Old Varran District, Arora City.
The air was filled with the smell of burnt wood even after five days. The wrecked gang hideout has blackened and is ready to collapse.
Two men stood in front of it; their clean formal attire looked far too clean for a place like this. Tattoos wrapped around their arms.
The younger one had neat brown hair and was wearing blue sunglasses. He had a lazy grin as he looked at the wreckage. "This is the place, huh? Looks like someone threw a hell of a party."
The older man, with short silver hair and a cigarette, gave a quick nod. "Yeah. This is the place." He blew out a cloud of smoke. "Move. We're not here for sightseeing."
They stepped through the broken doorway, boots crunching on ash.
The older man's voice was low and matter-of-fact, like he was reading a report. "Twenty-eight bodies were found here. Butchered, every last one. Cops called it a gang war with no survivors. Case closed in record time."
The younger man tilted his head. "Gang war? That's cute."
His grin grew as he nudged a burnt piece of debris with his shoe. "So what's the real story, Torren? Why drag me out to this dump?"
Torren took a long drag on his cigarette, his gray eyes scanning the room. "Because it wasn't a war. It was a massacre. One guy took down the whole damn crew. Every body belonged to the same gang. They're no rivals."
They climbed the cracked staircase and reached the second floor, which was a scene of destruction: walls charred black, ash coating the floor.
The younger man made a low whistle as he looked around. "Damn. Dude's got style."
"Could fix it up, though. Have some wall paint. We can call it a boutique murder den."
Torren gave him an annoyed look, his brow raised. "Are you done joking, Kael? Nobody's turning this into a damn Airnbn."
Kael's voice got a little serious with a spark of curiosity. "Alright, old man, spill it. Why's this my problem?" He stepped into the center of the room and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
After a moment, Kael opened his eyes; his grin faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. "The place is screaming with mana…"
He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to hunt down the guy who turned twenty-eight guys into charcoal?"
Torren flicked ash from his cigarette, his voice calm. "Not just any guy. He's a kid—Ryo Veskar. We hired this gang through proxy to kill him. The agency botched the job, and now they're silent, refusing to share what happened."
Kael's eyebrows shot up, his sunglasses slipping to show sharp hazel eyes. "The Agency screwing up? That's new." He chuckled while walking around the room.
"Let's see what kind of monster kills twenty-eight men and walks away smiling."
♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢
Ryo stared at his food on the table like it. He was in an interrogation room. The plate of food in front of him looked strange, its odd shapes and smells stirring both curiosity and doubt.
"What in the hell is this?" He muttered as his eyes narrowed. A paper-wrapped bundle, a pile of golden sticks, and a dark, fizzy drink.
At least they'd given him real clothes—a black suit that fit well, much better than the gown that left him half naked on the rooftop.
After Spectra stopped his fight with Jack, he'd gone along quietly. Not because he trusted them. The word trust had gotten him killed once. But right now he needed answers more than another fight.
His mind tells him their names: Cheeseburger. Fries. Cola.
He frowned, poking the wrapped bundle with a finger.
Across the table, Spectra leaned back with arms crossed, her lips twitching with a hint of amusement. "Not hungry? I paid for that out of my own pocket, you know."
Ryo picked up a fry, holding it. "Could be poisoned for all I know," he said, his tone dry, his gaze testing her.
Spectra rolled her eyes, grabbing the burger and taking a bite.
She chewed slowly, then set it down with a pointed look. "If we wanted you dead, kid, we wouldn't have treated you for days."
Ryo's eyes flicked to the half-eaten burger, his stomach growling loudly. She had a point. Trust was risky, but hunger wasn't smart either. "Tch. Fine," he grumbled, snatching the burger and taking a small bite.
The taste hit hard—soft bread, juicy meat, melted cheese, and a mix of tangy and sweet. His eyes widened, pupils growing like he'd found a treasure.
"What… is this?" He mumbled with a mouth full before tearing into the burger like a starved man. He grabbed fries by the handful, gulping them down with cola, the fizz sparking on his tongue. "This burns—but in a good way! Where do you even get this stuff?"
Spectra's lips curved into a small smile. "Glitch ordered it." She tilted her head, watching him eat like a kid discovering fire. "You act like you've never tasted food before."
Ryo paused, a fry halfway to his mouth, his grin sharp and bold. "Let's just say my last meal was… less satisfying." Memories of a poisoned cup flashed, but he pushed them down, focusing on the cola's sweet sting.
"Who's this Glitch you mentioned? Weird name, but I'm starting to like the guy."
—
In the room behind the one-way mirror, a few Agency members watched Ryo through the glass, some raising brows, others hiding laughs.
"This kid's never had a burger?" One muttered a doubtful frown, a woman with a buzzcut. "He's acting like it's a damn five-star banquet."
Jack stood at the back with hands in his pockets, barely holding back his laugh. "What, you've never seen a guy fall in love with a cheeseburger before?"
A slouched figure in a big hoodie spoke up, voice lazy but proud. "Told ya Big Mike's always best." He's Glitch, a member of the agency who's not even twenty. He has dark circles and electric-blue hair; he sipped cola through a straw. "Best burgers in Arora. They delivered in under ten minutes, too."
He leaned forward, squinting at Ryo. "Still can't believe this is the guy who torched a whole gang."
Jack snorted, shaking his head. "Kid's a walking paradox. He slaughtered twenty-eight men, then lost his mind over fast food."
—
Back in the interrogation room, Spectra uncrossed her arms, leaning forward as Ryo finished the last fry with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, Ryo Veskar," she said with a serious tone. "Let's talk."
Ryo froze, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Veskar?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Spectra's brow furrowed. "You're telling me you don't know your own last name?"
[It is the current name of the vessel you are residing in, Host.]
Yeah, thanks for the heads-up. Really helpful. He leaned back, crossing his arms to match her posture. "Ask your question, Lady."
"Why would someone want you dead? You're listed as an orphan, no record, no connections. Yet someone shelled out a fortune to have you erased. Any idea why?"
The word "assassination" hit like a knife in his chest. Ryo's hand stilled, the empty cola cup crumpling in his grip. His mind flashed with Lucas's cold smile. Betrayal. Again. His face darkened.
Spectra kept going without noticing the storm in his eyes. "They didn't just want you dead. They wanted you gone without evidence. They even gave us—The Agency—specific instructions to kill you."
That was it.
The chair screeched as Ryo moved faster than a blink. He was across the table in an instant, holding the broken chair's jagged arm, its sharp edge inches from Spectra's eye.
Behind the glass, operatives reached for their weapons, but Jack raised a hand. "Hold. Let's see how this plays out."
Spectra didn't move. Her blue eyes met Ryo's, steady, like facing a wildfire.
It's not anger but a deep pain. "Assassination," he said, his voice shaking with a rage. "Some things never change, do they?"