Chapter 172: An Unexpected Visit
The moment Hajun's eyes tracked Lisa Mingrui and her two imposing bodyguards exiting the bustling concourse of Bailey Square Mall, a calculated shift occurred in his demeanor. The casual, playboy facade melted away, replaced by a focused intensity. He didn't linger. With a few curt words to his companions, he detached himself and swiftly made his way to the parking level, sliding into the driver's seat of his own sleek, non-descript vehicle.
He didn't head home or to another club. Instead, he navigated the shimmering traffic lanes of Elora City with a clear destination in mind, his expression grim. The car eventually glided to a silent halt in an upscale, residential sector, parking before a towering, exclusive high-rise. This was Drew's penthouse.
Without ceremony, Hajun marched up to the reinforced entrance and knocked sharply on the gate. About twenty seconds later, the door slid open with a faint hiss. The sight that greeted him was one of organized, high-tech chaos.
Standing in the doorway was Haeju, Hajun's formidable older sister. She was clad not in casual wear, but in a skintight, advanced plasma-protection bodysuit, its surface shimmering with a faint, reactive energy field, suggesting she was either just returning from or preparing for a serious engagement.
Behind her, in the sprawling, minimalist living space, was Drew himself. His stark white hair was tied back in a practical, messy bun, and he was hunched over the open chest-plate of his infamous Saint-Slayer Mechanical Suit. Tools and holographic schematics floated around him as he meticulously calibrated the suit's internal systems, his focus absolute.
Hajun brushed past Haeju with a familiar, albeit tense, urgency. He strode into the center of the room, his eyes fixed on Drew. In a gesture of both habit and frayed nerves, he reached for a bottle sitting on a nearby side table. Without looking, he uncapped it and took a large, expecting gulp of what he assumed was a sports drink or juice.
The liquid that hit his tongue was thick, viscous, and tasted of synthetic lubricants and metal.
Phccck—!
He spat the mouthful of engine oil across the pristine floor, coughing and sputtering. He shot a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance at Drew, who hadn't even glanced up from his work. Muttering curses under his breath, Hajun summoned a clean towel from a small storage ring on his finger, wiping his mouth and tongue with frantic disgust.
It was Haeju, having closed the door and now observing him with crossed arms, who broke the silence. Her voice was calm but carried an edge. "Hajun. What are you doing here?"
Finally recovering, Hajun tossed the soiled towel aside, his expression turning serious. "Right, the reason I'm here," he began, his voice still slightly hoarse from the oil. "You remember, don't you? You showed me that photo—the one of those two brothers that were a type enslaved by the prince of the Alhuwalia Clan."
Haeju's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes," she confirmed, her tone neutral. "I remember."
The mention of the photo was enough to pull Drew's attention away from his suit. He didn't turn fully, but the rhythmic clinking of his tools ceased. From over his shoulder, he was now listening, his entire posture radiating a silent, focused interest. The air in the penthouse grew thick, the casual domestic chaos suddenly charged with a far heavier significance.
Hajun, finally having cleared the vile taste of engine oil from his mouth, delivered his bombshell with grim satisfaction.
"I saw them today," he stated, his voice low and intent.
The reaction was immediate and electric.
"What?!"
The exclamation came in sharp unison from both Haeju and Drew. Haeju's arms uncrossed, her professional composure cracking for a moment. From behind the open chassis of the Saint-Slayer suit, the clatter of a tool hitting the floor echoed Drew's surprise. He finally turned fully, his intense gaze locking onto Hajun, all work forgotten.
"When? How? And you're sure it was them?" Haeju pressed, stepping closer.
Hajun nodded, the pieces clicking into place in his mind. "Remember that high-frequency plasma blade I wanted? The one Father refused to fund? I took out a loan from the Mountbatten Bank to get it. The Debt collector who cane to collect it was a woman named Lisa Mingrui. And standing right behind her, as her bodyguards, were them. The two brothers from the photo."
He let that sink in before adding his next move. "The moment I confirmed it, I dispatched a discreet investigator. He's already tracking them. I should have their current address and routine very soon."
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the low hum of Drew's powered-down suit. Haeju's eyes flickered toward her brother, a silent question passing between them. Drew, however, had already withdrawn. The initial shock had faded, replaced by a familiar, stoic resignation. He turned back to his work, picking up the fallen tool, his movements deliberate and closed off.
Seeing his retreat, Haeju turned back to Drew, her voice softer now, probing. "What are you planning to do with this information, Drew?"
It was Drew who answered, his voice muffled slightly as he leaned back into the suit's internal wiring. "What can we do?" he said, a hint of weary frustration in his tone. "Their lives... and mine... they only intersected once. That day I fought the Seven-Tailed Fox. They were there, but they were weak back then. Barely able to stand. They were just... spectators in the stands, watching my squad engage the beast." He spoke of it as a closed chapter, a fleeting moment in a distant past.
Hajun, however, seemed to think the connection meant more. "So, are you going to tell the others?" he asked, leaning forward. "Ruby? James? Tom? Minji? Don't they deserve to know?"
Drew finally straightened up, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. His expression was unreadable, but his words were final. "Why would I?" he said, his tone flat. "They have their own lives now. We all do. Dragging this up helps no one."
The conversation was clearly over. The brief window of shared history had slammed shut. With a shrug, Hajun, having delivered his news and gotten his answer, made his way out, the penthouse door hissing shut behind him.
Left in the quiet of the workshop, Haeju let out a soft sigh. She picked up a laser calibrator and moved to stand beside Drew. Without another word, the two fell into their familiar, silent rhythm, working in tandem to repair the heavy damage the Saint-Slayer suit had sustained in its last, brutal confrontation with Rivan. The past was a ghost they had chosen not to feed.
To be continued…