Reiko began pacing around the room, trying to calm her anxiety, but she couldn't.
Eventually, she found herself standing in front of one of the mirrors and slowly approached it.
Reiko stood in front of the mirror in her room, staring at her reflection with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.
Her hands—usually precise and steady when balancing the brothel's accounts or organizing supply inventories—were trembling in a way that was beginning to irritate her deeply.
It wasn't physical fear. It was the outward manifestation of a mind that couldn't find a pause button.
The silence of the room, far from calming her, seemed to amplify the buzzing of her own thoughts.
She had to go down.
It wasn't a matter of desire—if it were up to her, she would have locked herself in and ignored the outside world until the last guest left Marquise Dahlia's mansion.
But uncertainty was a parasite that fed on her sanity.
She knew perfectly well that if she didn't find Mara, if she didn't activate her ability to check the current state of her skills, she wouldn't sleep at all that night.
She needed to know whether that skill list had mutated during her absence—or if, by some miracle, it had all been nothing more than her imagination.
Just a quick scan, she repeated mentally, mechanically adjusting the folds of her dress. I go into the hall, locate her in the crowd, confirm everything's the same, and come back. Five minutes of exposure to madness in exchange for a peaceful night. Fair trade.
And yet, the idea of crossing the threshold of her room made her hesitate at every step.
By now, the Marquise's party must have transformed into that boiling mass of bodies and excess that Reiko so deeply despised.
Reiko wasn't like the other employees of the Velvet Veil.
Although she shared the same roof as Mara and the others, her role was drastically different—a dividing line she herself made sure to keep clearly drawn.
Alice, with that quiet wisdom that was sometimes unsettling, had entrusted her with tasks that required order, logic, and a coldness the others lacked: accounting, food organization, supply management, ensuring the business's gears never stopped for lack of foresight.
She was the structure, the skeleton holding the place together—not the spectacle displayed on stage.
Her job wasn't to serve clients; that was Mara's and Beckie's role, along with the other employee who had left recently.
Reiko felt a stab of bitterness when she remembered that third girl, but she shook her head sharply.
She didn't want to think about her—not now, when she already had enough with the enigma of the orange-haired girl who seemed to have broken every law of logic in this world.
After putting on her shoes, Reiko let out a sigh that seemed to empty her lungs completely.
She felt heavy, as if the mansion's air were charged with static electricity that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Don't think about what they're doing down there. Don't visualize it. Just think about the data. You're an analyst, Reiko. Act like one, she ordered herself, walking toward the door with a step that tried to be firm but felt strangely fragile.
Just as her hand wrapped around the cold metal knob, ready to face the roar of the orgy and the sensory assault waiting beyond the door, a soft, rhythmic sound stopped her cold.
It was small, almost insignificant compared to the dull throb of music rising from below.
Knock, knock.
Timid knocks, lacking the confidence one would expect on a night of debauchery.
Reiko frowned, confused. At this hour, anyone with a pulse and a desire for fun should be downstairs, losing themselves in the main hall under Dahlia's approving gaze.
"Reiko? Are you there?"
It was Bell's voice.
But not her usual tone—normally carrying youthful energy or her race's natural playfulness.
This time, Bell sounded subdued, a little timid, lacking spirit, as if dragging an invisible weight that kept her from projecting her voice normally.
Reiko opened the door with a mix of surprise and guilty relief.
The interruption was the perfect excuse to delay her own suicidal mission toward the hall.
Bell stood there in the dim corridor, shoulders slightly slumped, her expression betraying that she'd rather be anywhere else—even the darkest, dullest corner of the city.
"Hi, Bell," Reiko said, softening her expression without realizing it. The rigidity in her shoulders eased a little at the sight of a familiar face not seeking pleasure.
"Hi…" Bell replied, forcing a smile that faded almost instantly, leaving behind a grimace of spiritual exhaustion