Erebos stood tall before Inspector Laevatein, his presence anchoring the room. "Good morning, Inspector. I am Erebos, representing the house of Santino." A polished, professional smile brushed his lips, but his eyes remained as cold as winter stone.
Laevatein gestured to the chair opposite her. Her gaze was frozen, entirely unimpressed by his display of wealth. "Take a seat, Mr. Erebos. We have several questions regarding a certain banquet recorded at the Eye Tower on the day of the tragedy."
Erebos sat with effortless elegance. The Lieutenant who had summoned him stood by the desk, watching the man like a hawk. He knew Erebos was the key to discovering who had scrubbed the CCTV footage, and he had no intention of letting him slip away easily.
While Erebos faced the tightening noose of the Inspector's interrogation, Ren sat in the Cube bunker, inhaling the savory aroma of warm porridge.
His dominant left arm was still bound in the sling, forcing him to eat with a stiff, unpracticed right hand. Across the room, Lulubel finished packing her medical equipment and stepped toward the exit of the emergency ward.
"Is he stable enough for you to leave?" Vera asked Lulubel as the doctor reached the threshold.
"I've administered antibiotics and cell regeneration boosters regularly over the last three days. Shiro—Ren will recover soon," Lulubel said with a crooked smile, still tripping over his new name. "But that arm sling stays on for at least another week."
Don't say another word, just leave. Ren's internal thought was so loud it seemed to transmit directly to Lulubel. She quickly said her goodbyes.
But before she stepped out, Lulubel leaned down and whispered into Ren's ear. "I'll be collecting that compensation later."
"Yeah, yeah. I gave you my private contact; just call me then." Ren nudged her toward the door, practically shoving her out.
Vera watched the dynamic between the doctor and patient—two people who had supposedly only met three days ago but acted like old acquaintances. "You two... seem to have hit it off quickly," she murmured.
"Ah, that... she'll be sending the invoice directly to me. You don't need to worry about the medical bills," Ren said, pivoting to finances. It was a factual statement, but one that neatly dodged the question of their familiarity.
"What? But we're in your debt, Ren. We were the ones who called her," Vera protested.
Ren looked at her, his gaze steady and convincing. "Your debt was cleared the moment I walked out of that tower without leaving a trace. My medical costs are my business as the patient."
Besides, Ren thought logically, that mad doctor would charge a fortune. The Cube's finances were still unstable; Santino's coffers would resolve the issue much faster.
"You also handled Plan B cleanly," Ren added.
"Plan B? We didn't go through with it," Vera explained. "Or rather, just as we were about to hit 'deploy' on the anonymous leak, your earpiece signal came back. I rushed to help you and set the plan aside."
She paused, then added, "By the way, one of the Baron's employees was called in as a witness. Apparently, she was the one who reported the incident to the police."
Ren fell silent. The timing was chilling. If he had been a minute later exiting the building, or if that employee had arrived a minute earlier, he would have been caught red-handed.
The name Clarissa flickered in his mind. He would have to confirm her involvement later.
Meanwhile, Isaac was so absorbed in monitoring the police investigation that he hadn't even realized Lulubel had left. His massive screens displayed a chaotic symphony of scrolling binary, city CCTV feeds, and the crackle of intercepted radio frequencies.
Vera's gaze drifted from the monitors back to Ren, who was awkwardly navigating his porridge. "I thought a rich man like you would turn your nose up at this, but you don't seem to mind our food."
Ren looked up slowly. "I have always valued food," he said shortly. He had no intention of recounting his bitter past—the neglected orphanage that led to the exploitation of the slave barracks. Back then, a single mouthful was a luxury worth fighting for.
"Ren, I have an update," Isaac cut through the awkward silence. "The police have been moving fast these last three days. It's a special task force led personally by Inspector Laevatein. It looks like they've found a lead. This morning, they've summoned a witness from... 'Santino'."
Ren's spoon stopped inches from his mouth. The throbbing pain in his shoulder and ribs suddenly felt like a small price to pay. He fought back a triumphant smile. Instead of panic, a calm satisfaction settled over him.
"Digital experts truly are terrifying, aren't they?" Ren said quietly. "It seems I have much to learn from you two."
Vera and Isaac exchanged a confused glance, wondering what he meant by such an odd remark. Ren simply went back to his porridge.
The confusion in the room grew heavy. Isaac, always the most sensitive to external threats, approached him.
"Ren," Isaac began, his voice low and tense. "We were just discussing how Santino is the only link left to the Eye Tower. The police calling them in means we are on the edge of a precipice. Why do you look so... satisfied?"
Ren swallowed his last bite, his movements still stiff. He looked at Isaac, his eyes—now masked again by orange lenses—radiating a deceptive tranquility.
"Santino is a foolish pawn if he faces Inspector Laevatein directly," Ren said flatly. "That is why I played my Bishop. I gave specific orders to Erebos, who is a master of deception and negotiation. But let Santino tremble behind the scenes; that is precisely our way out."
Vera stepped up beside Isaac, crossing her arms. "I'm sorry, Ren. You need to explain. A Bishop? You and Santino? I don't understand."
Ren realized he had told them he was 'invited by Baron Frey,' but he had never explicitly stated his ties to the Santino family. "Ah. It seems I missed a vital piece of the introduction."
"I went to the Eye Tower as a proxy for the Santino head who was invited," Ren explained with cold calculation. "I knew the invitation was a trap, which is why I forbade him from going. My goal was merely to sever a partnership that was draining the Santino coffers. The coup was an unplanned variable."
Isaac and Vera stood stunned. Every question they had seemed to die in their throats. Vera could only blink in disbelief.
"I intended to kill Frey at the God Hands Gallery, but I held back because of that damn digital failure. Then I met you, Vera. The chaos at the gallery provoked Frey, who was already having issues with Santino. After that, the banquet invitation arrived at our doorstep. That, in short, is the story."
By using the word 'our,' Ren made his position clear. He was part of the Santino Mafia—a name that had carried weight in the underworld for a long time.
Ren set down his spoon. His bowl was empty. He took a glass of water and drank it slowly.
"That explains it," Vera finally managed to say. "That's how you were able to give me a safe point in the Noble Council parking lot."
It was true, but only partially. "Something like that," Ren replied vaguely. He wouldn't tell them he had used his status as the Prime Minister's nephew for that; it had nothing to do with Santino.
"And what will this 'Bishop' of yours do?" Isaac asked, tapping the table for emphasis. "Are you sure handing this over to him is the right move? What if he betrays you or draws more suspicion?"
Ren stood up, staring directly into the eyes of the taller man. Despite his injuries, his gaze was dominant and immovable. "Erebos will not betray me."
The answer was absolute, leaving no room for Isaac's doubts. Sensing the unnecessary friction, Vera stepped between them. Ren moved to the sink to wash his bowl.
Vera kept a hand on Isaac's arm. "Alright, that's enough. Isaac, we saw Ren's tactical brilliance at the gallery. For someone in his mid-twenties, he must have undergone intense training, both mentally and physically. He has a plan."
Ren turned slowly, looking at Vera with an emotionless expression. He saw her assumption as a data error that needed immediate correction.
"One correction, Vera," Ren said flatly, stepping closer. It was a statement of fact, non-negotiable.
"What do you mean?"
"I am not in my mid-twenties." Ren let the silence hang in the narrow, reinforced air of the bunker.
"I am nineteen years old."