Scheduling A Fight

Maya arrived at Ijar's room, as she had done many times before, knocking lightly before entering. The routine was familiar, a formality in their strange partnership. She slipped inside and immediately knelt before Ijar, ready to deliver the latest information. But something was different this time—something that gave Maya pause.

Ijar was not wearing his usual cloak, the one that typically obscured his features and emitted the aura of dread that clung to him like a second skin. Instead, he sat in the room wearing only a pair of shorts and a robe that hung loosely off his shoulders. His brown, spiky hair looked surprisingly average, unremarkable even, but his sharp facial features were worth a second glance. He had an air of danger, the kind that lurked beneath the surface of his calm exterior. 

On the bed behind him lay a woman, asleep, her body barely covered by the thin sheets. She was practically naked, and Maya, maintaining her composure, moved to cover the woman's body before continuing her report. 

"There has been a change in Turai's routine," Maya began, her voice steady but tinged with caution. "He completed his task today, as usual, but... he didn't vanish like before. He returned to the Wanderers Order to collect his commission. I followed him, as instructed, and there was nothing else out of the ordinary."

The more Maya spoke, the more unsettled Ijar became. His sharp gaze narrowed as he absorbed the details. Something was wrong. The boy had been too careful before, too elusive. Why the sudden change in behavior? It gnawed at him, a sense of unease that he couldn't shake. 

"When he returned to the orphanage, did you see him?" Ijar asked, his tone sharp.

Maya nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. "Yes, I followed him back. He returned as usual."

Ijar's suspicion doubled. Something was definitely off. His mind raced, trying to piece together what was troubling him, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He opened his mouth to question further, but just then, a knock came at the door.

Knock! Knock!!

The sound jolted Ijar, and instinctively, he tensed. He immediately scanned the area for mana traces, extending his senses to detect any lurking magic from whoever stood behind the door. Oddly, he found nothing—no hints of magical energy. The absence made him relax slightly, though his guard was still raised.

"Maya," he commanded, his voice low, "open the door."

Maya hesitated briefly, sensing her master's unease, but moved toward the door obediently. She stopped short just before opening it, her hand hovering above the handle. "Who's there?" she called out.

"Room service," came the reply. The voice was unfamiliar, which immediately made Maya suspicious. They had been staying in this dingy motel for several days, and not once had anyone come to their room for any kind of delivery. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at Ijar, but he gave her a slight nod, signaling her to proceed.

There was nothing to fear, was there? After all, Ijar, the Sixth Minor Horn of the Black Bicorn, was in the room. Yet, as she opened the door, a creeping dread coiled around her.

Maya pulled the door open just enough to peer outside, and her blood ran cold at what she saw. Standing in the doorway, grinning wickedly, was none other than Turai. His eyes gleamed with a confidence that sent a chill down her spine.

Turai's grin widened. "Open the door a little more, won't you?" he asked, his tone casual but commanding. "I'd like to see my host."

Maya hesitated for a brief second but obeyed, pulling the door fully open so Turai's eyes could meet those of the man inside.

The moment Ijar saw Turai, his frown deepened. The boy stood there, radiating a calm confidence that irked him. He had come right to his door, unafraid, as if mocking the very danger Ijar represented.

Turai waved cheerfully at Ijar from the doorway, his grin still plastered on his face. "So," he began, "do you want to settle this now, or should I come back later? I see you've got company," he added, his eyes flicking toward the woman sleeping on the bed.

Ijar's frown twisted into a scowl. The boy was mocking him. "How dare you—" he began, his voice low and dangerous.

But Turai cut him off before he could continue. "Relax, I'm not here to fight. Not today. I just wanted to find you," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I don't want to involve innocent blood, after all." His eyes darted toward the woman on the bed again. "So, how about we meet tomorrow? Let's say... one day from now. We'll cross paths again, don't worry."

Ijar clenched his fists, his face twisting with rage. The boy wasn't just mocking him—he was belittling him. It was clear in the way Turai spoke, in the way he turned as if to leave without a second thought. 

As Turai casually turned his back on Ijar to leave, the figure's temper snapped. He felt the insult keenly, like a knife to his pride. How dare this child come into his domain and speak to him like he was some lowly fool? Without hesitation, Ijar raised his hand, and from the shadows of the room, two short daggers materialized, their edges gleaming wickedly.

With a snarl of fury, Ijar hurled one of the daggers toward Turai's back. The blade flew through the air with deadly precision, aimed straight for the boy's spine.

But Turai had been expecting it. In the split second before the dagger could reach him, Turai sidestepped, his movements fluid and graceful. The dagger whizzed past him, embedding itself into the wall.

Thunk!

Turai glanced at the dagger and smirked, not even bothering to turn fully around. "I'll take that as a yes, then," he said, his voice calm and unbothered. With that, he strode out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.

Ijar stood frozen in the middle of the room, his face contorted with barely-contained fury. The humiliation was unbearable. He had been toyed with, mocked in his own space—and worse, the boy had made him look like a fool.