The van hummed through Lungmen's dusk-lit avenues, slipping past traffic like a shadow through mist.
Howard sat beside Ch'en in the front, the city's lights casting fleeting reflections in his eyes.
His coat—black and worn as always—rested lightly on his shoulders.
Beside him, Hoshiguma had traded her usual attire for a crisp blue shirt, its sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing coiled muscle and faded bruises that hadn't yet fully disappeared.
"You sure you want to be here?" Ch'en asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the road.
Howard didn't answer right away.
His hand drifted to the small device in his coat, fingers curling around it.
"I have to," he murmured. "For her."
Ch'en's grip tightened on the wheel. But she said nothing.
The van curved toward a towering behemoth in the distance—The Azure Coil.
One of the tallest buildings in Lungmen, known for its sweeping spire and walls of mirrored glass that reflected the city like a knife.
It is a corporate nexus for tech and commerce.
But those who lived in the cracks of the underworld whispered that the top floors belonged not to corporations—but to one man.
Yan Yansheng.
As they parked, Howard stepped out, circling to the back.
With a heavy breath, he opened the doors and retrieved two thick duffel bags, slinging them over each shoulder.
Hoshiguma followed, grabbing the remaining gear.
They fitted earpieces in place.
"Mic check," Howard said.
"Hoshiguma?"
"I'm here."
"Elen?"
The voice that replied crackled through static.
"All systems are green. Surveillance is looping. You're invisible."
"Perfect."
They entered through the side employee entrance—empty this time of night—and headed for the elevator.
The mirrored interior reflected the sharp contrast between them: Howard in his formal coat, Hoshiguma in quiet blue, their expressions unreadable.
As the elevator dinged open at the main lobby floor, they stepped into a pristine reception lounge bathed in sterile white lighting.
Behind the counter, a receptionist offered a professional nod.
Howard tilted his head, whispering into the comm,
"Elen, surveillance off in 3… 2…"
"Done."
A soft shimmer flickered in Howard's eyes—his pupils sharpening like slits of a blade.
The receptionist blinked once, then her posture softened, gaze growing vacant.
"We need the key to room 100," Howard said calmly.
Without a moment's hesitation, the receptionist produced the keycard. "Of course, sir."
Hoshiguma glanced sidelong at him as they walked back to the elevator.
"You're going to tell me what that was?" she asked.
Howard gave a casual shrug.
"Temporarily stored arts object. Picked it up from a merchant."
"Once you use it, you can use the stored arts for 1 minute."
"Really?" Her brow arched.
"Absolutely."
She didn't press further. After all, multiple arts types in a single caster weren't possible.
The elevator climbed silently.
Floor after floor ticked past.
Then it tinged.
They stepped into a lavish corridor. Plush carpets, marble-veined walls, and a gold-accented plaque reading "Level 96 – Executive Guest Suites".
They were fifty rooms below Yansheng's domain.
Enough time. Enough space.
Howard slid the card into the reader. The door clicked open.
He stepped in first, sweeping the space with practiced caution. Empty. Clean. Secure.
"Clear," he murmured.
Hoshiguma ducked into the bathroom, pulling the duffel shut behind her.
A few minutes passed. When she emerged, she was entirely transformed—clad in a matte-black coat, mask drawn low over her face, her hood casting shadows that concealed every identifiable feature.
Her steps were silent.
But even she paused when she saw him.
Howard was no longer Howard.
He stood by the mirror, now adorned in a pristine black maid outfit—white frills, a glistening apron, and stockings that laced like spider silk up to his thighs. His long black hair shimmered, feline ears twitching gently at each sound.
Hoshiguma blinked.
"You're serious," she said.
As she touched his ears. They were as real as one can be.
Howard smirked, sliding a hairpin in place.
"I take disguise very seriously."
She muttered something under her breath about his powers being a national hazard, then adjusted her mask.
"All set."
Howard nodded and dropped to one knee, pulling five smooth, rune-etched stones from his bag and setting them in a circle on the floor.
Each hummed faintly as he activated them.
"This is the entrance point," he said.
"I'll head up to Yansheng's suite and deliver this—" he held up a thin glass tube of pale blue liquid, "—into his drink. Fast-acting sedative. He'll be out cold in two minutes."
He glanced at her.
"Breaking through his defences from the outside? Waste of time. Too many layers, encrypted locks. But if Elen hacks the sensors…"
"She gives me an open window."
Hoshiguma finished, eyes narrowing with focus.
Howard grinned.
"Exactly. I'll give the signal. You'll release the drone from our window."
"It'll carry the rest of the five stones to a window near me. Once they align, the portal opens. You step through."
"And we get him out."
He rose to his feet, brushing dust off his skirt. "Simple."
Hoshiguma looked at the board of glowing stones.
Then at Howard. Then toward the window, where the city stretched out like a web of lights and secrets.
"Alright," she said, voice firm through the mask. "Let's go fishing."
***
The maid's quarters smelt faintly of incense and disinfectant—polished marble underfoot, mirrored panels lining the walls.
Howard stood among a line of women, indistinguishable from the rest in his flawless disguise: long black hair flowing down his back, feline ears twitching gently, and the gleaming white apron of a senior maid.
He'd already contacted Elen, who had fabricated his identity within the employee database.
All that was left was to blend in.
"First time working up here?" one of the maids whispered beside him.
She was a dark-haired woman with tired eyes and a sharp smile.
"You don't look like the twitchy type."
Howard kept his voice soft and polite, brushing imaginary lint from his apron.
"I was told Lord Yansheng likes quiet workers. I thought I'd try my best to stay in character."
The woman snorted faintly.
"Character, huh? That's one way to put it. Just don't speak unless spoken to. And if he looks at you too long… look away. He enjoys fear."
Howard nodded, filing the detail with the others he'd gathered.
These women… they weren't just staff. They were survivors.
Soon, the food carts began to roll out. Silver platters, expensive wines, sauces with names that didn't translate easily.
Gastronomy for the elite—tonight's highlight was sea-kissed velvet shrimp atop a rosewater reduction, served with tiny roasted peaches and glass-thin slivers of obsidian salt crackers.
Howard moved with the others, wheeling the food down a hallway that gradually darkened in lighting and brightened in security presence.
The air shifted.
The moment they reached the grand door to the inner suite, he felt it—pressure, like the weight of eyes too many to count.
Two guards flanked the entrance. One stepped forward and checked the names and trays.
"Hold it."
The other leaned down and used a silver fork to pierce one of the shrimp halves. He chewed, waited… and nodded.
"You're good. Go."
The door creaked open.
The atmosphere was different here.
Colder. Meaner.
Inside, a wide chamber unfolded like the maw of a beast.
Dozens of men and women dressed in sharp suits and lacquered armour stood around in small, quiet clusters.
At the far end , Howard went in; the unique room seated on a low platform was Yan Yansheng.
His silver suit shimmered like scales in the low light.
His slicked-back grey hair gave the impression of a great white shark caught mid-turn—silent, swift, and lethal.
He scrolled through something on his phone as five men knelt before him, beaten to ruin.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
Yansheng asked, voice dry as sandpaper.
"P-Please, Mr Yan—" one man began, only to be cut off by a cold snap of fingers.
Without warning, the five of them screamed—and then fell.
Their upper bodies collapsed forward with unnatural force, as if crushed by invisible jaws.
Blood poured in thick waves beneath them. Their legs twitched—still alive, but barely.
Howard did not flinch. Around him, no one reacted. No gasps. No tension. This… was normal here.
He stepped forward with the tray, head lowered.
He reached the platform and set the dish in front of the man with quiet grace.
Yansheng finally looked up.
His gaze was not one of lust or hunger. It was pure calculation.
"What's your name?" he asked, slowly setting down his phone.
"Liuwa", Howard replied with a bow, the name smooth on his tongue.
Yansheng grunted and turned his attention to the plate.
He cut delicately into the shrimp, dipped it into the rose reduction, and tasted it with a hum of appreciation. Then, he snapped his fingers once more.
A guard approached.
Yansheng leaned over and whispered into his ear.
The man's eyes widened, but he nodded and slipped from the room.
The door locked behind him with a soft click.
"Liuwa", Yansheng said, his tone now leisurely. "Kneel."
Howard obeyed, lowering himself to the plush carpet before the platform.
Yansheng stood.
He walked to the fresh corpses and, with practised precision, used his fork to carve out a glistening organ—Howard didn't care to identify which.
He returned and stood before the kneeling maid.
"Open your mouth."
Howard did, his expression passive.
The organ was fed to him, the metallic taste flooding his senses. He swallowed—and waited.
Yansheng then covered his face with blood.
Yansheng turned away, clearly pleased.
Then he paused.
His fingers twitched. His eyes blinked… slower.
"You…" he murmured, his voice suddenly hoarse. "What have you… done…?"
Howard rose slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth with a corner of his apron.
He reached down his throat with two fingers—and pulled the organ back out, completely intact.
"I'm afraid I'm not into that sort of play," he said with a cold smile.
Yansheng staggered and collapsed back into his chair.
The drug had worked. His silver suit sagged over the slumped figure like loose skin.
The alarms triggered instantly—an ear-piercing WAIL that reverberated through the suite.
The door burst open.
Dozens of guards stormed in, weapons raised—
And froze.
There, at the centre of the room, surrounded by corpses and stunned elites, stood a maid in pristine black and white.
Her foot pressed atop the unconscious Yan Yansheng, and in her gloved hand, she held a still-bleeding organ.
A beat of silence.
Then Howard, with a deadly smile, clicked the earpiece.
"Hoshiguma. Now."