All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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"Your fate, good Sir, resides in The Fool."
"The Fool?"
The lady nodded, an engaging smirk painted on her crimson lips.
The man beside the blond scowled, taking a threatening step forward he stopped. His movement came to a halt as he perceived the dangerous glare from the older male.
The madame gave a charming laugh.
"But beware, for you might be the foolish one."
::
A pregnant silence filled the large dining room, leaving behind the sound of cutlery hitting plates. Thick tension permeated the place, making those who weren't accustomed to such situations freeze in place.
Ryota sat opposite the master of the house, his golden eyes never strayed from his plate and the delicious-looking dish inside as he slowly bit a piece of beef. The tender meat felt tasteless under his palate, similar to an elastic shoe sole. He drowned the bland flavor with some expensive wine, making his gesture smooth and natural as if appreciating some good wine after a delectable piece of meat.
Behind him, standing straight and taking in his every moves with unhidden fascination, was a pink-haired teen. The boy, a year younger than Mikaël, was at sixteen one of the current Rain Guardian's most trusted aides. It came as no surprise when one knew the half-Indian had raised the mute boy as his son since he was five. Shura gently bit his lower lip, restraining a shiver from coursing down his spine as he appreciated the flawless act the green-haired teen, his future Boss put up.
Of course, his Boss had to be at the top of the food chain. He wouldn't settle for anything else. And although he hadn't witnessed his fighting prowesses yet— his dream didn't count, he admitted that seeing eye to eye with a man such as Aleksey Levin was a feat. One he admired— perhaps unknowingly glorified from the education Devdas gave him, but he approved of it nonetheless.
Aleksey, his plate empty, skillfully took the white napkin that rested on his lap. Elegantly, as if straight out of a painting, he dabbed his lips before folding the silk cloth, putting it beside his plate and taking his wine glass. He observed the dark red liquid with careful golden eyes before gently twirling his glass, liking the traces it left on the transparent sides of the glass. He brought it to his lips, the crimson color neatly contrasted with the morbid pallor of the man's skin, giving off a deadly yet almost ethereal feeling to the onlookers.
