"John is late..." Aron said, pacing in circles with his hand covering his mouth, lost in deep thought. "Why the hell hasn't he called yet? He always calls at seven o'clock sharp, not a minute more or less. Why was today any different?" Aron's paranoid mind quickly began conjuring reasons why, even without the necessary clues to piece the puzzle together.
"Could we have been attacked? Did someone attack Manhattan? Holy shit! John and Ryan could be in danger, if not dead!" He brought his hand to his forehead.
"Could it have been the military?" His mind spiraled through what could be one catastrophe worse than the last. "Did they finally find out we've been leaking information? Right now?! After all these years? Shit, shit, shit!" He threw a punch against the wall, making the entire structure shake, startling the maids around him, who promptly swallowed hard before approaching him with soft steps.
"Easy, my lord," one of them said, placing her hand gently on his shoulder while speaking in a sweet voice. "I'm sure it was just a delay or a misunderstanding. It's probably something silly we'll all be laughing about later." Aron breathed deeply as his shoulders were massaged.
"I hope so."
Ring, Ring, Ring.
Suddenly, however, the phone rang on the coffee table, vibrating vividly, drawing his attention and that of the maids around him, who watched with a shock and horror beyond what words could describe.
The truth was that no one there believed John would be late, not that man. Something must have happened, and it certainly would not be pleasant news.
And so...
Who could possibly be calling at this hour?
"An enemy?" Aron stared at the phone, with no other apparent reaction beyond his unsettled voice. "He called to negotiate the hostages... or perhaps to warn that Ryan's head is on its way?" His heart pounded hard against his sternum before he swallowed.
Ring, Ring, Ring.
The phone kept ringing as Aron thought about how to proceed.
"My lord?" A blonde maid with braided hair and green eyes questioned from beside him. "Would you not like to answer? Would you like me to speak in your place?" She made herself readily available, wanting to ease the mental burden on her master.
"Yes." Aron nodded slowly and then said: "Answer it and ask who it is and who they wish to speak to. If they ask who you are, say you're Lia, the seamstress, and then ask whether they need you to sew anything."
Ring, Ring, Ring.
The phone kept ringing as they spoke, rattling the table as the shrill sound grated on their ears. But then a gloved hand grabbed it and spoke in a soft, sweet voice: "Hello, hello~ Who is this?"
"Tell Aron that Ryan, Manager and Owner of Manhattan Café, wishes to speak to him." Ryan said from the other end of the line, making the young woman glance in Aron's direction, covering the phone before speaking:
"He says his name is Ryan, from Manhattan Café." Aron furrowed his brow with boundless suspicion, striding quickly toward her and calmly requesting the phone, which was promptly handed over.
'What's going on? Is it really Ryan?' He questioned himself. 'Or is someone impersonating him?'
"Aron speaking." He said, at which Ryan laughed in amusement from the other end of the line.
"Why did your maid answer?" Aron sat down, throwing his feet up on the coffee table, trying to convince himself he was not nervous. At least, the voice sounded familiar, but he had not yet drawn any conclusions. After all, Ryan had never called him before. Something strange was happening.
"Few people know my number, and generally they are not very spontaneous when calling." Aron said. "Your servant in particular always calls at the exact same time, not missing a single day. Only to file reports like a robot." Aron sighed, refusing to say John's name, but then added:
"Strangely enough, today he did not call me, yet you, his Master, called me in his place." Aron then asked slowly, his pace accelerating as he spoke. "What happened? Did your servant finally fall down the stairs and die, or could something more serious have occurred, such as... an enemy attack? Is there something urgent to report? Are we all in imminent danger? Are you being held hostage right now?! Who captured you?! Tell me his name, damn it!"
"..."
Only an agonizing hiss was heard, after which Ryan spoke calmly in the most serious voice he could manage. "Relax, everything is fine. Manhattan is still standing and everyone is alright, you can easily verify that yourself, I believe. In any case, my servant, as you call him, John is downstairs preparing me a hot meal as we speak. And I am here talking to you from my apartment upstairs."
"Really?"
"Really."
"..."
"Holy shit! Don't give me a heart attack, kid! Why the hell are you calling me out of nowhere, like a ghost?! For the love of God, all that's missing is you crawling out of my TV drenched in mud and Satan's little kit would be complete!" Ryan laughed in amusement once more as Aron simultaneously let out a long sigh, took his feet off the table and grabbed an ornate bottle of whiskey, pulling the cap off with his teeth before pouring into a glass. "I thought John handled all of this, he knew the schedules, the codes, the security measures, everything! He knew how to proceed, so why on earth did you call me instead?"
"Things have changed around here." Ryan said plainly. "Is it not a bit strange, when you think about it? The manager of Manhattan Café is the one who should be reporting to leadership, and yet it is John who has been chatting with you every day, every hour. From here on out, you will speak directly with me. Understood?"
Aron furrowed his brow before downing a shot of whiskey. The amber liquid burned down his throat before he turned his attention back to Ryan. "Trouble in paradise, I imagine." Ryan fell silent, confirming Aron's suspicion. "But that is fine. John chose to be a servant and chose you as his master. So you make the rules over there. That is none of my business. We will just update the schedules and contact codes."
"Alright." Ryan said succinctly.
Aron then spoke in a deep voice. "Now, regarding the Voices and the Special Exam, I want to know everything. It will actually be easier having a direct line with you. So take this opportunity and tell me, how is your training going?"
"My Voice has been growing more powerful by the day, beyond what was expected, of that I am certain." Ryan said, recalling the Voice of Intimidation, but thinking of more than that. "After all, I have also learned a new one, an even more powerful one." Aron's eyes widened in surprise.
"The Voice of Wrath."
"Wrath?" Aron adjusted his glasses. "I did not expect you to awaken a new Voice so soon. I imagine there was quite a nasty fight between the two of you."
"Things have already been resolved. But I appreciate the concern." Ryan said quietly.
Even so, Aron was no less concerned. How powerful a Voice was depended on the user's ability to visualize it, to give it a shape. Doing so from imagination alone was not impossible, especially for a master. But in Ryan's case, a beginner, the only credible way for that to happen was through experience, drawn from a defining memory.
For example: the Voice of Intimidation was almost always an experience lived by the person, betraying the kind of life they had led up to that point. Giving you, as a first principle, a glimpse of who they truly were deep down, their worst traumas and fears.
The Voice of Wrath, on the other hand, was no simple Voice to learn, and it was generally weak, unless the person had a defining experience with Wrath. In that case, this Voice carried a crushing potential.
'I wonder what shape he gave that Voice.' Aron found himself curious about what Ryan had gone through. 'Perhaps he has become a genuine danger.'
'Not that that is a bad thing.' Aron smiled broadly. 'After all, I want to see just how far this anomaly will grow.'