's always a flaw. A weakness. Some hidden cost tied to your power."
She leaned in, her cold gaze locking onto his.
"And yours…" she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "has been right in front of you this whole damn time."
Assad raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Shuren let out a sharp breath through her nose, crossing her arms. "You're too much of a fool to even see it. Typical."
Her words hung in the air like a knife, cutting deeper than any insult.
Turning away from him, her shadow stretched long across the office floor.
"Your flaw…" she began, her tone sharp and deliberate, "isn't something you can see or touch. It's worse."
Assad frowned. "Worse?"
She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes cold and unreadable. "Anyone stronger than you can read your intentions. Your mind. Your memories. Every single secret you think you're keeping—completely exposed to them."
Assad froze, his eyes widening just a bit as the air around him suddenly felt thick and heavy.
People stronger than me… can actually read my mind?
His thoughts began to spiral. What if I've already been discovered? What if someone knows everything—
Shuren interrupted without even glancing back. "See? Now you're wondering, 'what if I've already been caught.'"
Assad's heart raced. His face hardened, but the slight twitch in his jaw gave him away.
Finally, Shuren turned to face him, her intense gaze locking onto his. "Don't worry," she said in a calm voice. "I can read it. I know the truth. But I'm not going to pry."
She walked past him, her boots making soft clicks against the floor. "At least… not yet."
The room fell silent, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning. Assad sat there, his expression blank, but his mind was racing. For the first time, he wasn't sure if anything in his head truly belonged to him anymore.