In stark contrast to the chaos and filth outside, this room was a masterpiece of elegance and antiquity.
Renaissance paintings adorned the walls, their gilded frames catching the glow of candlelight. Marble statues, carved to perfection, stood like silent watchers. A massive chandelier loomed overhead, its flickering golden flames reflecting off the polished wooden floor, casting long, shifting shadows.
It was a breathtaking sight.
Yet… something about it felt wrong.
Like a beautiful mask, hiding something rotten underneath.
I barely had time to process it before the illusion of peace was shattered.
A voice—sharp, furious—cut through the air.
"I told you not to let it escape!"
At the far end of the room, a burly man knelt on the floor, sweat dripping from his brow. His entire body trembled, but he didn't dare to move.
Towering over him was a man in a black suit, his arms crossed. His features were sharp, his eyes cold as steel, his lips slightly curled—not in amusement, but in cruelty.
He wasn't angry. He was entertained.
"You know..." His voice was low, almost gentle—but dripping with venom.
"If you don't find it…"
His gaze bore down on the kneeling man, his smirk widening.
"…Don't blame me."
A pause.
"Remember… your dear mother is still waiting for you to come home for dinner."
A chuckle.
Soft. Casual.
But deadly.
A promise of something worse than death.
I felt my stomach twist.
This wasn't a simple threat.
It was a sentence.
Tink, unfazed, took a step forward.
"Voska, is that you?"
The man in the suit turned.
For a brief moment, surprise flickered in his eyes. Then—his smirk returned. This time, it felt genuine.
"Well, well… Look who it is."
His tone was light, almost friendly. Almost.
"Tink, my dear friend. It's been far too long. What brings you back to my humble establishment?"
Tink's response was short.
"Moskov."
Voska's smirk widened, but his eyes glinted with something unreadable.
"Fascinating." He hummed, then turned his gaze to me.
"And who might this be?"
I met his stare.
Steady. Unshaken.
"Michel." My voice was firm. "Michel Morvain."
The room fell silent.
A flicker of recognition crossed Voska's face—then something darker.
His smirk froze.
The air shifted.
He took a slow step forward, his eyes scanning me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Morvain?" he muttered, as if tasting the name.
Then—
He laughed.
But it was wrong.
Hollow. Amused. Dangerous.
"Funny. Last I heard… the Morvain clan was wiped off the face of the earth."
His eyes narrowed, his smirk returning.
"Are you sure you've got the right name, kid?"
My breath hitched.
Wiped out?
What the hell is he talking about?
I barely had time to react before Tink's sharp voice cut through the tension.
"Voska."
His tone was like a blade—cold, precise, deadly.
"We don't have time for this. We need the pass. Now."
Voska regarded him for a moment, then let out a mock sigh, shaking his head.
"You never change, do you?" He chuckled. "Always in such a rush."
He turned, walking slowly toward his desk.
"You know…" His fingers traced along the polished wood. "Ever since you left your position as the second-floor manager, this place has been… chaotic."
Tink's expression darkened.
"Who's running the second floor now?"
Voska paused.
Then—a knowing smirk.
"The person you trusted the most."
Tink's shoulders tensed.
A second of silence.
Then—his voice, low and sharp:
"Gakun?"
Voska laughed, clapping his hands.
"Bingo!"
He grinned.
"And from what I've seen, he's doing a pretty damn good job."
Tink's fists clenched.
Then, after a moment, he exhaled slowly.
"Good…" His voice was softer now. "I need to see him."
Voska's smirk remained.
Without another word, he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small, stamped pass, and tossed it onto the table.
"Here."
Tink stepped forward, picked it up.
Voska leaned back in his chair.
"Remember, Tink." His voice was mockingly light. "Once you're done with Moskov, you owe me a drink."
Tink pocketed the pass.
"Fine."
Without another word, we turned to leave.
We handed our passes to the security checkpoint, stepping onto the path leading deeper into the abyss.
The moment we were gone, Voska reached for the phone on his desk.
He dialed.
The line clicked.
A low voice answered from the other end.
Voska's smirk widened, but his eyes gleamed with malice.
"I've got good news for you…"
A short silence.
Then—a quiet chuckle from the other end.
"…Tell me everything."