In the tailoring workshop, a bald and burly man meticulously worked on fabrics, cutting, shaping, and crafting sample garments. The room was filled with mannequins, various textiles, and design accessories, yet everything was neatly organized, creating a strangely calming, almost artistic atmosphere.
"We made it! We got the approval!"
A young female inmate burst through the door, excitement lighting up her face. "Master Ronna, our design proposal has been accepted! This summer's flagship collection for Kaise will feature your 'Dream Mirage' series! Congratulations!"
"This is a shared achievement," Ronna replied with a faint smile. "Annette, with this success, you've proven yourself to be a capable fashion designer."
"It's all thanks to your guidance, Master Ronna." Annette bowed deeply. "If not for your selfless teaching, I wouldn't have progressed this quickly. This honor is yours—I hardly contributed anything meaningful."
"Enough modesty," Ronna said with a chuckle. "If you're free tonight, join us for dinner. Such good news deserves to be celebrated—with Ronny, of course."
"Can I pick the menu?" Annette teased.
"Sure, as long as it doesn't exceed five contribution points." Ronna winked, then added in a more serious tone, "Back to work now. Just because Kaise accepted our design doesn't mean we can relax. Contribution points are never too many, and you should start working on your own designs. Maybe the next season's collection can be led by you."
"Got it, got it! You're amazing, Master Ronna, but you sure do nag sometimes."
Ronna sighed helplessly and returned to his work.
Annette, meanwhile, found her attention drifting away from the fabrics in front of her. Her gaze lingered on Ronna, watching him as he worked. The way he focused, his hands expertly manipulating the materials—it was captivating.
He was captivating.
If only he liked women.
Annette sighed inwardly, cursing her luck. The world was truly cruel. It wasn't enough to compete with other women—why did she have to compete with men, too?
She'd been in Fractured Lake Prison for over a year. Like most death row inmates, she had no marketable skills outside of crime, nor the combat ability to survive the arena of the Death Match Club. Perhaps that was a blessing; at least she wasn't getting beaten senseless by those hidden monsters pretending to be weaklings.
But that didn't mean she was safe. She couldn't rely on her looks to survive the Blood Moon Tribunal—if anything, beauty only made her a more tempting target for the twisted urges of the audience.
After all, in this nation, the depraved weren't confined to its prisons.
Learning a trade to earn contribution points was almost as unlikely as stumbling upon a vortex in the Sea of Knowledge. Most paths were either highly niche—like orc-crafted mazes, goblin bone carvings, or ogre oil paintings—or required exceptional skill, such as writing, composing music, or handling taxes.
Annette lacked both the time to learn and the intellect for complex tasks.
She had almost resigned herself to an inevitable fate when she stumbled into Ronna's workshop one day.
The room was filled with fabrics and mannequins dressed in stunning outfits. Annette's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the displayed garments. After months of wearing the plain white prison uniform, seeing such beauty was like drinking water after wandering in the desert.
"You like this dress? Want to try it on?"
The deep voice startled her. Before she realized it, she was nodding. That's how she became Ronna's apprentice, learning fashion design under his guidance.
Ronna's imposing figure seemed at odds with his profession, but he was no ordinary designer. He was the genius behind Kaise's most celebrated collections, with each new season's flagship piece setting trends across the nation.
The women who wore his designs would never guess that their elegant dresses were crafted by a bald death row inmate.
Thanks to Ronna's mentorship, Annette grew rapidly. Their joint design had even been accepted by Kaise—a validation of her progress.
Ronna was everything to her: a mentor, an inspiration, a beacon of hope in the bleak chaos of her life.
Even his bald head, gleaming under the workshop lights, seemed to exude a rebellious artistic charm.
If she could spend the rest of her life with him, Annette wouldn't mind staying in prison. Compared to the filthy outside world, this little workshop was her sanctuary.
But Ronna didn't share her feelings—or her interest in women.
She had considered drastic measures: visiting the infirmary to undergo a full body transformation, switching genders entirely. In the Blood Moon Nation, gender was no immutable barrier.
Yet, she hesitated. What if Ronna didn't care for "aftermarket" modifications? Instead, she resolved to win him over the old-fashioned way, confident that her charm and persistence would eventually "straighten him out."
Still, a year passed, and Ronna had already moved on to someone else. Annette hadn't even touched his bald head, let alone his heart.
She seethed with jealousy, stabbing her scissors into the fabric as though it were Ronald's smug face.
Knock, knock.
The workshop door opened, and Ronna looked up. His icy expression melted instantly as he spotted Ronald, his lips curving into a soft smile.
"Ronny, what brings you here? Are you feeling unwell? Do you need me to take you to the infirmary?"
Ronald, pale and visibly shaken, shook his head. "I'm fine, Ronna. But I need to talk to you."
"Technically," said a suave voice, "we need to talk to you."
Ronna's expression turned cold as Igula entered. "The Elegant Beast, Igula… Ronny, come over here. Igula is dangerous. If he harms you, I swear there are ways to make him regret it."
A second figure followed, stepping between Igula and Ronna. "Relax," Ash said. "No one's getting hurt here."
Ronna's tone dropped. "The Demon, Ash. I thought we weren't enemies."
Ash smiled disarmingly. "We're not enemies. We're allies—now and always."
"We're here to propose a partnership."
Ronna raised a hand. "Annette, step outside."
"But Master—"
"Out!"
Scowling, Annette stormed out of the workshop, slamming the door behind her.
"You know why we're here," Ash said calmly. "This isn't some private, lewd discussion—we wouldn't mind including her in the plan."
Ronna ignored him, his piercing blue gaze fixed on Ronald. "Is this what you want?"
Ronald hesitated but finally nodded, his voice trembling. "Ronna, I'm joining them. I'm going to escape!"
Ronna's eyes darkened. "Ronny, we can live well here. I earn enough contribution points to keep us safe—"
"But I want to leave!" Ronald interrupted. "Ronna, are you coming with me or staying here?"
Ronna fell silent, his gaze shifting briefly to Ash and Igula.
When his eyes met Ash's, the latter felt a primal terror surge through him—an instinctive fear, as though facing an executioner.
Finally, Ronna sighed. "Ronny, you know I can't deny someone I love. Fine. I'll join you. But know this: if anything happens to Ronny, I'll make sure you pay with your lives."
Ash grinned. "So, shall we discuss the plan?"
"I'll listen," Ronna said evenly. "But first, turn off all but one light."
When the room was dimly lit, Ronna stepped into the shadows. His body seemed to dissolve into the darkness, his voice low and menacing.
"I am a Moonshadow."
The revelation left Igula stunned. "Impossible. Moonshadows and Blood Saints are forbidden from the Blood Moon Tribunal. The Church and the Research Institute would never allow it—"
"I am an exception," Ronna interjected. "Unlike my kin, who thrive under the Blood Moon's radiance, I can only transform in darkness. Under the Blood Moon's gaze, I'm powerless. The Church saw no threat in me."
He stepped forward, his transformation complete.
A towering, two-meter figure covered in gray fur, with piercing blue eyes that froze them to the core.
"I am the Church's traitor. The Moonshadow's disgrace. Even the Blood Moon despises me. I am neither a pure Moonshadow nor a devout human.
"They call me… the Werewolf."