027

The ballroom had become a scene of carnage.

Gold and marble once gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, but now everything was slick with blood and chaos.

The bodies of masked nobles and guards were strewn across the dance floor, painted over with streaks of red and splashes of spilled wine.

Broken violins and shattered glass littered the floor, adding a sharp bite to the air already thick with metallic tang and perfume.

Chuuya stood in the middle of it all, his crimson dress torn at the slit, heels kicked aside, his hair damp from sweat and blood.

With one final roundhouse kick, he sent the last conscious enemy guard flying into the ornate wall, cracking the plaster.

Then, he exhaled, lowering his foot onto one of the unconscious women in white lying.

“There,” he muttered dryly, brushing a smear of blood off his cheek.

He pointed lazily toward the unconscious bodies. “That’s all of ‘em. Every woman in white like you said.”

You stepped through the double doors then, the hem of your coat catching the wind as if it, too, were amused by the bloodstained massacre.

The smile on your face was faint and unreadable as you surveyed the pile.

But then… your gaze sharpened.

You tilted your head slightly.

Your smile fell.

She wasn’t there.

Akari wasn’t among them.

Your half sister, the girl with the voice of a doll and the smile of a snake, wasn’t here.

Your eyes darkened, the elegant charm draining from your posture like color from a dead body.

“Kill them all.”

Chuuya blinked, the command taking him off guard.

“The one I want isn’t here.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Huh— wait, seriously? All of them?”

You didn’t clarify. You didn’t have to.

You were already gone, a flicker of black and silence as you disappeared from the room with a breath of chilled air.

No warning, no explanation. Just that order left behind.

Chuuya sighed, hand dragging down his face.

“Great. Of course. He's just as cryptic as the damn bastard.” He muttered, eyeing the writhing pile of wounded with reluctant distaste.

“Tch. Like mentor, like mentee, huh?”

He glanced toward the exits, still barricaded. No one had left. Except you.

"Hah...! Ha—!" The sound of rushed pants came from a young woman outside the estate.

Akari’s heels clicked in a panicked rhythm as she ran through the hedge maze outside the estate, silk gown dragging through dew wet grass, hair tangled, cheeks flushed.

“What the hell happened in there…?” she gasped, looking back only once.

“It was a massacre… how did they even get in?!”

She gripped her clutch tighter, reaching for the communicator inside.

Her hand trembled as she lifted it halfway to her ear.

But then—

A shadow moved in the trees.

“Wha—?”

Fwip—! Tap.

A swift, precise chop to the side of her neck.

Her eyes rolled back before she could make a sound.

But before her body hit the dirt—

Arms caught her.

Gently.

Cradling her like something precious.

“Caught you,” you whispered against her ear, a breath against skin, like a secret shared between siblings.

Your tone was almost tender.

Almost.

But your smile, curled at the edges, eyes soft but dead, was the only thing colder than the night air.

You looked down at her unconscious face, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

For a brief second, your expression turned distant.

She looked so peaceful like this.

Just like back then, when she used to pretend.

You stood with her slumped over your shoulder, one arm wrapped under her knees like a groom carrying a bride.

Then, with the ease of blinking—

You teleported.

Back in the Ballroom, Chuuya sat on a pile of corpses like a bored, bloodstained prince...or princess.

His dress was stained and ripped beyond repair, one stocking torn at the knee.

He was nursing a half drunk glass of stolen wine and twirling a dagger idly in his other hand when he felt the air shift behind him.

You returned.

“I found her!” you declared brightly, voice cutting through the silence like a bell.

Chuuya blinked, his wine sloshing.

He turned to see you beaming, a clearly unconscious woman slung over your shoulder like a sack of flour.

Your posture was casual, but your eyes gleamed with something that made his skin itch.

Chuuya narrowed his gaze. “Is she a threat?”

You looked at Akari’s face, cradled against your shoulder.

Your fingers brushed along her jaw. Then you chuckled. A soft, amused sound.

“Not at all,” you said sweetly. “I simply want her to suffer.”

Your expression was angelic.

Your voice was sugar.

Your intent was pure malice.

Chuuya stared for a beat, a slow sweatdrop forming behind his temple.

“You’re seriously vague in the creepiest way.”

You just smiled.

He sighed again.

Then, you extended your hand toward him, palm up, elegant, still stained with blood at the knuckles.

“Well then… shall we return home?”

That word "home" hung heavy for a second.

He hesitated only briefly.

Home.

The Port Mafia was his now. Not Sheep. Not the life before this one. Not the kids he couldn’t protect. Not the streets or scraps or alley brawls.

This.

This twisted chaos.

This bloody ballroom.

This psychopath of a superior.

Chuuya took your hand.

It was warm.

You smiled again. Not the charming kind. Not the mask.

And with that, you teleported the three of you, Akari limp in your arms, Chuuya standing beside you, away from the crumbling ball, the inferno, and the hollow music of dying violins.

Back to where you belonged.

Home.