Ren pulled out a chair opposite Daniel and sat, his gaze fixed and unyielding. He pointedly ignored the thin veil of warmth Daniel tried to project.
"You know me," Ren began, his voice a low drawl. "And you know damn well I'm Higanbana, Mr. Prime Minister." He spat the title like an insult—a silent gauntlet thrown between them. "A quarantine in a dive bar? This protocol is a far cry from the standard arrest of a high-value terrorist."
"What do you want?" Ren's voice was gravel and glass. He leaned back, crossing his arms in a practiced display of nonchalance.
Daniel didn't answer immediately. His eyes mapped Ren's altered appearance—the silver hair now dyed a deep, abyssal black. But the crimson retinas were unmistakable. The same eyes he'd seen thirteen years ago.
"I'm curious about you."
Daniel exhaled, the weary gesture of a man tired of the political theater but unable to leave the stage. "Baron Kaja Basileios, Marquis Eldraed Veda, and Senator Alphonsine. The heavy hitters of the Marble Royalist Faction... all ended by the hand of a seventeen-year-old assassin."
Ren remained a statue. My ghosts, he thought. No wonder he knows. He's royalty, after all.
"If you aren't here to cuff me, I'm leaving—"
"I'm offering you a deal," Daniel cut in. He slid a white knight into position on the polished chessboard between them. "One game. If you win, you breathe freely in Rich City. No interference. No shadows."
Ren's eyes narrowed, dissecting the insanity of the proposition. He was facing a master strategist, a man bred from birth to move nations like pawns. Caution was his only ally. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I consider you a forfeit," Daniel replied, his tone chillingly absolute. "I'll break you. I'll turn you into a lapdog—the most obedient asset the Rich City government has ever seen. I don't care if you like the leash or not."
He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. "You're a goldmine of potential. And, of course... you're still my nephew."
Ren leaned forward, locking onto Daniel's eyes. He stripped away the titles, the blood ties, the history. To Ren, the man across from him was just an opponent on a board, and the stakes were his life.
"Fine. Try not to regret challenging an eighteen-year-old, Daniel." Ren took a slow, steady breath. He discarded the formalities, accepting only the name that signified a challenge.
Daniel nodded, a small, genuine smile flickering for the first time—the look of a man who had finally found a worthy adversary. He touched a white piece, then glanced at Ren. "You're the one being challenged. As the host, I'll give you the honors. White or Black?"
Ren leaned back, radiating cold indifference. "Color doesn't matter. My freedom is on the line, not a first-move advantage. Take your shot."
Daniel's smile widened, amused by Ren's icy arrogance. He moved a pawn to E4. The movement was slow, measured—a classic opening that demanded control of the center.
Ren countered instantly. He snatched up a black pawn between his index and middle fingers, slamming it onto E5. The strike was faster, more aggressive, meeting Daniel's energy head-on. The board rattled under the impact.
"I knew you'd make it interesting," Daniel murmured, his eyes sweeping the board before returning to Ren's. "You never were one for the passive route."
"Passivity is for people who want to die," Ren retorted, propping an elbow on the table. His voice was flat, hollowed out by years in the slave barracks.
Daniel advanced his knight to F3. A standard development, but in his hands, every move felt like a hidden blade. "A very fitting ideology for a Prince."
Cheap psychological warfare, Ren thought, ignoring the bait.
Ren didn't rush. He tilted his head, letting the harsh overhead light catch the fire in his eyes. "Why do you always try to end the game before it's even begun?" Ren slid his Bishop to C5—a diagonal threat aimed straight at the heart of Daniel's defense.
Daniel let out a dry, low laugh. "That's what politics teaches you, Ren. Never give your opponent a choice. Choices only lead to unnecessary noise."
The game spiraled into a heavy, suffocating silence. Ren used his pieces like scalpels—fast, precise, merciless. Daniel played the long game, a patient predator dangling a vulnerable pawn structure as bait.
Seven moves in, Ren pivoted. He launched an unpredictable assault, leaping his Knight into the center to take the pawn at E4, leaving the piece completely exposed.
Daniel arched an eyebrow. He took the Knight with a pawn at D3. "Are you sure about this? Even if it's a lure, you've lost a heavy hitter."
Ren offered a thin, cynical smirk. "Lures only work on the weak-willed. I'm not playing your game, Daniel. Focus." His voice sharpened. "You're so busy counting my casualties that you've forgotten your King's neck is wide open."
Ren's hand was a blur. He slammed his Bishop into F2. Check.
Daniel flinched, forced to move his King to E2 to escape the heat.
But Ren wasn't finished. With a lethal elegance, he slid his second Bishop to C4. Another check. A discovered attack. The move didn't just corner the King; it unveiled the predator lurking in the shadows: the Black Queen, now staring down the throat of Daniel's entire defense.
Daniel froze. In the world of chess, if the King is forced into the center this early, it's a death sentence. He was exposed—no pawns, no rooks, no safety.
The mask of control finally slipped.
"I only have one move, Ren," Daniel whispered, a note of grudging respect in his voice. He took Ren's Bishop with his King at F2—a desperate, final stand.
"Correct," Ren cut him off, his voice returning to a dead calm. "One more move. And you lose everything."
Like a man delivering a coup de grâce, Ren swept his Queen across the board, obliterating Daniel's White Queen at D1. The bar went silent. A Prime Minister had lost his most powerful asset in just ten moves.
Daniel closed his eyes, then a cold, honest smile returned. He pushed the board aside, sending pieces clattering to the floor.
"Congratulations. You've won your freedom," Daniel said quietly. "A Prince forged in the gutter... you have a fascinating soul."
Ren didn't smile. Hearing his true identity felt like a slur.
"I won't take that as a compliment." Ren memorized the look of defeat on Daniel's face. He had won the battle, but the war was just beginning.
"And for the record, Daniel—I never intended to lose." Ren stood up. "I'll use this freedom for my own ends. I won't touch your precious Rich City."
Daniel leaned back, sighing. "I don't break my word. I gave you freedom for a reason. I told you—I know your potential."
Daniel took a breath. "Higanbana spent ten years molding you, but they created a Knight they couldn't control. Your record has a level of 'emotional efficiency' even Zero can't replicate. He's a rigid product of the Palace."
"Zero?"
Daniel placed his White King on the table with a sharp thud. "To put it simply, my son will soon be at the helm of a corporation that practically owns this city. You can't fight a titan with just a dagger, can you?"
Ren's eyebrow twitched. "Let me get this straight. I'm going to kill the remnants of the Marble Kingdom with my dagger. But you? You're pitting your own son against me? You're insane."
"It's complicated. And I don't think you have the time for the long version." Daniel smiled thinly. "I won't touch your freedom. But I suspect you're about to become a very busy man."
He slid a small, folded piece of paper across the table. "Higanbana tore the Kingdom down, but my brother, King Henry, and the Queen... they didn't die. They vanished. And the Loyalists? They're still breathing, and they want my seat."
"Consider it a parting gift. The rest is up to you."
Ren stared at the paper, then back at Daniel with a venomous grin. "I wonder how the public would react if they knew their leader was in bed with a terrorist assassin."
Daniel took a heavy breath, his voice dripping with sweet irony. "Having a nephew is quite the headache, isn't it?"
"Henry's the headache. I never even got an allowance from my own father," Ren quipped, snatching the paper.
He looked at his uncle—an unspoken ally bound by a lost game of chess. Ren didn't have time for family drama. His priority was the blood debt owed to his mother, and the moral debt owed to Riko.
"I have a birthday gift to deliver. Don't get in my way." Ren turned to melt into the neon shadows of the Merge District.
"The Astra of Flame pendant."
Ren froze, spinning back with a lethal gaze. "How much do you know—?"
"Just a suggestion: for now, keep it hidden," Daniel said calmly. The answer gave Ren nothing, only fueling his irritation.
Without another word, Ren vanished through the exit, carrying a promise of freedom won on a board of 64 squares..
This time, Daniel didn't stop him. Forgive me, Ren. Thirteen years ago, I was powerless. Even now, this is all I can do, he whispered to the empty room.
The Prime Minister knew that to put Ren on the same board as Zero, he needed a grander scheme. They were different players, but he was certain of one thing.
Ren was a match for Zero. Maybe more.
MERGE DISTRICT | APRIL 2323
A month had passed since Ren's deal in the warehouse. He had spent the time absorbing Daniel's data and perfecting his exit strategy.
Near midnight, the air in the Merge District was biting and still.
Ren sat on the edge of a rooftop. The glow of a thin screen cast a ghostly blue light over his sharp features. He was looking at the Higanbana Most Wanted list released a week ago. There it was. Code Name: Shiroi Hitsuji. Platinum Tier Threat.
The bounty: 10 Billion Marble Credits. Roughly 18 million USD. Enough to turn every soul in Rich City into a hunter.
"So this is the 'freedom' you promised, Daniel? My face on a hit list. Dammit." He cursed at the sky.
But he exhaled in relief. The photo was an old mugshot—silver hair, younger face. The risk of recognition was low.
His senses spiked. Without a sound, he killed the screen and pocketed the encrypted phone.
Sid stepped out of a small warehouse window, carrying two steaming ceramic mugs.
"High school seniors shouldn't be staring at the skyline at 2 AM," Sid said, his voice a calm anchor. He handed a mug of black coffee to Ren.
Ren took it with his left hand, inhaling the rich aroma. He knew Sid was poking at his "runaway student" cover story.
Sid sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge. "I'll look the other way regarding your reasons for leaving home. How about a little man-to-man talk?"
Sid gestured toward the distant silhouette of the Arena District. "The Noble Council, the Library, the Green Belt Prison... the world is shifting into a modern era. But as the man who drew the blueprints for those buildings, I'm stuck here. Irony, right?"
Ren glanced at him with newfound respect. Sid wasn't just a barista; he was a fragment of the Marble Kingdom who had burned out and buried his genius in a small cafe.
"I don't regret leaving. Now, I just focus on Ciel. A quiet life."
Ren took a sip. "Coffee from an architect? Unique taste. Even in a place like this, you're a hell of a brother to her."
Sid gave a bitter smile. "Ciel isn't my sister. We've known each other since we were kids. Our fates were just... similar. We look out for each other, but there's no blood tie."
Ren didn't know how to respond to that kind of sentiment. It was irrelevant to his world.
A week had passed since his mugshot went live, and no one had come knocking. When Ren first asked Sid for help, he had transferred enough money to cover a lifetime of needs. Sid and Ciel were honest people in a dishonest world.
"I owe you both," Ren said, looking back at the darkness. "But I have to move soon."
He watched Sid's face for any ripple of suspicion. They don't even know who I am. Or the price on my head.
Sid simply nodded. "We understand." No questions. Just a quiet trust that Ren's promise to return wasn't a lie.
The next day, an hour before closing, the peace was shattered.
A man in a suit—far too sharp for the Merge District—strutted in. He radiated the greasy confidence of a low-level scout. He ignored Sid and went straight for Ciel.
"Ciel. I told you, this is a golden ticket. CLOVER is the new idol agency, backed by the city government. You have a look that's one in a million. Don't waste it in this dump."
Ciel looked up, her eyes flashing with irritation. "I've turned you down three times, Mr. Giovanni. I like it here."
Sid moved in, standing tall beside her. "She said no, Giovanni. Take your 'scouting' back to the Arena District."
Giovanni scoffed. "You can't hide her forever, Sid. The corporations are coming for this district sooner or later. You'll regret not cashing in." He slammed the door on his way out.
Ren, standing in the corner of the kitchen, didn't say a word. But his crimson eyes narrowed. CLOVER. He didn't care about Ciel's career, but the name and the pressure felt too organized for a startup agency.
Once the cafe was empty, Ren slipped out the back. He moved like a ghost, shadowing Giovanni toward the metro station.
He found the man under a flickering streetlight, fumbling with an empty cigarette pack.
"Dammit. Should've brought two packs."
Ren stepped out of the shadows, his voice a low vibration. "You look like you're having a rough night."
Giovanni jumped, nearly dropping his empty box. He turned to find Ren—black jacket, rigid posture, and eyes like glowing embers. "Who the hell are you?!"
Ren didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a pack of slim cigarettes from his pocket and offered one.
"I don't mind sharing, sir."