"Master, if you please," a quiet voice called from the shadows.
Jiro, halfway up the staircase to his chambers, stopped.
"Do you have news, Kaimi?"
"I've found him."
"Come."
"Yes, Master."
The bedroom lay in half-darkness, the fireplace casting a restless amber glow across the walls. A servant finished arranging the evening candles, bowed deeply, and slipped out without a sound. Jiro crossed to his desk, lowered himself into the chair, and turned toward the search mage, who stood before him with lowered eyes.
"Well?"
"The prince is indeed in another world, as you suspected. Reaching him directly is difficult. With the assistance of the air mage at your stimulant factory, I located an existing portal and managed to send an observer through. But that won't be enough."
"What do you propose?"
"You require a portal mage — rare and expensive. Alternatively, transfer the boy from the factory to my supervision. I will restore his strength. Then we can use the existing portal without restriction."
"Where is it?"
"On the outskirts of a village, roughly twenty kilometers from here."
"Not close."
"No. But it is our only option."
"Very well. I'll see about acquiring a portal slave. You focus on the boy. If he has enough strength to reopen even an existing portal, he may yet prove useful. How did he end up at the factory?"
"I don't know. By all accounts, he shouldn't be there."
"You're dismissed. Send in the advisor."
"Yes, Master."
Kaimi bowed and withdrew as silently as he had entered.
"How did you end up so far from home?" Jiro murmured. "I don't have time for delays. Time is running out."
Klaus sat in the crowded stadium, pretending to be absorbed by tall, lean men volleying a ball over a net.
Alexander sat to his left, enthusiastically narrating the match, explaining rules, naming players, admiring serves.
"You're serious? You've never seen volleyball?" he asked in disbelief. "What planet are you from? Actually, I still don't know that. Where are you really from?"
"A small country," Klaus replied lightly. "We're somewhat removed from modern civilization."
Alexander's expression made it clear the conversation was merely postponed.
Tanya wasn't watching the match either. Nor was she pleased that her father had placed himself between her and the attractive young man. She kept casting irritated glances at him and spent most of the time texting, barely looking at the court.
The casual touches.
The relentless chatter.
The double meanings Alexander wove into nearly every sentence while they sat shoulder to shoulder on hard plastic seats.
Klaus counted the seconds until he could stand and put distance between himself and those wandering hands.
When the match ended, Alexander suggested dinner. Tanya agreed at once.
Klaus agreed as well. Klara had been paid. He was obligated to entertain the client.
He lowered his professional mask slightly — but not completely. He answered Tanya's barrage of questions politely, though with visible restraint.
"Where did you meet my father? Why this line of work? Are you really from a broken home? All of Dad's previous assistants looked like sitcom nerds — you're the first attractive one. Do you have a girlfriend? What do you do on weekends?"
Even Alexander couldn't stem the flood. He clearly disliked his daughter's growing interest in Klaus, yet endured it — occasionally compensating himself with a hand that drifted beneath the table.
"Alexander Viktorovich, thank you for such an interesting evening. Tatyana, it was a pleasure meeting you," Klaus said with his usual polished smile, and the girl's cheeks flushed immediately.
Before they had arrived at the stadium, Klara had reminded him: in public, he was to address the client respectfully, as his assistant and protégé.
"It was nice meeting you too," Tanya smiled. "Dad has a tradition — he invites his assistants to dinner once a week. How about Wednesday? Dad?"
For a split second, irritation flickered across Alexander's face before he smoothed it away.
"Of course. I was just about to suggest it."
Klaus opened his mouth to decline, intending to mention exam preparations.
"Klaus," Alexander said quietly, holding his gaze, "I won't accept a refusal."
"I'd be delighted to join you," Klaus replied smoothly — and felt as though a door had just locked behind him.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
He didn't want the metro and didn't bother calling a taxi. The fair near the stadium was closing — there would be drivers waiting.
Before entering the stadium earlier that evening, Klaus had discreetly hidden his new tranquilizer pistol in what he'd believed was a reliable bush. He refused to go out unarmed, and knives would have been impossible to conceal.
Now, near the exit, he remembered it, cursed under his breath, and turned back.
What had seemed like a perfect hiding place became a problem. Dozens of identical bushes lined the stone path. Finding a small black pistol among them wasn't easy.
Under the puzzled looks of a few lingering pedestrians, Klaus removed his cap and checked each bush, using his phone's flashlight.
Finally — a dark shape among the thorny branches.
A pointed cough sounded behind him.
"Young man. The area is closed."
Klaus hooked his fingers around the pistol but didn't pull it free.
"Sorry," he said without standing. "Dropped something valuable. Just a minute."
The guard rested a hand on his baton.
"Not allowed."
"All right. I'm leaving."
In one smooth motion, Klaus pocketed the pistol, stood, and slid both hands into his pockets — giving the guard no reason to escalate.
He headed toward the parking lot.
Then he saw it.
A dark figure bent over a car door. Something lay near the rear wheels.
Something moving.
Klaus stopped.
Something's wrong.
He moved closer, silent.
A sudden shriek tore through the air.
A large bird slammed into him, claws ripping at his shoulder. Klaus tore it away, crushing its wings — but it was too late.
The man turned, gripping a crowbar, positioning himself protectively in front of the bundle on the ground.
Klaus stepped forward.
The man's eyes were glassy. His breathing uneven.
Possessed.
Klaus shoved a hand into his pocket and advanced.
A glimpse past the thief.
Blond hair.
Bound wrists and ankles.
Tape over the mouth.
Clear eyes — frightened, but relieved.
"Egor?! What are you doing here?" Klaus shouted.
Only muffled sounds answered.
"Don't come closer!" the man hissed. "I'll kill you!"
"You tied up my friend and you're stealing a car. You think I'm walking away?"
"I'll kill you!"
Without hesitation, Klaus drew the small Volt and fired, hitting the man in the shoulder. He nearly fired again, then remembered the dosage warning.
The man staggered and collapsed before he could pull the dart out.
Klaus ran to Egor and ripped the tape off in one sharp motion.
"Damn! That hurt!"
"What were you doing here?"
"Maybe untie me first?"
No sharp objects nearby.
Only the dropped iron rod.
Klaus pulled out a lighter.
"Are you insane? Planning to roast me alive?"
"Stay still."
Footsteps approached.
No time.
The flame flickered in the wind. The rope barely melted.
"Damn it."
Klaus hoisted Egor over his shoulder and ran.
Sirens.
Police.
Open space. Nowhere to hide.
"Klaus, maybe we shouldn't run. Let's explain."
"You think they'll believe us?"
"Eventually! We live together—"
"And the tranquilized possessed man? I'm already in trouble. I don't surrender while there's a chance."
Two patrol cars blocked the road.
Klaus gathered the last of his strength and sprinted toward the buildings ahead. Carrying a full-grown man was harder than he remembered. Years without proper training had taken their toll.
They ran.
Across honking traffic.
Into a dark archway.
Broken asphalt nearly sent them sprawling, but Klaus adjusted his grip.
Another archway.
A flickering lamp.
Darkness.
They hid behind a small utility building and waited, breathing hard.
The voices faded.
Luck?
Bad lighting?
Lazy police?
Egor would call it luck.
Klaus never would.
Later, dirty and exhausted in the kitchen, recounting everything to Pauoka, Egor asked:
"What will happen to that man?"
"He's possessed," she replied. "When he regains consciousness, he'll resume the search."
"And if he's arrested?"
"Let's hope not. Stay alert. And always carry this."
She handed him the pearly-white orb.
While Klaus showered, Egor rubbed the bruises on his wrists and thanked fate that Klaus had been there.
He had followed him earlier. Lost sight of him after Klaus entered the stadium with a man and a teenage girl.
He waited.
That was when the short, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man approached.
"Could I borrow your phone? I lost my friend. Mine's dead."
Egor believed him.
They stepped aside.
A sudden grip.
Something sharp pressed to his back.
"Not a sound. I'll run you through."
Egor offered his wallet.
"Capture him alive!" the man hissed frantically. "Bring him. Capture him alive!"
Possessed.
Then darkness.
He woke bound near another car.
And once again—
Klaus saved him.
Even after Egor had sworn not to cause trouble again.
In the dark courtyard, breathless and exhausted, Klaus remained composed. He found a protruding piece of metal near a service door and sawed through the ropes.
He led them home.
And Egor followed him like a duckling trailing after its mother.