Shin placed a scroll before Nine with the quiet precision of a man who measured every movement. The parchment was unblemished, the ink still fresh.
"I've gathered workers as you requested. Women for the brothels. Men trained in swift footwork for courier operations."
Nine flicked his gaze over the scroll, absorbing the details in a glance before pushing it aside, his disinterest evident. "Any available land near the estate?"
Shin, ever composed, inclined his head. "I've already prepared it."
Nine rose languidly, stretching the tension from his shoulders. "Show me."
---
The carriage ride was long, the wheels creaking against the winding mountain path. Through the slatted windows, the world unfolded—dense forests shrouded in morning mist, their towering silhouettes softened by the pale light. The scent of damp earth and pine drifted through the air, crisp and clean, untouched by the corruption of civilization.
By the time they arrived, nearly an hour had passed. The moment the carriage halted, Shin stepped out first, adjusting his sleeves before standing aside, ever the composed shadow at Nine's flank.
Nine followed, inhaling deeply as his boots hit solid ground. Before him, the land stretched vast and unspoiled—rolling hills giving way to dense thickets, a perfect blend of seclusion and potential.
"And the topography?" he asked, voice calm but edged with expectation.
Shin, without delay, unfurled another scroll—a meticulously sketched map of the terrain. The inked lines were crisp, detailed, a testament to careful preparation.
Nine studied it in silence, his fingers ghosting over the parchment as he traced invisible paths.
"A bathhouse here," he murmured, tapping near the natural springs. "The entrance at the border, positioned for discretion." His fingers moved, eyes narrowing in thought. "The brothels—spacious, two stories at most. Place them along these roads, facing each other."
Shin's gaze followed his every motion, absorbing each command with quiet diligence.
"Near the bathhouses, restaurants. Leave space between them and the brothels—enough for a courtyard, perhaps, to keep the transitions seamless." Nine's mouth curled into a smirk as his hand stopped at a central location. "And here—a pagoda. Make it grand. This will be the heart of our network, the Black Market Pagoda."
Shin's fingers tightened minutely around the scroll.
"I will handle its reputation," Nine continued smoothly. "Mercenaries, assassins, informants—this will be their haven. An empire in the shadows."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Shin's expression. But it was gone in an instant, masked beneath his usual reserve.
"How long before I see results?"
"Three to six months, my lord. I can secure more workers if you wish to accelerate the process."
Nine merely nodded before tilting his head slightly, gaze sharp. "And the budget?"
Shin's voice was steady. "I own mining caves. The funds come from my personal assets."
Nine exhaled a short laugh, stepping closer. "You're investing." A slow, deliberate pat on Shin's shoulder. "We'll have a separate discussion about funds once construction is complete."
"Understood."
Nine's amusement deepened. He could sense it—the unspoken weight in Shin's silence. A hesitation, brief but telling.
"You should extract your money from this project," Nine said idly. "I'll cover the expenses."
For the first time, Shin's narrow eyes opened fully, the mask slipping just enough to reveal a glint of something sharper. A pause—long, weighted.
"…Understood."
Nine tilted his head, intrigued. "You want to rule over the other Lords, don't you?"
Shin's expression didn't change, but something about the air between them shifted.
Nine smirked. "I can help you." He extended the scroll back. "Do you trust me?"
A long beat. Then Shin took the parchment, dipping into a bow—perfectly measured, flawlessly executed.
"I am merely a humble servant."
Nine scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away. "Ah, whatever. The offer stands. Just tell me."
---
By the time his survey was complete, satisfaction settled in his chest. The foundation of his vision had been laid. Now, all that remained was execution.
He left Shin to oversee the workers and returned to the palace.
The moment he stepped past the gates, a familiar presence settled over him—warm, steady, grounding.
Nine barely needed to focus before pinpointing it.
The kitchen.
A slow, easy smile tugged at his lips.
---
Nine leaned against the kitchen doorway, silent, watching.
Aya stood at the hearth, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, stirring a pot with the practiced ease of someone who had long since mastered her craft. Steam curled around her in delicate tendrils, carrying the rich aroma of simmering broth.
A servant assisted her nearby, while Seven—perched on a woven mat a safe distance away—happily gnawed on an onion leek, his tiny fingers gripping it tightly.
Dishes were already plated on the side table, their colors vibrant beneath the flickering lantern light. Aya tasted one with a thoughtful hum, then flipped through a worn cookbook, exchanging quiet words with the servant.
She looked… peaceful.
Soft. Warm. A world apart from the chaos he dealt with.
"May I join you?"
The moment his voice reached her, Aya turned, eyes lighting up with familiar warmth.
"Nine!" She waved him over without hesitation, already scooping up a spoonful of food.
Before he could react, she tilted his chin up, pressing the spoon to his lips in one smooth motion.
Nine deadpanned, but he still swallowed.
"Well?" Aya prompted expectantly.
A pause.
"…It's delicious," he admitted.
Aya beamed.
Pleased, she raised the spoon again, and Nine, without resistance, leaned down to take another bite.
The servant—perhaps sensing the shift in atmosphere—wisely picked up Seven and excused herself, slipping out of the kitchen without a word.
"I was thinking of making dessert next," Aya mused, tapping a finger against her chin. "You don't like sweets, so I was considering something creamy instead."
Nine arched a brow. "I'll eat anything you make."
Aya smirked. "Then… frogs."
Nine's face twisted in immediate disgust.
"That's not a dessert."
"What happened to 'I'll eat anything'?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Nine chuckled, shaking his head as he knelt in front of her, guiding her to sit before him.
"Fine. I want tart."
Aya's lips curled at the edges, her expression turning soft with satisfaction.
But before she could respond—
Nine stiffened.
A sharp, visceral pain tore through his chest.
The breath in his lungs turned heavy, his vision narrowing.
The breath in his lungs turned heavy, his vision narrowing.
"Nine?" Aya's hands were on him in an instant, gripping his shoulders, concern etching into her features.
He didn't answer.
The feeling was back.
That same unbearable pulse—the raw, searing heat that had first struck him when he received the essence.
Instinct took over.
His hand shot to her stomach, seeking—searching.
The essence inside her—it was still there.
And it wasn't dormant.
It was moving. Circulating. Burning.
Throb
His heart wrenched as if responding in kind.
Heat licked at his spine, creeping beneath his skin, insidious and slow. His senses sharpened painfully, every breath Aya took pulling at something deep within him.
Her scent. The warmth of her touch. The rhythm of her pulse—shit, it was intoxicating.
"Aya," he gritted out, his voice raw, strained.
"What? What? What is it this time?" Aya groaned, fingers grabbing his hair as she shook his head, exasperated. "I'm sick of your sudden weird reactions!" she huffed, irritation lacing her voice.
Nine clenched his teeth, breath ragged.
Control. He needed control.
But—damn it.