The air inside the small living quarters was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the peaceful morning outside. Hermes—maintaining his persona as the merchant "Aljen"—was a storm of pure, controlled fury. Though he kept his voice steady to avoid drawing attention from the neighbors, his patience had reached its limit. Behind the seemingly ordinary surface of his mask, his eyes burned with a neon-bright intensity.
As a penalty for his servant's unauthorized disappearance, Hermes threw a sudden, heavy punch toward Justin's face. It was a swift, professional strike, intended as a sharp reprimand.
The blow never landed. With effortless grace, Justin simply raised his hand, his palm meeting Hermes's fist with a soft thud. He didn't just block the punch; he absorbed the impact completely, his feet never shifting an inch. A look of immense pride and satisfaction crossed Justin's face. He seemed genuinely pleased to see his master asserting his authority with such force.
Nicolo, the village guard, quickly moved between them, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Hey, you two! Calm down! Y' don't have to do that!" he shouted, hands held up in a placating gesture.
Hermes clicked his tongue and pulled his hand back, his expression darkening. He turned his gaze toward Nicolo. Even through the mask, the guard felt a spiritual pressure so heavy it felt like a "death flag" was waving over his head. Hermes pointed a slow, deliberate index finger at Nicolo's chest.
"You want to replace this son of a bitch, sir?" Hermes asked, his voice deathly quiet and devoid of any childishness.
"Woah, kid," Nicolo stepped back, cold sweat breaking out across his brow. He instinctively reached for his holster. "W-wait, calm down. That's not my intention. I'm an officer here."
"So, what?" Hermes moved closer, his gaze predatory. "Don't meddle with our business here if you don't have the guts."
Nicolo scrambled backward. He had faced criminals in the forbidden Fifth District, but this "merchant" was something else entirely. "W-wait," Nicolo disputed, his voice shaking. "I'm a guard of Neue Fiona, and it's my duty to maintain peace. Hurting your friend without even asking why he was gone is not the best option!"
"What?" Hermes paused, folding his arms. He stomped his foot in sharp displeasure. "And. So?"
"S-so, c'mon. Relax for a minute. Deep breath," Nicolo suggested. "Drinking water helps ease the pressure. Just listen to me."
Hermes clicked his tongue—a sound of utter dismissal. He turned on his heel toward the sink. "Let the asshole enter," he ordered, gesturing toward Justin. "And give us a short period of time to talk. And don't even think about eavesdropping. This is not a request, but an order."
"Wait, as I said, I'm a guard! You don't have the authority to—"
CLACK.
Hermes set the glass down on the table with a terrifying finality. "—I. DON'T. CARE."
Nicolo shut his mouth and nodded, his legs trembling. It was as if he were facing a demon in hell. As he retreated, he wondered if saving this boy from the street had been worth the sanity he was losing.
While Nicolo felt fear, Justin felt pure respect. Seeing his master dominate the "worthless junk"—his private nickname for the guard—made his heartbeat accelerate with adoration. Justin brushed his sleeve and followed Hermes inside.
He closed the door firmly, locking it to ensure their privacy. He moved toward Hermes, pressed his right hand over his chest, and knelt on one knee.
"Forgive me, sir," Justin said, his head bowed. "I admit my failure to look after you. My presence isn't worth being shown in front of someone as supreme as you. Forgiving this useless man is unnecessary without proper payment. I shall cut one finger from my hand and offer it to you. It is the tradition. It must be done."
Justin drew a gleaming knife, his expression one of calm readiness.
Hermes looked down at him with contempt. "You don't look like you feel repentant at all. What are you waiting for? Do it if you want, but only an idiot follows that stupid tradition. Do you think one finger is enough? Your finger is nothing but a useless banknote with a low currency rate."
"Forgive me, sir," Justin replied smoothly. "If it is not enough, then allow me to cut another for my failure as your advisor. My carelessness brought you harm. Although I bought the foods you asked for, I failed to be at your side yesterday."
Justin adjusted the blade against his finger. "However, let me correct you. In accordance with the Universal Law of the Mafiaocre, Section 1, Article IV, 0311, one finger is equivalent to one life. It is the way of settling arguments. It is the master's right to accept it as a gift... or to want his servant dead."
Hermes slammed his palm on the table, the impact making the objects jump. "I don't care if you cut it or not! Will you stop spouting that article for goodness' sake, you fucking nuts?! I don't care about that 'law'!"
He leaned over the table, his eyes burning with neon intensity. "Can you be serious? I order you to stop. We have work to do."
"But, sir," Justin remained in his kneeling position, "It is part of my duty to fully satisfy the need and request of his lord and sole master of the family. It is part of the service of the clan members to do the part of his job and perform the duty bestowed upon him, whether offering his life and fingers to justify his own servitude. You're the God of my own temple."
"What are you? Japanese-wanna be? A samurai during the Edo era and a Templar knight during the last crusade? You're a mafia man. My sole advisor! Just stop your fucking mouth and hide that knife already. Goddamn it, I am not a God or someone beyond to Almighty God. Yeah, I'm very religious but, fucking seriously, I don't really like to be compared to him. God damn it." Hermes snapped with his hands readied to throw his glass at his servant.
"Indeed, I agree," Justin raised up his head with a glittering gaze onward, "Your appearance and greatness has nothing than other self-proclaimed Gods. You're a supreme being higher than anyone else. You're a ruthless, cruel, and wicked young Don among them all who surpassed even Demons and other races around the world."
"Stop! What the fuck are you talking about? There's no other race than human beings in this world, stupid." Hermes interjected.
"Forgive me, shall I cut my fingers now?" asked Justin. This question made the young Don jump from his chair with a word, "Son of a bi— Oi, stop!" and he shuffled the knife away from his hand. Justin, confused, questioned him, "But why?"
Hermes felt a vein pulse in his forehead. He glanced toward the door, realizing that Justin's fanatical shouting was likely echoing through the thin walls. If that guard, Nicolo, heard any of this "Don" and "Servitude" talk, their cover as mere merchants would be incinerated.
"For fuck sake, listen to me," Hermes hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. "If you don't want to follow me for simple words then I order you to restrain your stupidity because your uselessness will increase further beyond compare. Do you have any idea if you lose some of your fingers, how can you exactly perform your duty as my butler, moron? Think about it before you act to your foolishness."
"Oh, goodness, gracious. As expected to my master, you absolutely see that through. An excellent mindset, my Don. Your intelligence is absolutely almighty compared to your classmates from Rome."
"Shut it." Hermes sat down and placed the knife on the table.
Noticing his master's genuine distress and the risk of eavesdropping, Justin discreetly snapped his fingers behind his back.
A faint, invisible ripple of mana expanded from Justin, coating the room in a [Sound-Proof Barrier]. To Hermes, who believed himself to be entirely magicless, nothing had changed, but to the world outside, the room became perfectly silent.
"Your loyalty is undeniably good and your skills are really useful, with your stupidity as an exemption," Hermes continued, unaware of the barrier. "Leaving that aside, the fact that you leave me behind yesterday is really questionable. I dare you to explain everything to me before these hands choke you to death. Now, explain yourself."
"Oh, my goodness. Such atrocity. The evil within you is really fabulous and absolutely gorgeous. Who am I to question the mighty Don among them all?" gushed Justin as he pressed his hands to praise him like a God once again. "I will tell the truth but nothing but the truth."
"—Enough," Hermes interjected. "Just speak already. I don't care about your praise so don't raise your filthy face upfront otherwise, I won't bother the authorities like that man named Nicolo for paying him to put you in jail because of your uselessness, obsessive traits, and annoying paraphrases. There's an added bonus of being thrown down to the sea in a barrel, if possible."
Justin gulped and immediately turned his gaze down. "If that's what you wish, sir. I will accept that kind of punishment." And he muttered aside, "What an honor to be disposed of like that," before he smirks.
"Just explain already. We don't have time to waste," Hermes commanded.
"As you wish, sir," Justin replied, though he avoided meeting Hermes's eyes. "To tell you the truth... yesterday, while I was securing the refreshment, I met someo- I mean, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful, localized sleeping gas in the alleyway. It seems I was caught off guard by a petty trap meant for scavengers. I remained unconscious in that filth until this morning. Upon waking, I realized my grave error and rushed to find you. That is all."
Hermes tilted his head, his neon-bright eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Hmm, what do you mean a 'petty trap'? You? The man who can sense a needle drop from a mile away was taken out by common sleeping gas?"
Justin maintained his bowed posture, hiding the flicker of unease in his eyes. It was a blatant excuse, a mask covering whatever actually happened during those missing hours.
"So," the young Don lowered his hands and placed them on his lap. "You're telling me you were sleeping in an alley while I had to deal with a night of chaos? I was followed by several goons. I thought they were simple bandits, but they were a well-organized organization. Professional equipment. Don't fuck with me, Justin. Don't fuck with me."
Justin, acting surprised, explicitly asked, "Sir? You faced organized goons? From where? Who exactly are they? Can you give me the full details to pay them a visit right now? I'll avenge you today, sir. Just say the word. I'll comply immediately."
Outside of the room…
Nicolo stood in the hallway, his ear pressed to the door. He had heard the muffled shouts of "Master," "Servitude," and "God of my temple" before a sudden, absolute silence fell over the room.
"Good grief..." Nicolo whispered, his face turning bright red. "First all that shouting about 'punishment' and 'payment'... and now it's dead quiet? And there was that thumping sound of the chair earlier..."
He covered his mouth, looking scandalized. "Is the kid some kind of eccentric young master with a... 'special' relationship with his butler? All that talk about 'fingers' and 'servitude'... I've stumbled into a lover's quarrel of the most scandalous order!"
He stepped away from the door, feeling incredibly awkward. "I need to get some air. I can't look that kid in the eye right now."
Inside the room again…
"Take it slowly. I think they are already dead... but I'm not really sure," Hermes muttered, his voice trailing off as he struggled to pierce the fog in his mind. "My memories of the event are still failing to surface. I can only describe them as a bunch of idiots who wanted to capture me for some unknown reason. Gosh, forget about them. Now that you mentioned it... you were caught by a 'petty trap' yesterday, right?"
Hermes paused, a specific fragment of his conversation with the guard resurfacing. He turned a sharp, inquisitive gaze toward his butler.
"Justin," Hermes said, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "Earlier, Nicolo mentioned something. He said he saw a strange purple light erupting from the direction of the district last night. It was bright enough to be seen from the station. When you were in that alley... did you see it? A massive flash, or something glowing in the distance?"
Justin's expression remained perfectly still, a masterpiece of stoic professionalism. Deep down, he knew exactly what that light represented—the awakening of a power that was long overdue.
"A purple light, sir?" Justin tilted his head with a look of practiced, innocent confusion. "I'm afraid I saw nothing of the sort. As I mentioned, the sleeping gas took hold of me quite suddenly. My world was nothing but darkness until the morning sun hit my face. If such a light existed, it must have occurred while I was deep in that forced slumber. Why do you ask, my Don? Was it an explosion?"
Hermes searched Justin's face for any sign of a lie, but the butler was a master of the mask. "If the guard noticed it, it couldn't have been a hallucination," Hermes muttered, feeling a seed of doubt.
The young Don suddenly pressed his palm to his forehead, his vision swimming. A sharp wave of dizziness crashed over him. Justin stood up instantly, his body tensing like a coiled spring. However, Hermes raised a trembling hand, signaling him to stay back.
"Sir, are you alright?" Justin asked, his voice low and urgent.
"Of course I'm not, you moron," replied Hermes as he poured a glass of water. He gulped it until it was empty. He took a deep breath and exhaled twice before he resumed. "Crap, my head is spinning so much to the point I'll collapse any minute now. I think I'm going to puke or somethin' more disgusting."
Hermes shook his head to ease the pain. "Only this glass of water helps me stop the pain. No—stay foot. I'm fine, thank you. Don't you dare carry me like a princess, Justin."
"But, sir," the butler said with his shoulders down. "Did something happen that makes you feel like that? I just want to help. Is it because of stress or somethin' more than that?"
Hermes turned his gaze down, his hand on his chin. "I have no idea. The moment I try to recall somethin' from the past event, my head spins like a roller coaster and my body starts to collapse. I'm starting to believe that somethin' is keeping me from remembering it. Technically, I can't even recall the faces of the people I met yesterday. And you know what? My body feels so light that I feel like a newborn man."
Deep down, Hermes sensed a shift. His gentle, polite side—the side of him that was a respectful Filipino man in his past life—was being swallowed by something more savage. For the past three days, he had been spouting sharp curses and acting with a coldness that felt terrifyingly natural.
"Sir, there's a lot of things I want to ask, but I suggest withdrawing for now," Justin suggested, standing up and hiding his knife. "Both of us are feeling the weight of yesterday's unknown phenomena. I suppose it is the right time for us to return home."
"Yeah, we better do that," Hermes agreed.
"Oh, by the way, my Don," Justin commented, eyeing Hermes's face. "For some reason, your mask has changed and its darker than before. I remember that you wore a gas mask. Yet, today, you are wearing a non-facial mask."
Astonished, Hermes removed the light material and peeked at it. "Oh, yeah. It is different from my usual mask."
As Hermes held the object, Justin's eyes widened slightly. A rare, genuine glint of joy and recognition passed through his gaze. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a barely audible, mysterious whisper.
"It is finally starting to mold now... the connection is taking shape..."
Hermes froze, his sharp ears catching the strange adlib. He looked up at Justin, his neon-bright eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Wait. What did you just say? 'Starting to mold'? Do you know something about this mask, Justin?"
Justin immediately pulled back, his face returning to its usual vacant, adoring expression. He offered a smooth, shallow bow. "I beg your pardon, sir? I think the stress is affecting your hearing. I was merely commenting on how the mask's material looks like it was molded by a master craftsman. I have never seen such an object in my life. It is truly a mystery."
Hermes stared at him for a long beat, the lie hanging in the air like heavy smoke. Justin was being more enigmatic than usual, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.
"Nah, I didn't buy a new one," Hermes continued, looking back at the mask. "I thought about it but there's no way I would buy this. It gives off a completely different vibe."
"Sir, to be honest, that mask is uncommon not only to this place but also to the entire nation. I think you should keep it," Justin replied, hiding his internal excitement. "If someone tries to steal it, they won't be able to fool me. It's a unique signature."
"However, let me remind you, sir. It's dangerous to wear it in public every day. You'll be easily identified. But don't worry, I am here. Oh, please wear it now before that junk enters this room without your permission." Justin articulated, pressing his hand once again to his chest.
Hermes slipped the mask back on. "I will."
Just as the mask settled into place, Justin sensed a presence approaching the door. With a subtle, lightning-fast snap of his fingers behind his back, he deactivated the sound barrier. The shimmering distortion in the air vanished instantly, just a split second before the wood rattled.
Nicolo knocked and poked his face in, looking slightly flushed. "Umm, excuse me. Are you both done? My comrades will arrive soon. It is alright to extend your discussion to fully settle your... quarrel."
Justin opened the door. Behind him was the young Don, lowering his head in appreciation for the hospitality.
"Thank you for saving my life," Hermes said, offering his hand. "I swear to you that you'll be rewarded someday. My servant and I reconciled and decided to leave. Thank you for your help, Sergeant Nicolo, until we meet again."
Nicolo grabbed it with a smile, still misinterpreting the "intensity" of their talk. "Yes, until we meet again. You're always welcome here, friend."