Chapter 29: The light among the darkness

I do not know whether the room is in darkness or if the darkness resides in the room. Thankfully, there is one rebellious window that disobeyed its orders, allowing a thin ray of light to pass through.

But what can it do? I could barely make out the features of the man lying on the massive bed. His face was—not handsome nor ugly enough to be called ordinary—if not for the scar stretching from one ear to the other.

His head, devoid of hair, resembled an egg, completing the portrait.

He struggled to open his eyes, embodying every meaning of laziness. The sun was nearing its descent, yet he still clung to the pillow.

He raised his head slightly, glancing to his sides, noticing he was flanked by two naked women—literally without clothes.

With a kick, he pushed the women off the bed, sending them tumbling to the floor.

The women seemed drugged, for they did not wake, nor did they emit any sound of pain from falling on the hard ground.

He leaned his head back lazily, took a deep breath, and screamed in a voice that made the entire room tremble.

"You useless trash, what are you doing there?"

The sound of a rusty door creaking open filled the room. A man entered, his face etched with terror and his body trembling.

"Your Majesty..."

"What are these whores doing beside me?"

The man stepped closer, allowing the thin ray of light to reveal his servant's attire.

"My lord... I thought you enjoyed yourself."

"Do I look like I'm enjoying myself now?"

Frankly, if I were in his place, I'd have said, The darkness is overwhelming—how can I see your filthy face to tell? But of course, he wouldn't dare say that.

"I apologize, I'll rectify the situation."

Clap.

With a clap of his hands, two massive men appeared, moving forward to lift the women like sacks of potatoes.

"Wait. Don't do anything to them until I'm there."

The two men bowed to the bald man.

"As you command, my Lord."

They exited, leaving the servant and the bald man alone.

"My lord, should I open the windows to let in some light?"

"What? That damned ball hasn't gone down yet?"

"The sun is about to set, my Lord."

The bald man exhaled deeply, waving his hand dismissively at the servant.

The window was opened, letting in a faint glow. It felt as if the sun refused to send its rays inside—who could blame it? The bald man had just called it a damned ball, utterly disrespectful. 

If you knew the extent of the punishment you would get if it came down to you now.

The room finally lit up, though it was a sight better left unseen. The bald man was revealed to be naked—completely naked—and shamelessly descended from the bed, walking to the bathroom without even closing the door, allowing everyone to hear the symphony of sounds emanating from him.

Black sheets, black shelves, black walls—wait, there was a difference in the curtain color: light black. A monumental difference, wouldn't you agree?

"What happened with that pretty boy?"

Damn your mother. Why does he mention my name while in the bathroom, relieving himself? Disgusting.

"Since morning, he's been circling the heirs of the partners, threatening them. Some had their limbs severed or their bones broken."

"Hahaha... He's trying in vain. They won't obey... I'm the king..."

With each word he spoke, he took a breath to squeeze his stomach and continue expelling. Damn it, why am I explaining this? Use your imagination.

"That doesn't seem to be the case, my lord. Some have resumed their work, and others have even started paying him for the previous period."

"What?"

The bald man emerged from the bathroom, utterly indifferent, approaching the servant until a bit of sunlight illuminated his scars. A dragon tattoo attempted to conceal them but failed.

"Are you saying they're no longer afraid of me?"

"Of course not, sir... I mean, my lord..."

The bald man grabbed the servant's head, pulling him closer. What's wrong with this bald man? Does he want to kiss him or what?

"Will what happened before happen again?"

The servant began to tremble as memories of the madness he endured when the faceless man took control of the territory resurfaced.

Summoning his courage, the servant spoke, his body shaking all over.

"Impossible, my lord. That boy isn't faceless, and even if he were, you're the one who destroyed the first. You can destroy the second."

The servant's words brought a smile to the bald man's face.

"Of course... Hahahahaha."

As he let out an exaggerated laugh, the servant hurried to help him get dressed.

When I said dressed, I meant putting on trousers directly on his skin without any Underwear, throwing a coat made of some animal's hide—or perhaps just a bathrobe—over his shoulders. I don't know. 

It left his muscular abdomen and the dragon on his chest exposed, the dragon seemingly screaming as it headed downward, as though it wanted to devour its little friend.

He walked out, the servant trailing behind him like a shadow.

As he passed groups of people, they lowered their heads, murmuring:

"My lord, my lord."

He tried every way to project an air of nobility, but his bald head and demeanor betrayed him, still resembling a gangster.

Suddenly, his expression changed upon hearing a sound from one of the rooms. He approached the door, pressing his ear against it. 

What happened to the noble aura he wanted to convey?

The sound was... Let me describe it delicately. Let's say it was the laughter of a girl mixed with the creaking of a bed. I believe the meaning is clear.

The bald man turned to the trembling servant, his gaze filled with rage and disbelief. The poor servant, drenched in sweat, didn't know what to do.

Bang, bang.

He knocked on the door without opening it, shouting.

"Are you having fun, slut? Are you having fun, slut?"

With every knock he made on the door, you saw him repeating the same words.

The sound ceased after the first bang, but the mad bald man continued his tirade.

"Keep going, but don't let me hear that bitch's voice again."

The sound resumed, obeying his orders. The only difference was that the girl's voice could no longer be heard.

He narrowed his eyes at the trembling servant.

"Was he enjoying himself more than I did?"

"Impossible, my lord, how dare he?"

The bald man nodded in agreement and resumed walking.

The same sound emanated from every room, except that he found no sign of a woman inside. Nothing was needed to conclude that the place was a brothel.

In a room illuminated by red light, two muscular men held two girls by their necks, knives in hand, awaiting their master's presence.

As soon as he entered, they seemed eager, awaiting his command.

And he did not make them wait long. The bald man raised his hand, lowering it ever so slowly, signaling rivers of blood to spill onto the floor. Notably, from start to finish, the two girls made no sound.

The servant's phone rang. He answered.

"My lord, it seems he's about to meet the owner of the Eastern Houses."

The bald man approached a nearby window, gazing at the setting sun.

"Looks like the dirty ball is about to disappear, just in time. Looks like it's time to see how beautiful the pretty boy is."

At the same time, I stepped out of the car, heading toward a massive building with a large sign reading "House of the East," glowing in red and blue.

A man in a waiter's uniform, clearly one of the staff, greeted me at the entrance.

"Mr. Mopheus is expecting you, sir. Please, follow me."

I wasn't surprised. I had spent the entire day storming from one place to another, like a tempest that left nothing but destruction in its path. Naturally, he would anticipate my arrival. What caught my attention, however, was that he didn't seem to have prepared himself.

I look around as I follow the waiter, trying to find any of the armed men, there is nothing. 

The cameras are off, either he's giving up, he doesn't care, or he's up to something. In both cases I have to be careful.

Mopheus—it seems the author forgot a letter. This must be what they call creativity.

(Author: Yes, it's creativity. Do you have a problem with that?)

The waiter opened a wide door, revealing a square table. Seated at it was a dark-skinned man who looked like he was in his final days, holding a glass filled to the brim. He wore dark sunglasses. I wondered where the author got this design from.

The moment I stepped inside, he looked at me, gesturing with his hand for me to sit. Well, at least there was no sign of disdain or belittlement. 

I sat across from him.

"What will you drink? We have everything."

His voice was that of a weary man.

"A cup of coffee will be enough for me."

I hadn't consumed anything all day except blood. Not literally, of course.

The waiter left indifferently, leaving me, Dexter, and Hank alone with the old man, Mopheus. Was this self-confidence or apathy? For some reason, I felt curious, unlike the trash I had dealt with earlier today.

"I came to meet the heir…"

"I am the heir."

"Forgive me, but the deceased was in his mid-forties. You…"

"A man nearing death, yes. I'm his grandfather."

It was as if the image of his grandson haunted him. You could see the sorrow in his eyes, a grief that left me silent, unable to find any words.

"Excuse me for not being able to attend your banquet."

"Never mind, no one showed up anyway so I had to come myself."

His eyes settled on me as though trying to read a book.

"You're still young. No wonder you entered this world with a broad chest."

For some reason, his words brought a slight smile to my face.

"I'm in my mid-thirties. That's not exactly young."

"Young. Young."

He repeated the word as if affirming it, then took a sip. The waiter returned, placing a cup of coffee before me and exiting once again without care.

"Sir, let me taste it. It could be poisoned."

Ignoring Dexter's remark, I took a sip of the coffee.

"It's fine, Dexter. For some reason, I feel he's not the backstabbing type."

Because of my words, his eyes glinted with a strange spark. What was that?

"Thank you for your words. I wish I could say the same about you, but forgive me. I gave up flattering people a long time ago."

Both Hank and Dexter furrowed their brows but didn't make a single move. I had warned them—especially Dexter—not to act without my command.

I didn't feel angry. He hadn't said anything untrue. The person whose body I now occupied wasn't known for keeping his word, which was precisely why I wanted to change that perception.

"Since you're my opposite, I assume you won't break the agreement between me and your grandson."

Mopheus let out a very deep sigh.

"I don't know whether I should hate you or hate myself."

I could guess why he hated me, but what about hating himself?

"I won't break it, but what are you going to do about Narco?"

I raised an eyebrow. Before I could begin to think, Hank stepped forward to clarify.

"Narco is the man known as the King of the Underworld."

Damn, what's with omitting a letter from the name?

(Author: Creativity. Inspiration. You wouldn't understand.)

"You seem reckless. How do you not even know your enemy's name?"

I raised my hand, taking another sip of coffee, then placed the cup down, drawing a smile on my face.

"Well, I find it hard to remember the names of unimportant things."

Without warning, he began laughing.

"Hahaha."

I was genuinely surprised; he had been consumed by misery since I sat down.

He could barely hold his glass; his hands trembled violently as he struggled to keep it steady.

"It seems that people with reckless personalities like yours are the ones who end up making something meaningful. Unlike me, I only destroyed my family."

The sorrow quickly returned to dominate him.

"If you don't mind, what's with you hating yourself? I can understand why you'd hate me."

"I apologize. I shouldn't have said that aloud. The truth is, what happened to my grandson was the result of my decisions."

He struggled to take another sip from his glass.

"Fate mocks me. I was the one who brought my son into this world, and in turn, he brought my grandson into it. Yet here I am, retired, having left this world alive, while all of them, along with their wives, are dead. Isn't fate mocking me?"

He raised his hands, his fingers blocking the tears that threatened to fall.

"I understand your pain."

"In any case, I will keep the shops under my control. Half of the proceeds will be yours. As for the rest, it will remain as agreed upon with my grandson. And if that madman comes, don't worry. I'd rather die than work with him."

He took another sip, then slammed the glass onto the table with all his strength. Well, nothing shook, but it seemed he truly despised or was upset with him.

"Do you mean Narco? You seem to hate him. Do you have a special relationship with him?"

"Not exactly."

He took another deep breath, leaning back as if retreating into the past.

"We started around the same time. We were young, full of energy, in an era where your lineage and education were everything. We had nothing but our anger and hope to destroy this unjust system. We met in an alley, like brothers. We stole together. We fought together. I'd even dare say we killed together.

Over time, we saw no progress. We wanted to build a strong organization to protect those without protection and create a home for those without a home. But no matter how much we fought, we couldn't achieve anything.

He was crazy, but not to the extent he's reached now. He has no limits anymore. He kidnaps the families of his opponents, sometimes even assaults them. He kills anyone who opposes him. He's involved in all sorts of forbidden trades.

What frustrated me most was that he gained the power we needed to build a home and protect our brothers in the streets. But he no longer cared about such things, hiding behind the excuse, 'What's in it for me?'

I left the world. I had entered it with a goal, and if I couldn't achieve it, what was the point?"

"But why are you here? What do you even have in this world?"

A deep hatred glimmered in his eyes. Though his hands were weak, his grip on the glass was firm, as if holding onto something much greater.

"It's because of him. My family could never escape the mud. Every time I got close to convincing them to leave, he would do something to stoke the flames of greed in their hearts. We didn't even need the money."

"Why would he do that?"

"All because he thought I would betray him and leak his secrets to the outside."

"Were you going to?"

"No, I didn't create anything important in this world out of thin air. It's all because of my personality."

His face tightened into a scowl, the wrinkles standing out like mountains.

"Come, take away this cursed glass that refuses to empty."

The servant entered quickly, taking the glass. I finished my coffee in one gulp, allowing him to take the cup as well.

"Look at the times we're in. I used to be able to drink ten of those in a single sitting. Now I can't even finish half of one."

His chest heaved up and down in anger, all because he had been forced to remember something he didn't want to recall.

"Listen, boy. Here's a piece of advice for you: get yourself out of this world while you're still young. This path destroys its traveler and will not leave you until you sacrifice everything that can be sacrificed"

"I appreciate the advice, but I have my plans. Everyone has their own way of doing things. Sacrifice isn't always necessary."

"Tell that to the blood you've tried to wash off your hands."

I glanced at my hands. I had tried to clean them time and time again, but no matter what, they became stained once more.

I raised my hands, letting him examine them closely.

"Forgiveness isn't always an option. There are people who don't understand words, like you. Sometimes, you're forced to speak in a language they do understand."

"Hahaha. Well, I didn't expect you to take advice from a failure like me."

"No, not at all. I wouldn't dare. Your words have been of great help to me."

It was refreshing to see his wide smile, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere. He would manage the business well. Knowing he wasn't the kind of man to betray his word put me at ease, though I knew I would still have to keep an eye on him.

"That's what I expect from someone who played the Investigation office like a ring on his finger. I'd love to see what you'll do next."

A strange feeling stirred within me toward him. Perhaps it was his regret for putting his children in a situation that ultimately led to their deaths—a regret unlike my own parents, who hadn't cared about my suffering. 

I wondered… did they feel any sorrow when I died?

I rose from my seat.

"I'll leave you to rest now."

"Oh, leaving so soon? Don't tell me you expected me to show up and decided to run off with your tail between your legs."

My eyes meet his, I don't need anyone to introduce him to me.

"Oh, I was just looking for something more thrilling. But since the clown has appeared, let's see if you have anything worth hearing."