When K returned to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the sound of a flute.

  It was absolutely beautiful. The tune was melancholic, the notes whispering in K’s mind as if it were speaking to him.

  For a moment, his delirious mind supplied him with the wrong name.

  “Sunren…” K muttered.

  But then he recalled that the man’s fingers could never be as dextrous. That his breath always petered out by the end of a note. That he was dead.

  “Aw,” Pachi’s aggravating voice filtered into his ears. “Do you miss your old owner?”

  K shot back up, his head throbbing. He murmured, “Don’t… touch me.”

  Around them, the backstage area was a little worse for wear. The floorboards beneath his body had splintered apart and the sandbags were torn open— sand spread across the ground in little dunes.

  Still, their surroundings weren’t as derelict as K had grown accustomed to. Pachi must not have let him go on for too long.

  Pachi was looming over him, down on one knee. He still had the bone flute pressed to his lips, playing a little tune here and there. He swayed to the music as he did so, skillfully performing the piece.

  It was like he was born to play it.

  K shook his head back and forth, nausea spinning into his vision. While he was always a little tired after snapping, he had never felt like this—

  Sick.

  There was something wrong.

  “Hun?” K called out.

  There was no response.

  He yelled, “Hun!”

  “Hey, hey. Don’t make too much noise,” Pachi stopped playing, raising an arm to tap at K’s shoulder. “There are still a few patrons out there. If they hear you screaming bloody murder, they’ll—”

  “I said don’t touch me!” K growled, swiping an arm at the boy so violently that he felt the skin of Pachi’s hand give way a little bit.

  He held back the victorious swelling in his chest when he saw a few, bloody red scratches on his warden’s palm.

  Growling savagely, K tumbled atop Pachi. He rested his entire weight on him, pressing his knee on Pachi’s neck and choking him.

  He spat down at the boy’s face. “What in the eight hells did you do to me? What did you do to Hun?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Pachi grinned up at him. The bastard even had the gall to reach out, plastering a hand atop K’s forehead before K shook him off, snarling. “You look a little unwell, Kizuna. Perhaps you’d like to head home first?”

  K twisted his hands into Pachi’s shirt, his eyes glazing over with darkness as he hissed, “If you’ve sullied my Blessing in any way— I will be the one to wring your neck and toss you off the ports.”

  He didn’t wait to hear Pachi’s reply, stumbling to the stairs that led back down to the dance hall.

  K’s vision was swaying back and forth as he ran through the Guerdon. He thought he saw a few recognizable blots filtering into his vision— members of his troupe, most likely.

  But K pushed them all away, finally staggering out of the entrance and down the road. With the Furukameian royal family arriving soon, streets were getting closed off. Banners were being hung. Security was harsher than ever.

  K tried not to attract attention.

  Desperately, he murmured, “Hun…”

  There was still no response.

  His frazzled mind fought to make sense of his circumstances. It appeared like the moment that Pachi activated Figure Eight— Hun was affected in some way.

  Perhaps this was some hidden aspect to his warden’s Path. Something that disrupted the flow of communication between K and his Beast.

  K was such a fool. He shouldn’t have trusted Pachi the moment he recognized him. He was the one who played Sunren into his death. The one who pushed his brother to pull the trigger.

  But Master Banzai had been the one to scout Pachinko. And K knew firsthand how stringent the boss was. He would not trust Pachi if there was any chance that the boy could topple the Triads.

  Maybe that was it, though— this could be Master Banzai’s way of finally tossing K away. After all, he had always known that Banzai held no ties toward the Beast’s Blessing. He couldn’t care less if K died during a mission or from the aftermath of the Phantom.

  K shook the thought out of his head. The familiar byways and roads of Tianxia’s downtown flickered across his vision. He would be home soon.

  He’ll settle all of this tomorrow. For all he knew, he wouldn’t even survive the night. If this wasn’t just a Path that kept K from communicating with Hun, and the Beast really was harmed or even destroyed…

  Then K only had a few hours— no, a few minutes to live.

  As he began to near a brick and mortar tenement house, K stripped his frock coat off his shoulders. He tossed it into one of the alleys, fingers ripping into the bandages that surrounded his body. K crushed them into a soiled ball that he threw alongside the coat.

  He was shaking, K noticed, when he tried to grasp at the spare key hidden under the sole of his right sock. Taking a few more breaths, he ran a hand through his hair and soldiered ahead.

  K barely registered it as he climbed up the familiar wooden staircase. His knuckles turned white when he gripped the railing.

  Footsteps rang in his ears— his own. Alongside it was a high-pitched tone, singing in his mind; oddly reminiscent of Pachi’s flute.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He was going mad.

  At last, he reached his destination.

  K stood in front of the locked wooden door. He tried to shove his key into the metal lock, but he missed every single time. His damn hands still hadn’t stopped shaking.

  With a sigh, he knocked instead.

  No response.

  He knocked again, louder. When there was still no sign of life behind the door, K began to kick at the hinges.

  “Xian, quiet!” a voice thundered from within. “This is the home of a sworn Enforcer, dammit! You’re lucky if I don’t drag you to the precinct for—”

  The complaints died as the door was unlocked and drawn open; Chet standing inside with a bleary look in his eyes.

  “Kai?” his brother looked down at him, eyes wide. “What happened to you?”

  K took the opportunity to slump into Chet’s open arms. He relished the lightened weight upon his feet.

  He hoped that his appearance wasn’t too haggard. But based on his brother’s reaction: he must've looked worse for wear.

  The gears of K’s tired brain kicked into motion.

  “I was attacked…” K muttered, a hint of shame leaking into his voice.

  Chet’s grip on his shoulders grew tight. The man shoved the door shut behind them both as he led K deeper into their apartment. “Give me a description of the bastard’s face and I’ll make sure they won’t step in the streets ever again.”

  K still mustered a tired chuckle, though he was sure that his brother wasn’t exaggerating. “No need. He told me his name.”

  The gears clicked into place, snapping perfectly together. He couldn’t pin the blame on a real person who his brother could grow obsessed with catching. That left K with only one choice—

  “He called himself Kizuna,” K looked up at Chet’s face to gauge his reaction. “He beat me… and told me that there was a message that he wanted me to relay to you.”

  Chet looked like he wanted nothing more than to bark, ‘What?’ in reply; but the man managed to swallow it all down.

  Instead, he sighed loudly and led K to the bedroom. “We can deal with that tomorrow. For now… you’re hurt. Let’s get you to bed.”

  K nodded along. At least he wasn’t feigning the way his legs wobbled unsteadily. Chet checked him on the way, inspecting his face, neck, and arms for any injuries. That was when he noticed the puncture wound near K’s ribs.

  “Xian,” Chet whispered darkly. “You were stabbed?”

  “I… dealt with it,” K cleared his throat. The first aid he had performed on his body would be enough to keep him alive, he knew.

  Even Chet seemed to agree, as he studied the tightly wound bandages on K’s torso. “At least it looks like the bleeding stopped. I’d bring you to the hospital if…”

  If the both of them weren’t so scared of the doctors finding out about K’s Blessing. He’d be handed over to government testing facilities the moment they read the unnatural levels of Cultivational power in his system.

  K let the topic slip away as his brother pushed him to the bed. Chet pulled the blankets up to cover the both of them; their faces staring blankly up at the ceiling.

  “Sleep now,” Chet ordered softly. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  With his mind more silent than it had ever been before; K fell into a fitful sleep.

  Every day, every night—

  Kasio scrubbed the toilets.

  Today was no different. At the clock’s heavy ding of midnight, Kaiso slowly made his way down the compound’s stifling hallways.

  “Goodnight, Kai!” A hand reached for his hair, petting it. It was one of the labourers. He was one of 25 other expats who made a living in this compound, printing counterfeit kin or diluting alcohol for scams.

  It always smelled of sewage gas here, with earwigs infesting the walls.

  But the people made it worthwhile. They made it survivable.

  “Hello, Duri,” Kaiso grinned, “Once I’m done, I’ll tell the kids a bedtime story.”

  They were ten in a room most times, in their barracks. Kaiso didn't mind it. He played with the younger children and huddled for warmth under the scratchy blankets the adults handed to them.

  Duri smiled back. The man had escaped from the dictatorship of the Isran Isles. His gunshot wounds were still healing, although he was a hard worker that never complained.

  Duri told him once that he had to leave behind his brother in order to evade the authorities. This reminded Kaiso of his own— of Chet, fighting in a war he never wanted to be a part of. How Chet gave up his only chance of escape so that K could survive.

  He was as ashamed as he was thankful.

  “Do you still have work?” Kaiso asked the man.

  “Ah, I just need to lock up,” Duri shrugged. “Not very easy with my cast. I can’t reach the damn light fixtures.”

  The man laughed; although Kaiso understood the pain he must’ve been in. Defiant, Kaiso said, “I can do it for you. I’m heading to the toilets, anyway.”

  Duri’s eyes softened. “Kai, no…”

  “Really, it’s okay,” Kaiso shrugged. “I’ll get the job done faster too.”

  “Alright, kid,” Durin laughed, rolling his eyes at the taunt. “Thank you. I’ll warm up some tea for you once you get back to the barracks.”

  Kasio waved his thanks as he padded down the wooden staircase. He blew out the candles and lanterns as he passed. Reaching over shelves, he extinguished oil lamps and flicked incandescent bulbs off.

  All that was left now was the front door. It was already deadbolted but needed another padlock to keep everything secure.

  This was still Triad property, after all. Who knew if an enemy gang would try to burst in and start trouble.

  Just as Kasio made his way to the door, ready to snap the padlock in place, he heard a sharp rapping from the other side.

  “Hello?” the voice asked, desperate and feeble. It was the voice of a man. “Is there anyone here?”

  Kasio squared his shoulders. He made himself sound as tough as a 12 year old could, “We’re closed!”

  He was twisting the padlock into place, ready to lock the doors shut when the man spoke again. This time, he was much more ragged and desperate. “Please, I-I… I’m here for the job offer.”

  “Are you…” Kasio leaned his head against the door, realizing that the way the man spoke sounded familiar. In fact, his accent was quite thick. “You’re Binruan, aren’t you?”

  He had been kind, upon hearing that it was his own countryman at the door.

  The man sounded relieved, huffing a short laugh. “And so are you. Bare me, but my brother and I have just arrived here and we were told that you pay cash.”

  “Sorry, but we only accept employees we’ve already screened.” Kasio turned to leave.

  “N-No, you don’t understand. We don’t have anywhere else to go!”

  Kasio sighed, looking at the door for a long moment. “Do you have any other family?”

  “No. It’s just me and my brother.”

  There wasn’t any hope for a ransom, then. Their barracks were packed. Master Banzai wouldn’t be happy about letting in a new pair of mouths to feed and spend their expenses on.

  However, if Kasio didn’t let them in— where else were they to go?

  The National Treasury Department had been enforcing crackdowns on illegal workers. Even more so nowadays because of their fears of espionage. Only the Triads offered such highly-protected jobs.

  Kasio pulled the padlock apart, and stuffed it into his pocket. With a small creak, he drew the door open.

  In front of him stood a man in his thirties, his face shrouded by a wide-brimmed hat. The man who stood behind him was brooding and large, face contorted by healed scars.

  “Good evening, sirs,” Kasio extended a hand.

  The man’s grip on his was soft.

  He should've slammed the door on them.

  He could've kept them from starting the fire. From massacring the 25 expats who were working at the compound as well.

  If he was any smarter, then K wouldn't be living a life tethered to revenge—

  Not for his own circumstances, but for the lives lost that night. The families. The children. Duri.

  For that, this man would pay.

  But now, Kasio could barely make out the man’s eyes beneath his hat, folding happily around a smile.

  “Please,” the man gave a little bow, “Call me—”