The oppressive atmosphere in the hall finally dissipated, but the lingering chill still made Ethan shiver. It was as if the invisible pressure had withdrawn, yet its afterglow reminded him: the Nightmare Investigation Bureau was no ordinary place. Every breath could be recorded, every move could determine life or death.
Ethan shrugged his stiff shoulders and exhaled deeply. "God… I thought the next second he'd have me sign a 'Soul Loss Guarantee.'"
"You'd better not make jokes about him behind his back."
A cold, mocking voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
Ethan instinctively turned his head. Leaning against the doorframe was a young man, casually twirling a black fountain pen in his fingers. Thin-rimmed glasses caught a glint of light, and a cold smirk curled at his lips. His gaze appraised Ethan like cheap merchandise, full of unquestionable disdain.
"So, you're the new… lucky guy?" the young man teased. "Interesting. You actually didn't faint under the Director's stare."
Ethan blinked, grinning. "Oh, so this counts as an entry bonus? Didn't faint, so I get an extra sarcastic coworker?"
The young man pushed up his glasses and sneered. "I'm Silas Gray. Your new partner. On missions, your life points are equal to mine, so don't expect me to carry your corpse."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, half-joking. "Silas… sounds like a coffee brand that only opens at midnight."
Silas paused, his gaze cutting like a knife, letting out a cold laugh. "And you… sound more like a failed test subject. Data unstable. One wrong move, and you'll be wiped clean."
They locked eyes. Sparks seemed to fly in the air—a dangerous friction that made Ethan's heart tighten.
After a brief silence, Ethan suddenly laughed and extended a hand. "Alright, if we're going to work together, let's at least pretend to be friendly. Shake on it? I promise I won't write 'I'm an idiot' in your palm."
Silas's eyes fell on the outstretched hand, pausing as if calculating the risk. He suppressed his smile and eventually extended just two fingers, tapping Ethan's in a brief, cold gesture, as if afraid to touch any unnecessary warmth.
"Good." Silas said coldly. "Your jokes might amuse the dead, but on a mission, if you dare to get distracted, I'll be the first to shove you into the abyss."
Ethan's smile stiffened, then quickly recovered. "Pleasure working with you, Mr. Coffee."
Silas turned, swishing his robe. The dragging sound was heavy and deliberate, each step striking the dark floor of the hall with icy precision. "Put away your cleverness. First mission… is coming soon."
Ethan watched his retreating figure, cold sweat seeping down his back. The seal on his chest pulsed faintly, almost alive, reminding him: Director… contract… mission—everything was only beginning.
He muttered to himself, laced with self-deprecating humor: "My luck really went to the wrong place."
Then he lifted his gaze toward the depths of the hall. The black corridor stretched like an endless abyss; the dim shadows writhed like living creatures. From afar came a low echo, hinting at some unpredictable danger. Ethan gritted his teeth, clenching his fists, silently telling himself:
"Alright… if fate dragged me into this darkness, I'll have to learn to dance in the abyss… even if every step lands on blood and pain."
At that moment, a low, ominous chime sounded from the doorway, like both a warning and a summons. Ethan's heart leapt—his first mission had truly arrived.