The dim light of the pub cast long shadows across the wooden tables and smoky air. The flicker of weak lanterns barely illuminated the faces of its patrons, but it was enough to enhance the mysterious, almost sinister atmosphere. Conversations overlapped, hushed and cryptic, as people spoke in fragmented sentences.
"Because business is business and..."
"How many dead? From what I know..."
"Can't say it wasn't him..."
"Number one export is..."
"Isn't that Rio?"
"Don't look at him."
The pub was alive with murmurs, different people with different stories, each one speaking to a different kind of darkness.
But the cacophony abruptly fell silent when the door creaked open. A man with tousled brown hair stepped inside, his presence commanding attention without effort. Conversations died mid-sentence, eyes darting away from his figure as if looking at him too long might invite trouble.
Before he could even sit, she glared at him. She looked up, and her expression darkened as she saw the man.
"Mana, before you say anything to scold me, I'm just going to say that it was traffic. And I almost lost my car keys."
The woman, Mana, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Her dark eyes narrowed in exasperation.
Mana's lips thinned into a frown. "Ran, you don't even own a car."
Her annoyance was palpable, her words clipped and direct.
"Mana" Associate of the Begonia Group
"Details," Ran replied nonchalantly, his lips quirking into a grin as he took the seat across from her.
Mana shook her head, her annoyance evident.
"I told you to clean up the warehouse and come here directly," she said, folding her arms. Her dark eyes gleamed in the low light, her patience clearly wearing thin. "It's three past midnight. Does finishing off a half-dead man and a single Esper really take you this long?"
Ran feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. "It was two Espers, actually," he corrected, leaning back in his chair.
"Ran" or also known as "Butcher" of the Begonia Group.
Ran scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.
Mana raised an eyebrow. "Two Espers now? Should I be impressed?"
He smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, you know, I also saw a lion cub the other day. The second one couldn't use his gift properly—probably just got out of the Region." He covered his mouth, as though whispering a secret. "You know how they treat Espers there."
Mana's expression softened slightly, though her annoyance didn't entirely fade.
"Poor thing," she said, shaking her head. "Those Esper corps... barbaric as usual."
Ran leaned forward, his grin widening. "The other one, though? Amusing. Cocky little thing, thought he could take me on."
Mana's gaze hardened again. "And the warehouse?"
Ran waved dismissively. "Cleaned. Everything's handled. No loose ends."
She studied him for a moment, as if trying to determine whether to believe him. Finally, she sighed, her fingers still drumming against the table.
"You're impossible, Ran. One of these days, your antics are going to catch up with you."
He laughed, leaning back with a smug look. "If they do, I'll handle it. Like I always do."
She shifted the topic abruptly. "What did you do to the man from the Rupture?"
Ran's grin widened, his voice almost cheerful. "Blew his head off and fed him to the sharks."
Mana grimaced as he continued. "It took ages to find the head, by the way. Oh, speaking of heads—"
"Stop." Mana's face twisted in disgust. "Stop talking about the head."
Ran laughed, raising his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. But you don't actually feel bad for him, do you?"
Ran's smirk dropped. "Fucking Ruptures. Self-righteous bastards, the whole lot of them."
The bartender, a broad man with tired eyes, approached.
"Gun, the usual, please," Ran said casually.
"Gun" Manager of the Raside in district 19.
Gun raised an eyebrow. "Butcher, I distinctly remember banning you from drinking alcohol in my bar."
Ran blinked in confusion. "Huh? Why the hell wou—"
"You were probably too drunk to remember," Mana interrupted in a whisper. "You got absolutely smashed and punched the hell out of one of our clients last time."
"Huh? I would never—" Ran started to protest but stopped when Mana added:
"He called you an ill-mannered brute."
Ran paused, his face falling into thought. Finally, he murmured, "Y'know, that does sound like something I'd do."
Gun shook his head, unimpressed. "Need I remind you that you broke the peace agreement? No fighting in the Raside. This is a neutral zone established by the five most powerful groups in the underworld—including yours."
Gun handed him a shot glass filled with clear liquid. "That's water, by the way."
Ran groaned, glaring at the glass. "In a shot glass? Really? Damn."
Mana took a sip from her own drink, her tone turning sharp. "Did you get anything out of the last Rupture you killed?"
Ran shrugged. "Nah. Doubt the guy knew anything. Probably just a low-level grunt."
Mana sighed, her irritation clear. "We could've gotten something—anything—if someone hadn't wiped out his entire team."
Ran smirked unapologetically. "Not my fault. Non-Espers are so fragile. It's like, 'Oops, my hand slipped,' and they're all dead."
As Mana opened her mouth to retort, a figure dressed in a black suit approached their table. The man carried himself with an air of arrogance, his every step measured.
Without a word, the man poured a glass of red wine over Ran's head. The liquid dripped down his face, staining his collar.
"Oops, my hand slipped," the man said, his mock apology laced with venom.
The pub seemed to hold its breath. Mana's eyes widened in shock, while Gun's mouth fell open.
Ran's expression darkened, his easygoing demeanor evaporating.
The crimson liquid dripped down Ran's face, staining his shirt.
"The hell do you think you're doing, Rio?" Gun snapped, his voice loud enough to echo. "No provoking fights in here!"
The man smirked, unbothered.
"Rio" Captain within Rupture.
"Provoking?" Rio asked, feigning confusion. "Who said I'm provoking him? If the Butcher can stomach cutting down my men in cold blood, surely he can handle a little wine."
The words sent Ran reeling into a memory he thought he'd buried.
In high school, he'd been tormented. Milk poured over his head. Cruel words etched into his desk. The whispers of "Filthy Esper" as he walked by.
His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.