Two young men approached a worn, unremarkable building.
A few hours earlier, following Pauoka's instructions, Egor had called a certain man and requested his services. He had listed the required documents, photographed Klaus, and sent the image to the specified email address. Soon afterward, he received coordinates indicating where their completed order would be delivered.
Egor had no desire to sit at home indulging the prince's whims, so he chose to make himself useful.
For Klaus.
Once again, that infuriating guest had somehow become the center of his life in a single day.
"Grandma, what else should we buy besides the essentials?" Egor asked, studying Klaus critically.
The prince sat proudly on the sofa, flipping through television channels — wearing trousers that were too short and a T-shirt stretched tightly across his chest.
Egor's gaze lingered against his will on the sculpted torso before shifting to the arrogant expression above it.
He caught himself and turned away, irritated.
The man's presence annoyed him beyond reason — and yet he could not stop watching him.
"Let me think," Pauoka said thoughtfully. "You must go to the market and buy meat. The Prince of Isorobia apparently cannot survive without it. And don't forget the promise you made me."
"What promise?"
"The one that will keep our budget from collapsing."
Egor groaned.
Tomorrow he had a shift at work — and he would have to bring Klaus with him. The thought of supervising him there as well filled him with dread. But his grandmother was right. Klaus needed a job. Perhaps work would help him understand how this world functioned.
What troubled Egor most was the possibility that this man might stay for a long time.
And he had absolutely no desire to spend that much time with a self-proclaimed prince.
But how could he explain that to his grandmother?
"Hey. Get up. We're leaving."
"Wait. They are showing something fascinating."
Egor stepped closer and glanced at the screen.
Animals.
"Since when do you like rabbits?"
To his surprise, Klaus looked almost embarrassed.
"I like eating them. They are not cute. It is simply remarkable to observe them instead of hunting them."
He switched off the television abruptly and stood.
"Well? Why are you standing there? We are leaving."
Head held high, he walked toward the exit.
Several exhausting hours later — money spent, tempers frayed — the young men stood before the building indicated in the message.
"Why am I carrying everything?" Egor snapped. "Most of this is yours."
"You are the servant. I am your master. Any further questions?"
"I am not your servant! How many times do I have to repeat that?"
How had he ever imagined this impossible man had somehow intrigued him?
Egor simmered with frustration, ready to explode.
But what would that change?
Teaching this man to function normally in modern society seemed utterly impossible.
"You are weak," Klaus observed calmly. "You must strengthen your body. Carrying weight will benefit you."
"Oh, you—"
"So where do we go?"
Klaus regarded Egor's flushed face with faint disdain.
Why did the boy deny the obvious?
He would fall after the first blow.
He was weaker.
Therefore, he should obey.
This world defied reason.
"I don't know," Egor muttered. "The message only gave this address."
"Klaus Deffender?"
A melodic female voice interrupted them.
They turned.
A long-legged blonde stood nearby, dressed in a tight black dress with a high slit. She smiled and gestured for them to follow, her gaze lingering on Klaus a moment too long.
Egor frowned.
He didn't like the way she looked at him.
Without waiting, she turned and disappeared inside.
The young men exchanged a glance and followed.
Inside, the building proved far more refined than its exterior suggested.
Pale walls. Tiled floors. Wooden doors.
Klaus surveyed everything with quiet tension. His body had gone rigid. His senses sharpened.
The modest yet well-kept corridor led them to another closed door, where the blonde woman waited.
"The boss is expecting you."
She knocked twice and opened the door, but did not enter.
The improvised office was drenched in red.
Red furniture. Red curtains. Red carpet. Even the lamplight cast a crimson glow.
Egor felt instantly uneasy.
The room resembled a private den — especially since much of the space was taken up by a massive canopy bed with silk sheets, where three half-dressed young women slept.
The air smelled of alcohol and expensive tobacco.
Egor had the sudden urge to throw open the curtains and let in fresh air — but a desk blocked the way.
Behind it sat a man with his feet propped up, his white shirt unbuttoned, a cigar between his teeth.
"So," the man drawled lazily, studying Klaus. "You brought your lackey. And gifts?"
Smoke curled through the air as his gaze shifted to the shopping bags in Egor's hands.
"I came to collect what you owe me," Klaus replied evenly.
The man chuckled.
"I owe you nothing, boy. This is a favor to Pauoka — because my grandfather owed her. And in our family, debts are honored. Whiskey? Or are you too young?"
"I have been drinking wine since I was ten," Klaus said. "But I would prefer my documents. And to leave this establishment."
The air in the room seemed to grow colder.
"Careful," a voice growled from the shadows.
Only then did Egor notice several large men standing along the walls.
Armed.
"Sasha," the boss said calmly, "relax. The boy is new to our city. He hasn't learned our manners yet."
His gaze returned to Klaus.
"You came from Pauoka's homeland, I presume?"
"I come from a place where men like you do not live long," Klaus replied coldly.
Egor's stomach dropped.
Why provoke him?
The boss smiled slowly.
"Bold. Is that wise? Why the new identity? Murder? Theft? The wrong woman?"
"I owe you no explanation."
Klaus stepped forward and extended his hand.
The boss picked up a folder from the desk and handed it over — but did not release his grip.
"New citizenship. New name. A clean slate. I wonder what trouble you'll bring to my city."
Klaus pulled the folder free.
It felt heavier than paper should.
The weight of a new life.
Or perhaps the suffocating tension in the room.
"And where is my gratitude?" the boss asked.
"This is your business," Klaus replied. "I owe you nothing."
"You arrogant brat—"
Sasha lunged.
The movement lasted less than a second.
A pivot. A shift of balance. A precise sweep.
The large man crashed to the floor, his arm twisted behind his back, Klaus pinning him with controlled force.
"I would not recommend that," Klaus said quietly. "Unless you value your limbs."
Egor had not even reacted.
He stood frozen, staring at Klaus's broad, tense back.
A strange electric tension filled the air.
The prince's presence pressed against the room like the stillness before a storm.
"Interesting," the boss laughed. "If you ever need work, come to me."
"I decline."
Klaus released the bodyguard and walked out without another glance.
Egor hesitated only a moment before following.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Egor hissed once they reached the street.
"I am not accustomed to being addressed as a slave," Klaus replied. "I am the heir to a throne. A warrior."
"Not in this world! Here you're just a teenager!"
"I was born as I am. And I will die as I am."
"You'll get yourself killed long before that if you keep acting like this!"
"Then remain silent."
"I promised Grandma I'd teach you how things work here!"
"Then teach me."
"You're impossible!"
They rode the bus home in silence.
Egor noticed women casting curious glances at Klaus, but his cold expression quickly discouraged them.
Arrogant bastard.
The description fit perfectly.
And Egor had already regretted his promise a hundred times.
"How did it go? Did you get the documents? How is Andryusha?" Pauoka asked as soon as they entered.
"Andryusha?" Egor stared. "You call that red-obsessed gangster Andryusha? Where do you even find people like him?"
"I have lived here a long time," she replied calmly. "You encounter many surprises."
"That's what worries me."
"What a delightful aroma," Klaus said, settling at the table. "I do not know what this is, but I will eat it gladly. Egor," he called, "hurry. Your master is hungry."
"How many times do I have to say I'm not your servant?"
"So you refuse to feed me?" Klaus's eyes flashed.
"I didn't say that," Egor muttered, backing down. "You could at least ask politely."
"Egor is right," Pauoka said. "Klaus, you promised to try to blend in."
Klaus looked irritated.
"Give me something to eat," he said — then added with visible effort, "please."
"That's better," the old woman smiled. "So? How did the meeting go?"
The young men exchanged a brief glance.
"We collected the documents and left," Klaus said with a shrug.
"Yes," Egor confirmed.
He could have told her everything.
He could have described the fight.
But for some reason, he remained silent.
"Excellent."
Klaus leaned back slightly.
Minor humiliations would not break him.
Even here.
Even without magic.
He could still prove his strength.