CHAPTER 7: THE UNINVITED GUEST
While chaos reigned in the back of the train, the second compartment remained a sanctuary of luxury and ill-gotten confidence. The air here was thick with the smell of expensive tobacco and the hum of the train's engine, muffled by heavy velvet curtains.
The Boss sat behind a mahogany desk that had been bolted to the floor, counting stacks of Zen with greedy precision. Standing across from him was the broad-shouldered man, his muscles bulging beneath his tracksuit. Despite their apparent control, the big man looked uneasy.
"Boss," the muscular man started, shifting his weight. "Do you really think we can trust that guy? The one from the shadows? He doesn't care about our plan or the cargo. Do you think he'll deal with the Sorcerers, or is he just waiting for the right moment to backstab us?"
The Boss paused his counting, blowing a slow cloud of smoke into the air. "Listen, we didn't just pick him up off the street. We got him from those people. If the underground says his skills are the real deal, then they are. I don't need to worry about his loyalty as long as he's fed. Do you have any idea how much 'goods' how many lives I had to trade just to get them to loan him to us?"
The muscular man swallowed hard. He knew exactly what the "goods" were. "I understand, Boss. I trust your judgment."
"Good," the Boss grunted, returning to his money. "Don't worry. Once we finish this mission and receive the final payment from the buyers, we won't need to do this kind of dirty work anymore. We'll be set for life in the capital. No more running, no more hijacking."
"Hello... excuse me."
The voice was soft, calm, and entirely out of place.
Both men snapped their heads toward the corner of the room. There, leaning against the doorframe as if he had been there for hours, was a boy. He was thin, wearing a dark tracksuit and a blue scarf that masked the lower half of his face. Slung over his shoulder was a long, canvas-wrapped case that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic pressure.
"W-What the hell?" the Boss stammered, his cigar falling from his lips and scattering ash over his money. "Who are you? Where the fuck did you come from? Guards! Zack! Scar!"
"They're busy," the boy said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I was sitting in my seat, minding my own business, when your people attacked me. They tried to take me hostage. They were very loud about it."
The boy stepped into the light, his black hair falling over his sharp, tired eyes. "They called you 'Boss.' So, I decided to bring them back to you."
"What? You little bastard!" the Boss roared, his face turning a dark shade of crimson. "How dare you touch my men? Do you have any idea who I am?"
Driven by pure rage, the Boss lunged across the desk, swinging a heavy, unrefined fist at the boy's head. He expected the kid to fold like paper. Instead, the boy simply tilted his head a fraction of an inch. The Boss's fist whistled past his ear, hitting nothing but empty air. The momentum sent the Boss stumbling forward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Oi!" the Boss screamed, clutching the edge of the desk to steady himself. He turned to the muscular man, who was standing frozen in shock. "What are you waiting for? I told you to tie up any stragglers! Get over there and bind him! Do it now!"
The muscular man hesitated, looking at the boy's calm posture. "What if he tries to fight back, Boss? He looks... strange."
"I don't care!" the Boss barked. "Just don't give him a fatal injury. As long as he's alive, we can still sell him. A healthy 17-year-old fetches a high price on the black market. Just beat him enough so he stops moving!"
The boy's eyes darkened at the mention of being "sold." A cold, invisible pressure began to radiate from him, causing the curtains to flutter as if caught in a draft.
"Oh... is that so?" the boy whispered. "You guys are the ones hijacking the train for human trafficking, aren't you? You're the reason the air feels so heavy."
"What are you, high or something?" the Boss spat, reaching for a glass of water to soothe his trembling throat. "Just because you dodged one punch with a bit of luck, you think you're a hero? Are you drunk or on drugs, you little brat? Which one is it?"
He turned back to his subordinate. "Tie him up! For crying out loud, do I have to do everything myself?"
"Okay... okay!" the muscular man roared, trying to psych himself up. He rushed toward the boy, his massive arms spread wide to grapple him. He was a mountain of meat and bone, weighing three times as much as the teenager.
The boy didn't move until the man was inches away. Then, in a blur of motion, he stepped inside the man's guard. He didn't use a weapon. He simply delivered a short, sharp palm strike to the underside of the man's chin.
THUD.
"Huh...?" the muscular man muttered. He stopped mid-stride. His eyes began to unfocus, and the room started to spin. "What... that weak... attack..."
He tried to raise his hands, but his nervous system had already shut down. He saw double, then triple, before his knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor like a felled oak tree, completely unconscious before his head even hit the carpet.
The Boss stared at his best enforcer, his mouth hanging open. "What... what? You're telling me you got your ass handed to you by this weak-looking, sickly kid?"
The boy turned his gaze toward the Boss. It was the look of a predator watching a bug.
"Hey," the boy said, stepping over the fallen giant. "Your turn next. You better clench your teeth."
The Boss didn't even have time to scream. The boy's fist connected with his jaw with the sound of a hammer hitting a rail.
THWACK!
The Boss was lifted off his feet, his body spinning in the air before he crashed into his desk. Money flew everywhere, fluttering like autumn leaves. He slumped to his knees, his eyes glazed over, barely clinging to consciousness.
THUD.
The boy stood in the center of the room, his breathing perfectly calm. He didn't look at the money or the unconscious men. Instead, he looked toward the wall, his eyes seemingly piercing through the metal of the train toward the fifth compartment.
"I can sense it now," the boy whispered. A dark, purple spark flickered in the depths of his pupils. "A Curse User. And maybe a strong one."