Chapter 88: THE LAST EMBERS OF A SHORT NIGHT

Bear closed the door behind him, and the sound—click—came out louder than it should have in the quiet corridor. Kai stood alone in front of the Hot Viper main door, with his black uniform still stiff at the shoulders, with the tie slightly loose around his neck, and with the name tag hanging on his chest—a small tag with thick capital letters. Behind that door, the music pounded—a deep bass he could feel in the floor, could feel in his ribs. He didn’t enter. He just stood there, at his post—hands in front, feet slightly apart, back straight—and watched every person who passed.

That night went as he had imagined. People came and went—some in expensive dresses that shimmered under the lights, some in leather jackets full of patches, some with faces he recognized from Leonhard’s list—and Kai just stood there, without moving, without speaking, without looking at anyone too long. He noted how they walked, how they spoke to the other guards, how they glanced toward the VIP door. He stored it all in his head—names he didn’t hear, faces he didn’t know, movements he didn’t understand. He didn’t write anything down. He just remembered. Some people stared at him—some with curiosity, some with disdain—but no one spoke to him. And Kai didn’t mind. That was exactly what he wanted.

His shift ended when the clock on the corridor wall showed two in the morning. Bear came to pick him up—with wide steps, with the smile still on his hard face—and he brought him back to the changing room. "Good," Bear said, opening the changing room door. "You didn’t leave your post once. I checked on you from a distance. You didn’t move at all."

"I just did my job," Kai said.

Bear nodded. "Tomorrow night, you start at ten. Same shift. I’ll check on you again." He walked to the locker across, a larger locker with the name BEAR printed on its door, and he opened it. "I’m changing too. You don’t mind?"

Kai shook his head slowly. He opened his own locker and started removing his uniform—black shirt, black tie, black pants—one by one, with measured movements, with eyes staring forward. He didn’t pay attention to Bear. He just focused on his clothes, on the movement of his hands, on the sound of fabric rubbing against skin. He had just finished removing his shirt when he felt something—a gaze directed at his back. A gaze he hadn’t asked for.

Bear had already finished removing his shirt. He stood there, with a body full of tattoos, with muscles still thick even though he was no longer young, and with eyes staring at Kai’s back—long, without blinking. On that back were carved various kinds of scars. Gunshot wounds forming small circles with wrinkled skin around them—like old scars, already dried, already part of his body. A long slash stretching from the ribs to the waist—a straight line, deep, one that couldn’t possibly have come from an accident. Burn marks that made his skin look like burnt paper—irregular patterns, with a color lighter than the surrounding skin. And on his left arm—a fresh wound, still red, still healing, still covered with a thin bandage.

Bear stepped closer. He extended his hand—not to touch, just to point. "Where did you get all these?" he asked. His voice was heavy, but there was a different tone in it. Not the tone of a commander. Not the tone of a guard. The tone of someone who genuinely wanted to know.

Kai didn’t turn. He kept removing his pants and putting on the training pants he kept in the locker. "Accidents," he said. His voice was flat, without emotion. "When I was young."

Bear raised his eyebrows. "Accidents?"

"Yes."

"What accident gives you a gunshot wound on the shoulder?"

Kai put on his t-shirt. He closed the locker and started tidying his dirty clothes—folding them neatly, putting them in his bag. "I used to live in an unsafe area," he said. "Many incidents."

Bear stared at him for a long time. He knew Kai was lying. He knew those wounds couldn’t have come from accidents. Gunshot wounds had a distinctive shape. Slash wounds had straight, deep lines. Burn marks had patterns that couldn’t be produced by ordinary fire. Bear had seen many wounds in his life. He had seen broken bodies, stitched bodies, bodies that never truly healed. And the wounds on Kai’s back—they were all wounds he recognized. Wounds from battle. Wounds from war. But he didn’t push. He just nodded slightly and said, "Alright. If you say so."

Kai finished tidying his clothes. He closed the locker, took his bag, and walked to the door. "I’m going home," he said.

Bear turned. "Want me to walk you home?"

"No need."

Bear blinked. "It’s three in the morning. You want to walk alone?"

"Yes," Kai said. "I’m used to it."

Bear looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded. "Alright. Be careful."

Kai left the changing room. He walked down the now-empty corridor—only a few staff still cleaning, with brooms and mops—and exited through the back door of Hot Viper. The night air greeted him—colder than before, with dew clinging to the asphalt, with streetlights glowing yellowish in the distance, with crickets chirping somewhere he couldn’t see. He walked along the empty sidewalk. He wasn’t in a hurry. He had no clear destination. He just walked—past closed buildings, past shops still lit, past a few people passing with quick steps like they were avoiding something.

He stopped at a twenty-four-hour minimarket. Its neon light glowed bright—too bright for three in the morning—and inside, there was only one sleepy cashier and several shelves full of goods. Kai entered, took a basket, and started walking between the shelves. He took some food—bread, instant noodles, eggs, some cans—and he stopped at the drink shelf. He looked for his favorite drink—the strange-tasting soda, the one he always bought, the one he always kept in the fridge. But that shelf was empty. Not a single can. Kai stared at that shelf for a moment, then he put down his basket and walked out. He didn’t ask the cashier. He didn’t look on other shelves. He just left and continued his journey.

He walked farther—past several blocks, past several flickering streetlights, past several dark alleys—until he found another minimarket near his apartment. He entered, looked for the same drink, and this time he found it. He took several cans—more than he needed—and brought them to the cashier. The cashier—a young man with dark circles under his eyes and a slightly wrinkled uniform—raised his eyebrows when he saw the stack of cans in front of him. "All of these?" he asked.

"Yes," Kai said.

The cashier shrugged and started scanning the cans—one by one, with a boring beep, with slow movements. Kai paid, put the cans into a plastic bag, and walked out. The air outside was still cold. He climbed the stairs to his apartment—slowly, with steps he was used to—and opened the door. He placed the plastic bag on the table, took some cans, and put them in the fridge—one by one, until the fridge was full of the same drink, with the same color, with the same taste. He closed the fridge door and stood there for a moment, staring at his silent apartment.

He turned on the water heater. He waited until the water was hot—sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall, letting his mind drift to places he didn’t want. When the water was hot enough, he showered—with warm water, with cheap soap, with quick movements. He dried his body with a towel whose original color was no longer clear, he turned off the water heater, and he returned to the kitchen.

He took instant noodles from the cupboard—the same noodles he always ate, whose taste never changed, which he always cooked the same way. He poured hot water into it—sruuut—covered it with a plate, and waited. While waiting, he sat on the sofa and opened the list Leonhard had given him—the list he had folded, the list he had put in his pants pocket, the list still there. He opened it and started reading—slowly, with eyes moving from name to name.

He stopped at one name.

Bear Brant.

He read the biodata below that name—birthplace, birth date, work history, small notes written in Leonhard’s handwriting. Everything was too ordinary. Too normal. Too—perfect. There were no notes about his dark past. No notes about how he could become the leader of the Lower Gate. No notes about why he seemed so friendly when he was a man known as "Fortress." Kai leaned his back against the sofa. He stared at the ceiling—still flickering, still with the water stain shaped like an open mouth. He thought—whether this list was wrong. Whether Leonhard had made a mistake. But he knew Leonhard never made mistakes. The information he gave was always accurate. So there must be something—something he hadn’t seen yet, something he hadn’t understood yet.

He folded the list and put it back in his pants pocket. He stood and walked to the kitchen—to the noodles he had left. He opened the lid, stared at the noodles inside, and let out a breath. Haaah. The noodles were too soft—he had soaked them too long, poured too much water. But he didn’t throw them away. He took chopsticks, sat on the kitchen chair, and started eating—slowly, with small sounds, with an empty gaze at the wall in front of him.

Morning came without him realizing it. The alarm on his phone rang—the sound he usually used, not too loud, enough to wake him. Kai opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a moment—still with the same water stain, still with the same light—then he turned off his alarm. He stood from the sofa, walked to the bathroom, and washed his face with cold water. Ssss. The water wet his face, wet his collar, and for a moment, he felt a little fresher. He took his favorite drink from the fridge—one can, cold, with condensation clinging to its surface—and he drank it in one gulp. Gulp, gulp, gulp. The can was empty in less than ten seconds. He placed the empty can on the table and went to the bathroom again—this time to shower, with warmer water, with the same soap, with the same movements.

He didn’t eat breakfast. He just put on his school clothes—shirt, tie, pants, jacket—and he made sure nothing was wrong this time. He checked his shoes—two shoes of the same color. He checked his tie—the correct knot. He checked his buttons—all correctly buttoned. He took his bag, made sure all books and equipment were inside, and he left his apartment.

He descended the stairs—slowly, with his hand on the railing, with eyes staring at the steps that had worn down in places. He hadn’t reached the ground floor when he saw someone standing near the exit—a figure he recognized, with wavy brown hair falling to her shoulders, with a neat school uniform, with a bag hanging from her shoulder. Iris. She was leaning against the stair railing, with her hand in her skirt pocket, with the mysterious smile that was always on her face.

Kai stopped at the last step. He looked at Iris—with a flat gaze, with an expression that showed nothing. "Iris," he said. "What are you doing here?"

Iris pushed herself off the railing. She stepped closer—slowly, with casual steps, with eyes that didn’t blink from Kai’s face. "Good morning, Mr. Kai," she said. Her voice was soft, with a sweet tone, with a smile he couldn’t read.

"Good morning," Kai replied. "You haven’t answered my question."

Iris smiled wider. She stopped in front of Kai—too close, closer than she should have—and she looked at him directly. "I just wanted to say something," she said. "I won’t lose."

Kai blinked. "Lose? Lose what?"

But Iris had already turned. She ran lightly toward her apartment door—the same door as Kai’s apartment door, just a few meters to the side—and she opened it, entered, and closed it behind her. The sound of that door—click—came out louder than it should have in the silent corridor.

Kai stood there. At the last step. With his bag on his shoulder, with shoes of the same color, with a tie correctly knotted. He stared at Iris’s apartment door—the door now closed, the door that wouldn’t open again—and he tried to understand what had just happened. I won’t lose. Lose at what? Lose to whom? He didn’t understand. He truly didn’t understand.

He stood there long enough—longer than he needed—and he decided to think about it another time. For now, he had to come to school early. He had duty today.