“ No kidding, huh?” Bobby whistled, exhaling a deliberate, long drag of smoke. “Can’t believe some was really out there tampering with the race that… severely.”

  “Yup,” Vix replied flatly, his voice dry enough to sand wood. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  He walked slightly hunched, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, every inch of him screaming

  “Crazy,” Bobby went on, eyes wide with fake shock. “And to think someone actually wanted to that kid. Good thing you were there, right?”

  He jabbed a finger into Vix’s side.

  Vix’s eye twitched.

  “Yeah,” he muttered instead. “I’m guessing the Majestry sent me there because of a vision. And honestly? I’m glad he did. I imagine the Captain would’ve had my head if I’d let anything happen to his younger sister.”

  Bobby froze mid-drag. “What? A student at Kormadyne is Captain Staffire’s ”

  “Gkk—!” Vix bit his tongue.

  He turned his head away, forcing his tone as flat as possible. “I’m messing with you.”

  “Oh. Bobby said, nodding slowly.

  Vix let out a long, quiet sigh of relief—

  “Yeah. Makes sense,” Bobby continued casually. “You had to be messing with me, since—oh, I don’t know—YOU WHEN I’M TAKING YOU TO A ”

  Vix flinched at the outburst. “It’s… Who cares? I thought it’s a club not a slack off convention.”

  “Who cares my ass!” Bobby threw his arms up. “You look like you’re about to the bartender! You even have the damned gloves on!”

  Vix sighed. He sneaked a sidelong glance at Bobby. He’d only ever seen him in uniform—never like

  A loose black T-shirt draped over his shoulders, collar stretched enough for one side to slip down and reveal a white, thin-strapped tank top underneath—definitely thinner than Vix preferred to see. His joggers hung comfortably, maybe comfortably. His purple hair was pinned up with a single bobby pin, the rest tied into a short ponytail that bobbed with every step.

  And then there was his face.

  “You know,” Vix said coolly, “you could use some professionalism in your day-to-day life.”

  Bobby blinked, then frowned. “The hell’s supposed to mean?!”

  “I’m saying your face is… messed up.”

  “Messed up?!” Bobby barked. “What—are you talking about my ”

  “Yes.”

  “Dude! It’s just three pairs on my ears and one lip ring—right here, see?” He tugged on the small loop on the right side of his lip. “Doesn’t even hurt! Now piercings? Those are weird. Nope. Wouldn’t go near one with a six-foot pole. That shit’s fruity as hell. No world exists where I’d do that.”

  “Uh huh,” Vix muttered, fighting the twitch in his left eye.

  He could the migraine forming.

  Finally, they arrived at a lone building near the end of the block. It stood two stories high, lights dim and tinted violet through the rain-slick glass. A single bouncer waited at the door—though, strangely, there was no line.

  “I got this,” Bobby said, rolling his shoulders.

  “Got what?” Vix asked flatly, already suspicious.

  Bobby strolled up to the bouncer with unearned confidence and slapped the man squarely on the back. To Vix’s shock, the mountain of muscle without a word, granting them full access to the door.

  Bobby turned, hand on the handle, and grinned. “See? Easy. Let’s go.”

  Vix shuddered. Still, he followed—reluctantly—with another long, pained sigh.

  Inside, a narrow hallway stretched ahead, the air vibrating faintly with muffled music. The bass thumped through the walls—soft, dampened, nothing like the deafening chaos Vix had braced himself for.

  “So,” Bobby started as they walked side by side, “you ready for some tits in your face?”

  “Stop,” Vix said immediately.

  “Dude! I’m serious! Just trust me. Walk in there, point at some woman, and next thing you know her face is gonna be at crotch height and—”

  “I’m into that kind of stuff!” Vix snapped, cheeks warming in irritation.

  “Okay, okay, jeez!” Bobby threw up his hands. “At least drink something! I hope you’re a happy drunk. I’m a happy drunk. I get happy when I’m drunk. But you? You don’t look like a happy drunk. You look like a Or maybe a giggly drunk? Yeah, you’re a giggly—”

  “Bobby, Shut .”

  Vix’s voice cracked slightly as he tried to shield what was left of his sanity.

  Bobby only chuckled, utterly unfazed, and grabbed the next door handle.

  They stepped through—and the music hit like a shockwave.

  The bass thumped through Vix’s bones. Lights strobed in violet, pink, and gold. The air smelled of perfume, alcohol, and mana incense.

  Four platforms with polished silver poles stood scattered around the main floor—currently empty.

  Vix froze, face immediately flushing red.

  Then—

  Bobby’s arm wrapped tight around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

  “Don’t worry,” Bobby said with a grin. “Some of the will be giving those poles the attention they deserve in about… two hours.” He checked his watch. “Yup. Two hours exactly. Then? You can throw a few hard-earned vacation days at one of them.”

  “Dude! I said I’m ”

  “Whatever, man.” Bobby waved him off. “You’ll change your mind once you see them. Until then—SHOTS!”

  He started chanting it, dragging Vix to the bar.

  “Ohhhh bartenderrrr!” Bobby sang, still holding Vix in a one-armed headlock.

  Vix sank onto a stool, stiff and trembling like a shy boy meeting the concept of nightlife for the first time. His hands were clutched tightly between his thighs, as if he could physically hold onto his composure.

  A bartender appeared and slid a glass across the counter. Bobby grabbed it and downed it in

  Vix blinked. He could’ve sworn he’d just blinked once.

  “Ahhh,” Bobby sighed, slamming the glass down. “That the spot.”

  The bartender silently refilled it before Bobby could even lower his arm.

  “You’re insane…” Vix muttered, staring into the polished counter.

  “And missing out!” Bobby shot back instantly. “Come on! Let’s go find a chick to take to the dance floor!”

  “No thanks.” Vix turned away before Bobby could drag him anywhere.

  Bobby just rolled his eyes and pivoted smoothly toward the girl on his left. Within seconds, a burst of giggles erupted beside him—light, airy, and painfully loud.

  Vix sighed through his nose and shut his eyes. The laughter, the music, the perfume—it all blended into a thick fog he wanted nothing more than to sink beneath and disappear from.

  Then a gravelly voice cut through it.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  Vix blinked, opening his eyes. The bartender—massive arms, shaved head, and a face carved from brick—was staring down at him from across the bar.

  “Oh… er… um… nothing. Please. Thank you.”

  The man’s expression soured instantly. He gave Vix a look that hovered somewhere between and , then turned and walked off without another word.

  Vix slumped in his seat, exhaling quietly. “...Perfect. Even the bartender hates me.”

  “What? ”

  Bobby nearly doubled over laughing, pointing right at Vix. The girl beside him joined in, giggling uncontrollably.

  “Isn’t he hilarious? My guy! Oh yeah!” Bobby shouted, clinking his glass against hers before downing another full drink. He turned back to the girl, instantly resuming his smooth chatter.

  Now Vix had the same dead-eyed, disgusted look the bartender had given him earlier—directed squarely at Bobby.

  “Hey—” A new voice cut through from behind him.

  He turned.

  Three women stood there.

  They were dressed in confident smiles, sleek fabric, and The neon lights painted them in violet and blue, and the scent of their perfume hit him like a spell. His eyes betrayed him for a split second before he forced himself to look away, blushing furiously.

  “Oh, er… hi?” he managed, more question than greeting.

  “Um… hey…” the one in the middle said sweetly. “Me and my friends thought you were really cute… and we were wondering—”

  “—if you’d like to dance with one of us?” another finished, flashing a grin. The three of them giggled, their gazes locked on him.

  “Oh… uh… haha… uh… sorry. I can’t. I just—uh—ordered my drink…”

  “Awww! Just drink it ” the third girl whined, bouncing lightly on her heels. The movement was… deliberate. Rhythmic. Designed to make any sensible man fold.

  Vix wasn’t sensible.

  “S-sorry… I—”

  “ What?! Nah, you ladies don’t wanna dance with this ” Bobby interrupted, voice loud and a little slurred.

  The three women turned toward him, expressions instantly souring.

  “Ohhh, whoa. You ladies are

  Wanna dance?”

  “Ew, ” they all said in unison, followed by a chorus of complaints—each valid, each true.

  Vix hid a smirk behind his hand. For a fleeting, perfect moment, it looked like Bobby wouldn’t get his way.

  That illusion shattered the instant Bobby stood up.

  “Come on, you’re only saying that ‘cause you’ve never danced with a man who Don’t tell me you came here looking to someone…” He smirked. “Wouldn’t you rather ”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Before they could react, he stepped right into their space—one arm around the waist of two on his left, another sliding around the shoulders of the one on his right.

  “Hey! What about me?!” called the giggling girl from the bar stool behind him.

  “Baby, there’s two on my left, and my right can clearly hold one more.” Bobby gestured with a lazy thumb toward Vix. “And that spot’s got your name on it. Not his.”

  Vix’s expression darkened—his eyes glowing with the quiet, cold fury of a man reconsidering every life choice that led him here.

  The girl squealed with delight, hopping off the stool and joining Bobby’s little entourage as he led all women toward the dance floor.

  “That man’s incorrigible,” Vix muttered under his breath, watching the chaos unfold. “How does that little shit drag me into a two-man, then abandon his ”

  He groaned, bending over the bar table. His forehead nearly touched the polished wood as he stared into it—like it might offer some cosmic escape, or at least a distraction better than this.

  The music shifted again—something even louder, faster, more electric. It pounded in his skull, crawling down his spine. Every bass hit felt like a violation of his peace, a reminder that this place was

  He’d made up his mind.

  He didn’t care if it meant disobeying a direct order from the Grand Majestry himself—this was too much. Wrong. Unfair. And above all, utterly unbearable.

  He opened his eyes, ready to stand up and leave.

  “Hey… what would you like to drink?”

  The voice stopped him.

  He lifted his head slowly, already forming another polite rejection—then froze.

  Across the bar stood a woman.

  She blinked at him—wide-eyed, gentle, and impossibly out of place. She wore a cream-colored dress with soft, frilled edges, cinched neatly by a white apron that hugged her modest frame. Her sleeves puffed slightly, ending just past her elbows. Her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, silky and unstyled, catching the faint shimmer of the club lights.

  Her skin carried a warm, natural tone—sun-kissed, unpainted. And her eyes… her eyes were vast, deep,

  like two endless pools that reflected everything and nothing at once. Her eyebrows, full and unshaped, moved with the kind of expression only sincerity could sculpt.

  For some reason he felt like he could trust this.

  “Uh…” Vix managed after several seconds of silent awe. “Nothing.”

  She blinked again, then smiled—softly, knowingly. Tilting her head to the side, one brow dipped in playful suspicion.

  “Riiight. Are you sure you don’t want at all? It’d look weird sitting there with nothing to… sip.” She said grabbing a wet wine glass and a rag and started to dry it while smiling at Vix the entire time.

  “I—I’m fine… really. I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Oh… I get it. You’re one of those who gets forced into two-mans, and now your buddy ditched you, so you refuse to drink anything, huh?”

  “Actually, that’s… precisely my case.”

  She leaned closer—close enough that he instinctively pulled back a little. But even through the thrum of bass and chatter, her whisper reached him, crisp and unmissable.

  “Well, I’m saying it doesn’t

  to be.”

  She winked, then disappeared into the back of the bar, leaving him staring at the door like it had swallowed a ghost.

  Moments later, she returned carrying a small cup filled with white liquid and set it down in front of him.

  “Here. At least have this.”

  “Wh-what is it?” he asked warily.

  “It’s just milk! Relax!” she said, laughing as she grabbed another glass to polish.

  Vix hesitated, then took the cup carefully in both gloved hands and lifted it to his nose. He sniffed once. It really was just cold milk.

  “Hey…” she said again, softer this time. Sincerely. “I promise it’s nothing more than milk. Is that okay?”

  She was asking like she wanted permission—like even teasing him came with boundaries. And for reasons he didn’t understand, he trusted her.

  “I… I think this is fine.”

  “Hmm… wait a sec.” She held up a finger and vanished into the back again.

  He took the chance to sip. The milk was cold and clean, washing away the dryness in his throat. It almost made the noise around him fade to nothing.

  When she returned, she carried a small dropper filled with red liquid. Without explanation, she leaned in and squeezed a single drop into his cup.

  “There.”

  “ What was that?”

  “It’s just red food coloring!” she said, grinning. “You don’t wanna be one of who drinks plain milk in a club, do you?”

  “Do you seriously use

  to insult people?”

  She leaned in again, her breath brushing his ear. “Do you seriously get by shapes?”

  She pulled back with a smile, catching her lower lip gently between her teeth as she met his eyes.

  Vix blinked once, deadpan. Then nodded. “Alright… that’s fair.”

  She giggled again—soft, melodic. The sound drifted through the noise around them, somehow cutting cleaner than the music itself. Addictive. Soothing. She picked up another glass, polishing it with the same rhythm as her hum.

  “So… you come here often?” she asked, not even glancing his way. Her focus stayed on the glass, the motion calm and deliberate.

  “N-No…”

  “Wow,” she said lightly. “You actually answered.”

  “Huh?”

  “That was a rhetorical question.” She smirked. “Clearly, you don’t come here often. Or anywhere like this.”

  Her tone wasn’t mocking—it was warm, teasing.

  “R-right…” he muttered, blushing at his own awkwardness.

  She laughed again, shaking her head as if trying to stifle it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vix blinked. “What… why apologize?”

  “You just look like someone who really didn’t want to be here. But… you came anyway. I get that.”

  “You… you do?”

  “Yeah.” She finally looked at him—really looked. “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen here who took me a while to figure out.”

  “Oh…” Vix looked away, not sure whether that was a compliment or a gentle jab. His chest tightened all the same.

  Then her voice softened. “...Are you okay?”

  His head snapped back toward her.

  She wasn’t smiling anymore. Just watching him quietly. Not not Simply

  There was no judgment, no expectation or intentions. Just the quiet presence of someone who actually cared enough to notice.

  Her lips were still, but her brows tilted in a subtle line of concern. One hand held the glass she’d been polishing, the other clutching the rag tightly against her side.

  For a heartbeat, the music vanished. The lights dimmed to a distant hum. The dancers, the laughter, the bar chatter—all gone.

  It was just him and her.

  “Are you okay, dude?” she repeated, bringing him back to the present.

  “Huh? What? Yes! I’m okay.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion hiding behind her smile. Then she chuckled again and shook her head, returning to her work.

  Vix just stared for a moment, unable to shake the warmth pressing quietly against his ribs.

  “I’m sorry…”

  The words caught her completely off guard.

  He said them quietly—softly—but with a weight that didn’t belong in a place like this. It wasn’t the kind of “sorry” people threw out to end small talk. It was full. Regretful. Real.

  And strangely, she realized—it wasn’t for himself. It was for

  “Do you… also not want to be here?” Vix asked, voice barely above the hum of the bass.

  The question hit her like a glass slipping from her fingers. For a heartbeat, she forgot the music, the chatter, even the scent of alcohol that never left the air.

  She blinked, then slowly let her gaze wander to a far, empty corner of the club. Her lips parted slightly, then closed again as she gave a small, almost invisible shake of her head.

  He nodded, just as subtly. Like he understood. Like he’d known her answer before she’d given it. He didn’t even dare to pry further.

  When he lifted the cup and took a sip of the milk she’d brought him, she couldn’t help it—her smile bloomed. Bright. Genuine. Too bright. So she turned her face away, hiding it.

  “What’s… your name?” she asked, pretending to focus on the glass she was already polishing to a mirror’s shine. Her blush deepened when she realized she’d been scrubbing the same spot over and over again.

  “M-My name? Y-you seriously don’t know?” he stammered.

  Her hand froze.

  She turned around sharply, the glass still in her grip. Her brows furrowed, her expression shifting from confusion to something more pointed.

  “Are you some kind of higher-up?” she asked, her voice small but edged. “Some entitled man who expects everyone to know who he is?”

  Her tone wasn’t angry—but it stung. It carried something gentler. Something that sounded like hurt.

  “What?! N-no! Not at all! A-actually, I’m you don’t know! I—I was just shocked because—”

  “Because what?” she interrupted.

  He swallowed. “Because… people usually talk to me when they know who I am.”

  Her eyes softened, though she tried not to let him see.

  “I don’t know who you are,” she said, steady again. “And frankly… I don’t care.”

  “I—yes, ma’am.”

  That made her smile again, faint and hidden—she turned back around to work on another glass.”

  “Well… my name is—”

  “John. Your name is John.”

  He blinked. “What? No, it isn’t.”

  “Yes, it is, John.”

  Vix stared at her back, utterly confused—as if it might hold the answers to whatever strange language they were speaking.

  “…And my name is Alina,” she said at last, her voice softer now.

  Vix froze. It didn’t matter what that part meant anymore. Only how her voice sounded when she said her own name.

  It felt like an offering—something fragile and precious, wrapped in trust. Like a prayer cast into his hands instead of heaven’s. For a fleeting second, the air between them felt sacred.

  And Vix understood, instinctively, that he shouldn’t betray it.

  “…Alina…” he murmured. “Nice to meet you too.”

  She heard him, despite how quietly he said it.

  When she turned to face him—she put on a smile—a small mistake.

  Because once she put that smile on… she couldn’t take it off.

  His glass.

  It was empty.

  #

  “Can you not be a burden for one second?!” Vix shouted, catching Bobby before he hit the pavement.

  “Her breasts were so , mannn! Ahaha…” Bobby slurred, arms flailing like a dying bird.

  Vix grimaced. There were lipstick marks everywhere—different shades, shapes, and sizes scattered across Bobby’s face, neck, and even his shirt collar. Dozens of them.

  He was grateful for his gloves.

  The thought of carrying this human disaster without them made his skin crawl. He was already planning to have his entire uniform dry-cleaned the moment he got rid of him. And honestly? The longer he held Bobby up, the more tempting it became to just leave him on the curb and walk away.

  “Bobby,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “you’re lucky it’s not in my power to you for this.”

  “Hey! I didn’t give consent!” Bobby declared proudly, swaying in place.

  “It’s not about consent!!!” Vix barked, just in time to catch him again as he stumbled forward.

  An EMV pulled up beside them with a low hum. Without hesitation, Vix hauled Bobby’s half-limp body and

  him into the vehicle like he was unloading garbage.

  “Just—take this idiot somewhere I don’t have to see him,” Vix ordered.

  “Uh—yes, Commander!” the driver stammered. Two soldiers in the back scrambled to catch Bobby and help him sit upright as the door shut and the vehicle sped off.

  Vix stood there for a long moment, breathing out the kind of sigh that carried both relief and fatigue. The night air was still heavy with the smell of rain and city lights.

  He checked his communicator. 3:00 a.m.

  Dim and early, Saturday morning.

  For once, he didn’t feel cold.

  He didn’t understand it—but beneath all that exhaustion and disgust, something in him felt… warm. Seen.

  And it wasn’t because of the club.

  He looked around first—carefully, methodically. No pedestrians. No curious eyes from windows. The street was still.

  Then he leapt.

  One silent bound carried him high above the streetlights, his shirt rippling in the night wind. He landed soundlessly on a nearby rooftop, then another, and another—each jump measured and silent—until he reached a particular condominium tower. The 58th floor.

  The glass door slid open with a soft hiss. He’d told Rin to keep it unlocked at all times.

  He stepped inside.

  The place was temporary—lavish, sterile, every bit the kind of comfort Kai insisted he live in. But the moment Vix entered, that comfort felt wrong. Hollow.

  He sighed. He’d already forgotten how this place looked since moving in with Rin. It felt too big, too quiet.

  Still uneasy, he walked through the hall, every footstep measured. His eyes found the door at the end. Rin’s bedroom.

  His hand hovered over the handle, hesitated, then twisted.

  Locked.

  He exhaled, a small breath of relief, before pressing his ear against the wood.

  No movement. No sound. But he knew her—Rin was always a quiet sleeper.

  He stepped away and wandered to the kitchen. The lights from the skyline filtered through the glass walls, painting his gloves in cold blue.

  He filled a glass with water and held it, feeling the chill seep through the material. His thoughts drifted—flashes of the club, of Alina’s laugh, of the race, of the blue bullet that could have killed Chippy.

  He poured the water out into a nearby plant, almost on instinct. Then, after a pause, opened the fridge, took out the milk, and poured half a glass.

  He sat down at the kitchen island. For a moment, the world was still.

  Then he looked up—

  —and nearly yelped, his hand jerking as milk sloshed over the rim of the glass before he caught it.

  “Rin?!” he blurted.

  She stood on the other side of the island, hands at her sides, staring at him with sleepy confusion. Her white long-sleeve pajama top and matching pants were patterned with tiny teddy bears, soft and harmless against the dim light.

  She rubbed one eye.

  “…What are you doing?”

  “Uh… got thirsty…” he admitted, wiping the milk spill with a napkin.

  “…For milk?”

  “Yes.”

  “This late?”

  “Yes…”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Where were you?”

  He exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Asking a lot of questions I’m not ready to answer…”

  “You’re never ready,” Rin replied—soft, but sharp enough to cut through the silence.

  Her shoulders dropped, and she looked down at her feet, the tension in her small frame deflating.

  Vix clenched his jaw, watching her in silence before shaking his head.

  “Look… it’s really late. You should go back to bed.”

  “Is it really that necessary?” she asked quietly. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. It’s fine if I stay up… I’ll be home anyway.”

  His voice hardened, low and controlled but trembling with warning.

  “Rin, this really isn’t the best time to disobey me.”

  Rin sighed, trying to hide the tiny flinch that rippled through her shoulders.

  “…Will you be home… tomorrow?” she asked, her voice fragile—like she wasn’t sure she was even allowed to speak. Half of that was true.

  “Probably not…”

  She didn’t react. Just nodded.

  Vix stared at her, guilt gnawing at the edges of his composure. He knew exactly how bad this was going.

  “Rin… look. I’m sorry. Things are just really busy right now. With Yaxon gone and new developments every single day… I never really know when I’ll be free.”

  Then, quieter—almost a whisper. “For you.”

  “It’s okay… I guess.”

  He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s a lie.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No. I expected that,” he said, staring into his cup of milk. The reflection was easier to face than her.

  Rin rubbed at her nose, sniffled, and then sneezed anyway.

  “Bless you,” Vix said automatically.

  “Thank you.”

  Her eyes lifted to meet his. His expression was flat, tired—emotionless on the surface, but heavy underneath. Rin saw it for what it was. Not anger. Not indifference. Just… distance. The kind that stung more than shouting ever could.

  She didn’t care.

  Her brows furrowed, defiance hardening in her gaze.

  “Can I just stay in Kormadyne?” she asked suddenly. Bold. Too bold.

  “What? No,” Vix snapped, the word slicing the air between them.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I said so.”

  Rin squinted, her tone shifting from wounded to furious.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Get to bed. Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

  Rin didn’t move.

  Vix clicked his tongue, frustration seeping into every syllable. He stood abruptly and crossed the space between them in a few quick strides. His gloved hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

  She winced.

  “W-Wait—”

  “Enough.”

  He dragged her toward her room, her free hand swatting weakly at his arm. The sound of her bare feet shuffled against the floor until he shoved her gently but firmly onto the bed.

  “Goodnight, Rin,” he said—cold, clipped, and final.

  Rin clutched her sheets, trembling. Her lips quivered as tears began to burn at the corners of her eyes.

  “I hate you.”

  “Yeah?” His voice was icy. “Try being promoted from a to a in a single night.”

  He didn’t look back. He simply turned, walked out, and closed the door behind him with a solid

  In the kitchen, the apartment was silent.

  He stared at the half-full glass of milk on the counter—the one he’d never touched—and poured it slowly into the sink. The faint splash was the only sound in the room.

  Then he peeled off his black gloves, finger by finger, and tucking them into his pant pockets. His hands looked pale without them.

  He descended the stairs toward his own room, each step softer than the last.

  Only when Rin could no longer hear him—when his footsteps had completely faded into the dark—did she bury her face into her pillow.

  And cried.

  Quietly.