The Brazilian sun poured through the windows of the BHO's guest suite, painting the polished marble floors in golden stripes.
Minho was already awake, seated at a table filled with a breakfast spread fit for a dozen people.
He wasn't doing much, except eating. The translator from yesterday day stood nervously behind him.
Minho wore simple black training pants and a white t-shirt, a stark contrast to the opulent room.
The door opened without a knock. Christopher Reed stood there with two men flanking him.
He was dressed in a light grey, nicely tailored suit that looked more boardroom than battlefield. His smile was professional.
"Hunter Lee Minho," Reed said, his voice calm as he entered, his personal translator hovering behind him. "I hope your accommodations are to your satisfaction. Christopher Reed."
Minho didn't look up from spearing the last piece of pineapple. He finished chewing, then gestured vaguely with his fork towards the empty chair opposite him. "Sit if you want. The food's decent."
Reed's smile didn't falter, but the translator flinched. Reed took the offered seat, dismissing the translator with a slight nod. The door clicked shut, leaving the two most powerful men currently in the country alone.
"The BHO is in quite a state," Reed began, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Losing their national-level hunter and three S-ranks in a week. That's… strange. Bad for business. I trust your flight was comfortable?"
Minho pushed his empty plate away and finally looked at Reed. His eyes, even in the bright morning light, seemed to hold a faint crimson glow. "It was a flight. You talk a lot."
"Communication is the foundation of any successful operation," Reed replied, his gaze sharpening, analyzing every micro-expression on Minho's impassive face. "I understand you have a… direct approach, according to what I've heard. But this dungeon has already proven to be lethal. A coordinated effort would be the best course of action, right?"
Minho suddenly stood up. "Logic's your thing. Not mine." He walked towards the door. "You do your coordinated effort. I'll do what I came here to do."
… …
Thirty minutes later, they stood in the office of Eduardo Silva, the Chairman of the BHO.
The man looked like he hadn't slept in days, his eyes sunken with dark circles under them as he gestured to holographic maps displaying the dungeon's entrance in a remote part of the Amazon.
"...the mana signatures are different, Hunter Reed," Silva explained, his voice strained. "It's not just the rank. It's the intelligence. Our teams were... dismantled. I repeat again. Dismantled."
Reed leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "Dismantled how? Specifics, Chairman."
As Reed fired off precise, logistical questions, Minho stood by the window, looking down at the sprawling city of São Paulo.
He wasn't actually ignoring them. He was just processing the information on his own terms. All he knew was the dungeon was not S-rank. They Hunter world seriously had to put a rank above S when it comes to dungeon ranking.
When Silva finished, his plea hanging in the air, Reed turned his attention to the Minho by the window. "Hunter Lee. A joint operation. My guild handles perimeter security, support. We two handle the core threat. Best for minimal collateral damage."
Minho turned from the window as the translator relayed the message. His gaze swept over Reed and landed on Silva. "No," he said in English.
The room went silent.
"No?" Reed asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"I work alone," Minho stated, his tone flat and final. "Your hunters stay outside. They'll just die. You want the dungeon cleared? It'll be cleared. I don't need a plan. I am the plan."
Reed's calm composure cracked for a fraction of a second. "Ah, I see. Hunter Minho, don't you think you're being too reckless? What if the monster that took Jonas is what's inside? There are procedures—"
"Your procedures got three S-ranks killed," Minho interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "You want data? I'll bring you the boss's head. You can study that, right?"
And there it was… a stalemate. Two titans, two opposing philosophies clashing in the stuffy office.
Reed took a slow breath, visibly suppressing his frustration. He turned to Chairman Silva, his decision made. "Chairman Silva. My guild is prepared to neutralize this threat. Having an uncontrolled variable in the field," he didn't look at Minho, though the translator didn't bother translate that part, "jeopardizes the entire mission. I strongly recommend you authorize my team to proceed exclusively."
Minho didn't rise to it, that part he could make out a little. He simply started walking towards the door. He stopped beside Silva's desk, not even glancing at Reed.
"You called me here to clear a dungeon," he said, his voice low, leaving no room for objection. "I'm going to clear it."
He finally turned his head, his crimson gaze flicking towards Reed. "He can follow me in and try to keep up, or he can stay out here and write a report about it. His choice."
Without waiting for a reply, Minho walked out, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
The office was silent. Chairman Eduardo Silva looked helplessly between the door and Christopher Reed.
Reed stood, straightening his suit jacket. His face was a mask of cool professionalism, but a fire burned in his eyes.
"It seems," Reed said, his voice deceptively soft, "we will be conducting a parallel operation. Please have the coordinates sent to my transport."
… …
Minho stepped out of the building, accompanied by the translator assigned to him.
A girl in an oversized hoodie jacket with a baseball cap walked over to Minho.
The translator tried stopping her but Minho said it was okay. "Did you check it?" he muttered.
The girl raised her head as she walked by his side. It was Vasha. "Yes. It seems like the work of the Monarch of Fangs."
"Very well." Minho nodded.