GASSSP!
Silvestia jerked forward and inhaled as though she had just been resuscitated. Her chest heaved, her body trembling. The shadows, the suffocating grip, the venom burning through her veins—it all still clung to her like an icy shroud.
“Silvie!”
The familiar voice shattered the last remnants of her nightmare. She blinked, her vision clearing to find Fay beaming at her with excitement.
“It looks like you’ve got a bite!” she said, scrambling to her feet, eyes locked onto the fishing pool.
Silvestia hesitated, the residual fear still coiled in her gut, but as her gaze followed Fay’s, her lips twitched into a nervous smile. The line was taut, vibrating with force as something beneath the surface fought desperately to break free.
“Right,” she muttered, forcing herself to focus.
Planting her feet, Silvestia braced herself and pulled back with all her strength. The rod bent under the tension, the fish thrashing wildly in defiance. Fay quickly abandoned her own rod and rushed over to help.
“Hold on tight!” she grinned, wrapping her hands around the pole just beneath her sister’s. “This one’s a fighter!”
“You’re telling me,” Silvestia huffed, adjusting her grip as the struggle intensified.
The line swished wildly, carving arcs in the air. Then, with a powerful yank, a massive catfish burst from the water, twisting and flailing, droplets of water catching the sunlight like scattered gemstones.
“Whoa!” Fay gasped. “It’s huge!”
Silvestia could only nod, eyes wide in amazement. The fish landed with a splash, submerging for another desperate attempt at freedom.
“Not today, you don’t!” Fay laughed, tugging harder.
Silvestia gritted her teeth, the muscles in her arms burning as they worked together, inch by inch, to reel in their prize. Finally, after one last furious struggle, the fish exhausted itself. They dragged it onto the bank where it flopped weakly before finally surrendering.
“We did it!” Fay cheered, as did her cowlick.
Silvestia let out a breathless laugh, wiping her forehead. “Now,” she said, grinning down at the catfish, “we just need one more ingredient and we can finally cook that recipe.”
***
In the western reaches of the city outside a familiar brothel, the air buzzed with anticipation. Lanterns cast a warm glow on the silk-draped entrance, the scent of perfume and incense blending into a sweet, intoxicating haze.
A group of elegantly dressed hostesses gathered near the entrance, their silk garbs shifting with the afternoon breeze as they giggled and whispered among themselves.
“If only a rich man would waltz in and offer to buy my freedom,” one of the women sighed, resting her cheek against her palm, eyes glimmering with fantasy.
“Would you really be content with serving just one man forever?” another questioned, fanning herself lazily.
“As long as he can perform well,” a third chimed in with a smirk, earning a round of hushed laughter.
“Does it really matter?” another woman argued, her voice wistful. “If it means being free, I wouldn’t care.”
“But can you even call it freedom if you’re still owned by someone?” a skeptical voice countered.
“Even if it’s not true freedom,” a fifth woman mused while gazing out at the cobblestone street, “…just a change of scenery would be nice.”
Just then, a shadow cut across the lantern light and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.
A young man approached.
He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, the soft click of his polished shoes against the wooden steps heralding his arrival. His silver hair was permed and swept back in lush, slick waves, framing a face so striking that the women momentarily forgot how to breathe.
His attire was exquisite—fine silks, tailored with a noble’s precision, his hands adorned with expensive rings that gleamed under the lantern's glow. His expression was cool, yet his smile—smooth and knowing—made their stomachs flutter.
Was this it? Had their dream finally come true?
One of them swallowed hard. “I-Is he a secret admirer…?”
Another whispered breathlessly, “Is he here to sweep one of us away…?”
Their wide-eyed awe deepened when he spoke, his voice rich and refined, each word rolling off his tongue like poetry.
“Ladies… you’re all looking rather dashing this afternoon.”
The girls blushed.
“My name is Vauclain… Viktor Vauclain, and I require an audience with the business owner. I have a proposition I believe they would not want to miss,” he said, his gestures as extravagant as the jewelry he wore.
The women gawked at him, their hopeless eyes shimmering with longing. But none dared to keep him waiting. With a respectful bow, one of the hosts quickly disappeared inside to relay the message.
***
Behind the velvet curtains and gold-trimmed doors were flushed skin, soft giggles, intoxication, and a near-tangible hunger to indulge every desire. But the mood in one particular chamber was considerably less dreamy.
“You’re making a mistake, Valoria.”
“No, I’m keeping this business from crumbling under the weight of its own defiance,” she retorted. “You’re a bodyguard, Milton. That means you don’t get paid for your opinions. Your job is to shut up and protect me—not develop feelings for the prostitutes.”
The tension in the room was thick, but before Milton could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them. The host from earlier stepped in and bowed respectfully.
“Madame, Sir Viktor Vauclain requests an audience with you. He says he has urgent business.”
Milton’s gaze flickered to the host, then to the unfamiliar name. He frowned, scrutinizing the man who followed closely behind. The moment he laid eyes on the silver-haired guest, something about him felt… off.
Valoria, on the other hand, arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Very well,” she said, setting down her glass. “Milton, you’re dismissed. Stand outside the door.”
The man lingered for a moment, staring hard at the stranger before turning on his heel and stepping out.
Once the door shut, Valoria leaned back in her chair, fixing her guest with a calculating gaze. “Now then… what business does a wealthy merchant have with a place like mine?”
Viktor smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I take it you are the owner of this establishment?”
“That’s correct.”
He adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. “I won’t waste your time, then. I’m a businessman looking to expand my portfolio. Your brothel is well-known in the district, and I’m interested in acquiring it.”
Valoria let out a short, mirthless laugh. “You wish to buy my brothel?”
“That’s correct,” Viktor said smoothly. “And I’m willing to pay three times its value.”
She tilted her head, swirling her wine glass. “Three times its value and yet, you haven’t even asked what that value is. Either you’re an arrogant fool, or you think money alone can get you answers.”
Viktor’s eyes glinted. “I was hoping you could provide those answers, Lady Valoria. For example, are the brothels in this district independent entities… or is there a larger organization overseeing them?”
The woman set her glass down with an audible clink. “Why would that matter to you?”
“Because I like to know what I’m getting into before making an investment,” he replied casually. “You understand, of course.”
Valoria’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “I do. But unfortunately, my business is not for sale. And as for your other questions…” Her gaze hardened. “I’m afraid I can’t answer them.”
Daisuke’s expression remained unreadable, but inwardly, he frowned. Looks like she’s under a gag order. Even with an absurd offer on the table, she won’t budge. Someone—or something—is keeping her silent.
His fingers tapped idly against his ring as a new strategy formed in his mind.
If money wouldn’t loosen her tongue.
It was time for Plan B.