The atmosphere in the hall froze instantly, as if the air had solidified into ice, every breath weighed down and oppressive.
Heavy footsteps approached from afar, each one striking Ethan's chest like a hammer, carrying an irresistible weight. The black robe brushed across the stone floor, producing a deep scraping sound that echoed through the space, like whispers from an ancient tomb.
The tall figure gradually came into view. He bore no covering; his features were sharp, as if sculpted from blades, and his gaze was like two bottomless pits, black yet glinting with icy light. Even the light seemed afraid to touch him.
"Director."
The woman was the first to speak, her tone tinged with both respect and fear. The broad-shouldered man and the glasses-wearing figure simultaneously halted, bodies slightly bowed, as if pulled by an invisible force.
Only Ethan remained, frozen in place like a puppet nailed to a stage.
His throat was dry, and the burning of the seal on his chest intensified, as if those abyssal eyes were scorching his heart with invisible flames.
The Director's gaze slowly settled on him. Without any emotion, he spoke coldly, a single word:
"New recruit."
Ethan forced a grin, struggling to sound casual: "Yes… that's me. Just arrived. ID still warm."
The hall fell silent, even the air seeming to hold its breath. Only the low hum of the eyes and the Director's cold breathing sliced across Ethan's chest like a sharp blade.
The Director advanced, each step heavy and steady, finally stopping at the long table. His back was straight, like a living tombstone. His voice was hard, like ice scraping across iron:
"Ethan Vale. Bound by contract against your will, soul unbroken. From this moment, you fall under the Bureau's jurisdiction."
Each word carried an irresistible weight, pressing against Ethan's chest. He instinctively wanted to recoil, but his tongue felt nailed down, and even breathing was tightly constricted.
The Director turned, back facing the others, hands clasped behind him, the trailing of his robe like a low growl.
"The Nightmare Investigation Bureau does not harbor idlers. Fail to perform, and in your next mission, you will turn to ash."
In just two sentences, it was like a death sentence striking every nerve in Ethan's body.
He inhaled deeply, trying to sound casual, forcing a trace of humor: "Understood. So, basically, no promotion means instant termination, with a side of existence erasure? HR efficiency is really impressive."
The broad man snorted, the glasses-wearing man pushed up his frames, and the woman slightly furrowed her brow, her aura still as cold as frost covering the hall.
The Director did not turn back, merely saying:
"Your missions will prove everything. Jokes won't save you."
As the words fell, the atmosphere froze once again, heavier than before, as if even the light had solidified.
After a moment, the Director stepped away. The dragging of his robe echoed through the hall like a deep, solemn bell, gradually fading into the endless darkness.
The pressure finally lifted. Ethan exhaled sharply, his back soaked with cold sweat.
He murmured to himself, a touch of bitter dark humor in his tone: "Ruthless boss… part of the 'no way I'm doing overtime' series."
But this time, even he couldn't manage a laugh. The seal on his chest still pulsed faintly, reminding him—he was firmly nailed into a world with no escape.
He slowly lifted his head, scanning the hall. The shadows along the walls seemed to writhe, as if countless eyes lurked in the darkness, recording every breath, heartbeat, and moment of his existence. He suddenly realized this wasn't just his first day at work—it was his first step into the abyss, an abyss of duty, fear, and darkness, where survival would be his only skill.