Chapter 39

“Uh... w-wouldn’t that be a little dangerous?”

Soft, lilting piano music drifted through the air, entirely at odds with the nature of their conversation.

This was hardly the sort of topic meant for an open dining room. When the Guildmaster received the dreadful news that he would be meeting the Dog Master in person today, he had naturally assumed the entire establishment would be under complete lockdown, with service handled exclusively by their own armed escorts.

Judging by the absence of other patrons, the venue was certainly under control. Yet the waitstaff appeared to be ordinary restaurant employees.

“Oh. This is no ordinary restaurant,” Dezeb remarked evenly.

“Then... it’s a front operation...?”

That made sense. Organizations of this caliber routinely maintained dummy businesses for any number of reasons. If the establishment belonged to the Dogs, there was no cause to worry about security leaks.

“It isn't ours.”

“I see...”

The Guildmaster of the Calor Guild resolved then and there to deal with this establishment the moment the meal concluded. If word ever leaked regarding the matters discussed today—especially their ties to the Federation—it would mean his absolute ruin. The Dogs might remain indifferent to such exposure, but he certainly could not afford to be so cavalier.

“Shall we wrap up our business, then?”

Despite his lingering dread, the negotiation concluded on an alarmingly smooth note. Disturbingly enough, the Dog Master was an easy, almost pleasant conversationalist.

As they prepared to depart, the same waitress returned carrying a heavy paper bag.

“Here is the takeout you requested, sir.”

The Dog Master accepted the bag without a word, its side stamped with a bright pink restaurant logo. It was clearly packed to capacity, yet he handled it with an effortless grace that only heightened the surreal atmosphere of the afternoon. The Guildmaster felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of awkwardness.

“Until next time, then.”

With the deal peacefully finalized, the two men stood in the lobby exchanging quiet parting courtesies. Just as the Guildmaster began to relax, believing the ordeal was finally over, a sudden disturbance caught his attention and made him flinch.

He turned instinctively toward the sound.

Several black vehicles were parked uncomfortably close to the building’s entrance, their trunks all propped wide open. Inside those dark recesses, heavy black body bags were being systematically loaded.

The Guildmaster’s personal guards immediately shifted to block his view. The Dog Master, by contrast, displayed no reaction whatsoever.

“If all goes according to plan, expect delivery by next month,” Dezeb said smoothly. “Should any updates or changes arise, feel free to reach out. I likely won't answer personally, but I shall ensure my people are briefed.”

“Y-yes... of course...” the Guildmaster replied, his voice dazed.

Honestly, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Yet the sight proved deeply unnerving. Body bags—easily exceeding six feet in length—were being wheeled out of the restaurant in a steady, silent procession.

Some were not even fully zipped shut.

In one of them lay the waitress from earlier. Her freshly applied crimson lipstick was now smeared across her pale face. A sharp chill trickled down the Guildmaster’s spine.

“We were hired to clean up this location,” Dezeb noted casually.

“I-I see...”

The Dog Master reached into his paper bag, pulled out a small slip of paper, and glanced at it. It bore what appeared to be the deceased woman’s personal phone number. Crumpling the note into a tight ball, he tossed it directly into the open bag atop her corpse.

“Until next time.”

With a casual flick of his hand, he turned and walked away. Watching his retreating figure, the Guildmaster offered a silent prayer that he would never cross paths with that man again.

No... why did I even have to meet him face-to-face over such a minor contract in the first place...?

As the Guildmaster stood shaken in the lobby, Dezeb’s Dogs—a squad of identical Transform models—were quietly loading the remaining remains while exchanging muted, bitter arguments.

《What does any of this have to do with Erabelle anyway?》 Virgo Hag sneered, mocking his counterpart over their shared link. 《If things were playing out the way you claimed, there should have been a rebound by now.》

《Believe whatever you want. Just stop making me repeat myself, damn it. Don’t seek my validation. What are you, brain-dead?》

《Touchy today, aren’t we?》

《Yeah, I’m damn touchy, so back off.》

The moment Dezeb’s car departed—and the Guildmaster miraculously managed to leave in one piece—the two Dogs dissolved into a full-blown argument.

Aries Cider yanked at his tight collar, letting loose a torrent of curses.

“You two had better shut the hell up! I’ve been patient, but seriously—if you’re going to fight, take it outside! Stop blaring this shared-consciousness garbage inside my head!!”

Virgo and Aries immediately turned their hostility back on him.

“Come on, Ori, think about it,” Virgo argued. “If he actually cared for her, why on earth would he step outside to handle these petty errands when it’s only been three months since he last saw her? Doesn't that strike you as absurd?”

“It’s moronic not to find it strange,” Aries snapped back. “Why else would he personally oversee every minor detail only when she’s around? Then again, what else do you expect from someone too dense to reason in the first place?”

The disagreement showed no signs of abating. The sole point of consensus among them was that Dezeb’s temperament was sinking deeper into the abyss by the hour.

And lately, his mood had been spectacularly vile. To make matters worse, tomorrow marked the official ceremonial visit of the prince. Every unit was on high alert.

“Watch your mouth,” Ori growled. “Keep running your jaw like that and you’ll end up a permanent idiot.”

“You’re already there.”

Ori let out a heavy sigh, drew his sidearm with practiced ease, and pulled the trigger twice.

“Bag these two up,” he ordered the nearby unit. “Toss them in a deep-freeze or the incinerator—I don't care which.”

“The ceremony is tomorrow, sir.”

“...Shit.”

Kicking at the twitching bodies in sharp frustration, Ori swore beneath his breath. This assignment had proven exceptionally grating. On days like this, he almost envied those who had already been decommissioned... No. Absolutely not. There was no way he would grant Virgo or Aries such an easy way out.

“Get up, both of you. Stop playing dead before I shove you into the industrial grinder together.”

If Dezeb was scheduled to return around four in the afternoon, Erabelle’s anxiety invariably spiked by three. It was an instinct akin to the sudden flight of birds before a major earthquake.

Whenever that uncanny sensation began to creep in, she would methodically eliminate every trace of her leisure activities and settle onto the couch, feigning a peaceful nap before Channel 33. A lifetime of misfortune had honed her survival instincts into a finely calibrated disaster warning system, and right now, that system was blaring red. She obeyed it immediately.

“Are you awake?”

It was a good call. Rousing from her shallow sleep, she found Dezeb leaning over the kitchen island, watching her quietly. Their eyes met. She hastily wiped a stray line of drool from her lip and scrambled to her feet.

He stood perfectly erect, his posture naturally imposing, framed by the deep crimson glow of the evening sky streaming through the window. He looked even more surreal than usual—and not merely because she had just woken up.

He’s been standing there watching me for a while, hasn’t he...?

A flicker of cold unease touched her chest, but Erabelle forced herself to remain optimistic. For the sake of her own sanity, she had to.

“O-oh, welcome back...!”

Her foot had fallen completely asleep, causing her voice to crack on the final syllable. Dezeb shifted his gaze toward the television screen, where the dry educational broadcast continued its lecture.

“What is the time variance margin when three dimensions converge at a single point?” he asked smoothly.

“B-based on the lowest dimension... a multiple of forty-two.”

“And how does reverse time progression manifest?”

“It triggers the Icasic Record Protection Protocol due to abnormal energy displacement,” she recited without hesitation. “The phenomenon occurs when negative energy from a lower dimension feeds into a singularity. It is currently managed under the First Divine Authority of the Pantheon... or so the literature claims.”

She had graduated at the top of her class at the Academy—even if it was merely a provincial branch. Multidimensional parallel theory had been a mandatory component of the upper curriculum. Aiming for a full scholarship, Erabelle had been one of the very few students who actually took the coursework seriously. One had to be desperate for tuition aid to endure that nightmare of a class.

Dezeb narrowed his eyes, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

“......”

Erabelle dutifully lowered her gaze, pressing her fingertips against a few stray cookie crumbs scattered across the floor. From above, she heard him let out a soft, dry scoff.

“Stop fussing and come here. I brought dinner.”

Inside the elegant paper bag he set on the table were neatly packaged containers of steak, fresh salad, and various side dishes. Yet something about the offering sent a distinct chill down her spine.

“I’m going to shower,” he said, turning away. “Start eating. You’d better fill up while you can—I intend to wear you out all night.”

Watching his broad, perfect back as he disappeared down the hall, Erabelle thought: So that’s what this is about... Should I run? Could I even make it? Maybe I can fake a sudden appendicitis attack? Why does this feel like a polite execution warning...?

He was certainly capable of it. There was virtually nothing in this universe beyond Dezeb’s reach.

It was a simple, brutal way of viewing the world—black and white, absolute, devoid of nuance. Thirteen years of surviving in this rigid reality had taught Erabelle the value of swift surrender.

Let's just eat.

He probably wouldn't kill her. After all, she was still useful to him. She popped open the container to find the steak still steaming and tender.

That familiar, eerie chill crept back over her skin. Had he purchased this meal immediately after murdering someone nearby... or perhaps bought it directly from the victim before ending them? Given her past experience with him, either scenario was entirely plausible.

Still, at this stage in her career, she no longer lost her appetite or threw up over such grim possibilities. She had outgrown that phase years ago.

She absently sliced a piece of tender beef and brought it to her mouth—only to be startled by the sudden, loud chime of an incoming priority call.

“Lieutenant!!”

Ah—what the hell?!