The quiet hum of the capital's evening was broken only by the faint scrape of a knife against wood. Inside Kael's kitchen, Yamori worked in silence. The table before him was crowded with tools: measuring cups, a pestle and mortar, sharpened knives, and a worn notebook in which he jotted his scattered thoughts. Beside him sat a pile of coconuts, their hard shells cracked one by one with practiced precision.
Kael pushed open the door with his shoulder, a faint aroma catching his nose. "Smells like coconuts in here," he grumbled, wrinkling his brow. "Whatever you're cooking up, boy, I hope it isn't some kind of fruit bomb. I'd rather not see my kitchen blown sky-high."
Yamori didn't even lift his head, answering only with a faint hum as his knife split another shell neatly in two.
The dwarf leaned against the doorway, stroking his beard in amusement. "For someone with such a gift for reading people, you act like a child half the time. Hmph. Just like your father."
At that, Yamori finally set the notebook aside. His steady hands placed two halves of a coconut on the table, their milk pooling into a bowl. His voice was calm, but edged with the clarity of observation.
"Common sense, if you look closely," he said, his grey eyes narrowing. "A woman who carries a scent that drives men to distraction. Slight bruising at the neck, carefully hidden yet not erased. Pair the details together, and the conclusion is obvious enough."
Kael let out a long sigh, shaking his head as though weary of a puzzle he wished he hadn't solved. "No normal child thinks like that, Yamori," he muttered. But he pressed no further. The boy was Sinbad's son, after all, and some mysteries were better left unspoken. With a grunt, Kael pushed off the doorway and disappeared back into the shop.
The kitchen returned to silence, broken only by the faint scratch of Yamori's pen resuming its notes.
---
Elsewhere in the capital, the Starstruck Hotel buzzed faintly with the chatter of travelers, its velvet-lit halls and glass chandeliers exuding wealth. In one of its upper rooms, Lenny all but collapsed into a chair, loosening his tie with a frustrated tug.
"I'm exhausted," he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "This all sucks. Why the hell did I have to tag along? And worse—why did I have to run into him again?"
On the balcony, Yuta—Raven-haired, dressed still in scarlet—leaned against the railing. The evening breeze lifted strands of her hair as she turned back toward him. Her lips curved into an amused smile.
"So, you've met Yamori," she said, her tone light but laced with interest. "How… interesting."
Lenny shivered at the sound of that name. Memories he preferred buried clawed to the surface, sending a cold sweat prickling down his neck. He was about to retort when a sharp pulse from his wristband froze him. The small device glowed, its faint chime filling the air.
His blood drained from his face. With trembling fingers, he answered.
"B-boss! Hello! Beautiful twenty-fourth hour of the sun, isn't it? H-how can I be of service?"
From the other end came a voice smooth as silk, yet heavy with menace. Every word pressed like ice against his skin.
"I want you to take Yuta to the Port of Lagoon," the voice murmured. "Handle the transaction of our new… supplies. Smoothly, without incident. Unless, of course… you'd prefer things to grow darker for you, Lenny. My rising star."
The title felt like a curse, not a compliment. Lenny swallowed hard, his hands clammy, his voice a strained whisper. "U-understood, boss."
The line went dead.
He sat frozen, staring at the dim wristband as though it had just sealed his fate. From the balcony, Yuta turned, her smile deepening, her eyes gleaming in the low light.
"This should be fun," she said, her voice almost playful.
But to Lenny, it sounded like the promise of a nightmare.