The Futuliev, bathed in the restless glow of the city night, stood patient beside us. The once bustling parking lot had thinned, yet a few diehards remained, clinging to the dying hours. Sleep tugged at me, an insistent whisper promising oblivion. Ayako, however, remained vigilant, her eyes glued to the slate she held, its glow the only counterpoint to the deepening shadows. Despite my attempts to inquire, she waved me off, her impatience manifesting in a restless loop, each step etching another line on her brow.

Was she fuming over the delay? Or something deeper that lurked within the cryptic messages on the slate? Often, at this maddening braid of silence and flickering light, she would let out a loud, exasperated sigh, her grip tightening on the device as if it held the key to a puzzle unravelling at her fingertips.

“This man is… uhhh,” she mumbled to herself.

And as it sounded, talking to Liu Sheng man was little to no help for her, yet I could have cheered her mood by stating Mason’s ‘odd feeling’ on that Weian lad.

So I tried again, “Can I ask you somethi—”

“Wait, I’m almost there,” interrupted Ayako, then sighed after she hit a hard tap on her slate. “Ok, what is it?”

Finally, I asked, “Have you listened to our words with Mason?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “He gave us an important clue of Liu Sheng’s strange movement. A payment using his personal money, for one, sounds like he’s more into some personal pursuit inside Club Mia.”

“Indeed, but what?”

“Dunno. Probably he wants to seek something inside Club Mia.”

“But what does Club Mia have to do to keep such valuables inside? Do they mean something related to the Raiser?”

“Maybe it could be,” then she paused, wondering over whatever she could grasp. Even gazing at the heavens could grant her prayers answered. Yet, no matter what she took, all she could say, “Fuck, I can’t think of an idea.”

“And why were you like… suspecting your supposed ally who affiliated with the same organisation?”

“It’s called ‘internal affairs’,” she rolled her eyes. “Just because we affiliate with the same organisation doesn’t mean we’re ‘allies’ to each other. Besides, he’s definitely up to something unrelated to his supposed duty… or rather he uses his own authority to get whatever he wants.”

“And does he know that you’re one of those agents?”

“No, there’s a reason why we’re called ‘Special Secret Intelligence’.”

“But you didn't seem ‘secret’ when we first met.”

“At the Overseer? Well, the department provided me with a fabricated officially-marked ID with a fake alias. Of course, only the heads know beforehand about my ‘undercover’ duty, so at that time, I was playing as a LEA agent, not SSIA.”

“I see.”

“I thought you were once a ruler to this motherland,” she raised her eyebrow and tilted her head. “Does this ‘internal affairs’ stuff ring any bell to you?”

“Uhhhh,” my mind could not answer whatever she meant. Fabricated ID? Officially-marked ID? Fake alias? What does it all mean? Never I wanted to ask this, yet I continued, “Pardon me for asking this, but what does ‘ID’ really mean?”

“It’s identification. Identity.”

“Oh, right, so you were under a pretence.”

“Basically, that. Again, does it ring a bell?”

“Oh, well… moles.”

“Simplest answer, but sure… I’ll take that.”

“Or if you want a political one, then I can say… it is more of battling who is most worthy to sit the throne.”

“Well, that’s quite a textbook one,” she sighed. “Seems you’ve already got a gist of it.”

“And here I thought, an internal affairs was something you can court your own limbs and innards to your heart’s desire.”

She laughed, her wheezing erupting out of her mouth, “No wonder you were called ‘Empress of a day’.”

“What?”

What?

Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over me. As soon as those words entered my ears, my heart skipped a beat. "Empress of a day"—what absurd jest was she playing at? Was she mocking me and my ranks? It seemed plausible, yet pained me to accept that such notions could stem from mere gossip. Gossip—nothing more than whispers and hearsays.

Meanwhile, she wiped off her faint tears of joy and shook her head, “Nevermind.”

“Oh,” I paused, my foot drumming until a thought of his abrupt disclosure came across my mind. “Is it me or do I sense… something weird?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“If you think about it,” she replied, then as her eyes averted to the side, she dropped her jaw and gasped. As I followed her gape, there appeared Ana and the pink-haired wench trudging towards us. Hence, her voice turned to a whisper into my ear, “Let’s discuss that later. Just between us, neh?”

Ayako walked forward and sighed, “Finally,” she then looked at the pink-haired wench and asked. “Oh, it’s you. What brings you here?”

“Well, to come with you,” said the pink-haired wench. “I live in a room on the fifth floor of the apartment.”

“Apartment? The very same apartment?”

“Oui,” she nodded. “Thanks to Madame Ana, she suggested that apartment to me because it’s the… closest one to the club.”

Ayako looked at Ana and asked, “Then why didn’t you let her stay in our room? We had one vacant bed before the blondie came.”

Ana shrugged, then the pink-haired wench giggled, “Apparently, I had… a lot of personal things. It’ll be b-burdensome if I make such a mess of it.”

“I see, so what’s your name?”

“Leanne,” she answered. “Je suis Leanne.”

“Leanne,” Ayako repeated, nodding with her eyes squinted and her lips crimped. “A good name, alright?”

“Well, why not hop on the Futuliev then?” Ana yawned, her heavy head began to wobble. “I’m… really excited to sleep.”

Leanne sat alongside me in the backseat. At first, her scented presence appealed to my nose, but it soon turned into an uneasy dread. Even the slight aura of enchantment about her began to bother me, and a fleeting vision of her in the groove twisted my mind. It waned my once positive regard for her and those other wenches.

As our journey sped through the night, the numbers on the pavement dwindled, each sidewalk succumbing to the lure of sleep. Only a few remained, mostly young silhouettes huddled in their own pockets, eyes drawn to something unseen beneath the street lamps. Were they scavengers, perhaps, searching for scraps in the urban underbelly? Or just restless souls chasing shadows in the city's quiet heartbeat? How desolate it seemed, their figures adrift in the vastness of the sleeping city.

“So where are you born from?” Ayako asked.

“Fosse, same as Madame Ana,” answered Leanne.

“Were you met together way before?”

“Non,” she then grabbed her glowing glass slate out and gave it a few taps and flicks, the screen appeared moving. “It’s a big city, so we hardly met until Club Mia.”

“I see.”

“But I do remember your mother during her time as a prosecutor, n'est-ce pas?” Leanne tapped on Ana’s shoulder.

“Ah… Oh yeah, gal. Famous international prosecutor. S-She was such a pride to us. Sadly, I have no contact with her.”

“Why?” asked Leanne.

“She passed away from her brain dysfunction. Severe internal bleeding.”

“Out of stress?” asked Ayako, her eyes squinting in front of her.

“Literally,” Ana nodded. “Or at least, that’s what my bro had said.”

“Such hapless one,” said Leanne, her soft voice expressing in faint sorrow. “Her soul must’ve crossed the heavens from carrying a mass of cages filled with vile criminals.”

“Her fire must have been doused after years of hardship,” I said.

“Sadly didn’t please the spirit of La Agite,” Leanne laughed.

“La Agite?” I repeated.

“The Restless, in your terms,” she clarified. “In other words, our own home city’s saying of those who work hard while their blood holds spirit and vigour.”

“Sounds fathomable,” I nodded. “So they were reformed quite finely, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“No, it’s nothing,” I giggled, lest to disclose our shared secret. “Just… complimenting.”

“I see,” said Leanne, sharing a nod with her squinted eyes and faint smirk. “So Ana…”

“What?”

“Since your mother is a well-renowned international prosecutor, why do you still engage in this kind of work?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Such ‘lowly’ work like this.”

“You mean, sex work, yes?”

Leanne nodded, a gesture that irked Ana, prompting a subtle glare and a faint frown. Soon after, silence brought an ease on the outside, yet a clamour on their inside. How had this lowly job twisted their thoughts so low? It was clear—they had succumbed to the unholy trade, tarnishing their pride in pursuit of fleeting desires. I had witnessed myriad women of the night driven by a desperate quest for gold. Yet, as long as their choices were on their own accord, I couldn't simply cast them aside in such a manner.

And I, too, could not know a noise inside Ana’s mind, yet could tell their loud silence.

“That requires… a long shovel, gal,” Ana chose to chuckle her way out. “Cause I still never know if a root were a thorn… or a root by itself”

“And I need a long shovel no more,” Leanne giggled. “Cause then I’m a masochist who knows something about thorns.”

“And how’s the feeling of it?” asked Ana.

“Painful… yet lovely.”

“Boldly stated… and for me, the same, but minus the ‘painful’.”

Except she had been wrung under the weight of male gazes, but I fathomed her fear, for a public place like the hall of Blithis was not at the right time and a right place.