With cold precision, Dante walked to his cabinet and retrieved one of his secret inventions—a delicate brass acoustic device designed to vibrate against solid surfaces and filter out background noise. He pressed it against the wall, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he eavesdropped on the "nobility."
"Didn’t I tell you we must send Dante to the Academy?" Kais’s voice was sharp and stern. "He has no friends, and that is a disgrace for a nobleman of our standing!"
"To hell with you!" Martha retorted with dripping sarcasm. "What do you even know about him? Dante has plenty of connections, but how would you know, buried as you are in the labyrinth of government work?"
Kais ignored her jab, his voice dropping into a pit of desperation. "What does that matter now? We need to find a cure for Victor; he is your only heir... or at least find a suitable husband for Ranti." He paused, his tone turning grim. "Victor is paralyzed, Martha. That is a finality we cannot dress up. He will never walk again. As for Ranti, I believe a suitor will knock on our door soon enough. Just have patience, woman."
Dante removed the device, his eyes shining with the coldness of ice. He didn't care for his father’s disappointment. Instead, he decided to start his day on his own terms. He donned a dark velvet jacket adorned with meticulously engraved brass buttons and wrapped a black silk scarf tightly around his neck before stepping out of his family’s opulent estate.
The sky of the Upper City was a masterpiece of steampunk engineering. Massive airships cruised the heavens, venting white plumes of steam that mingled with the clouds. Towers inhabited by the elite competed for height, and above them all sat the King’s palace, hugging the clouds like a god watching over his subjects.
Dante walked toward the city center, where rows of precisely built houses sheltered the officers, doctors, and engineers—the class that turned the world's gears but never owned them. About twenty meters away, the "Blue Rose Brothel" shimmered, its polished brass sign welcoming visitors. Synthetic trees, infused with expensive fragrances, loomed over the entrance to provide an air of sophistication that masked the reality within.
Dante entered the four-story building. The place was nearly empty at this early hour; the regulars wouldn't stir until dusk. He sat in his usual corner, observing the void with chilling indifference, until the mistress of the house, Eleanor, approached. She was breathtakingly beautiful, tall with deep blue hair that shone like silk and a corseted body emphasized by her tight gown.
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"My girls are complaining about you," Eleanor said, her voice a blend of a commander's authority and a woman’s softness. "Why do you come here at this hour every time you visit? It's too early for our kind."
Dante smiled, his gaze unwavering. "The place is quiet and beautiful at this time. I’d much rather be here than at the beach."
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Do you truly expect me to fall for your stories? What is your actual goal?"
"My goal is as clear as your beauty, my lady," he replied with aristocratic coldness.
Eleanor stepped back in momentary surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. She leaned over him as he sat, pressing her fingers firmly against his cheeks. "What a little rogue you are."
Dante offered no reaction, so she continued, "And I do love playing with rogues like you."
Dante’s tone shifted instantly, the smile vanishing. "Regardless of that, I didn't come here to play today." He added with newfound gravity, "I’m here to inquire about one of your regulars."
Eleanor sighed, moving back slightly. "Oh, you know we don’t reveal secrets here."
"Not even for... this?"
Dante pulled out a necklace set with a haunting red ruby. Eleanor gasped at its beauty. "Where did you steal this?" she whispered in awe.
Dante raised his hands with practiced vanity. "Where did I steal them? Let me think... Ah, right. From nobles who don't appreciate art. But, to see this wrapped around your long neck... now that, in itself, is art." It wasn't stolen as she thought; he had forged it himself from the fragments of his heists.
"Is your mind still made up?" he challenged.
Eleanor hesitated, greed shimmering in her eyes. "That depends on the man you want."
"The Vice President of the Academy... Van Damme."
"Have you lost your mind, boy?!" Eleanor hissed. Dante couldn't tell if it was fear for herself or the man’s power.
He continued coldly, "As I told you, don't worry. I just want his schedule. When he’s here, and with whom. That’s all."
Eleanor looked around, seeing her girls watching the scene in disbelief. She realized that if she refused this magnificent bribe in front of them, it would make her house look pathetic, as if they were incapable of seducing a wealthy youth.
"You're a cunning devil," she whispered, grabbing his hand and pressing it firmly against her chest.
Dante let out a low chuckle. "I didn't expect you to move this fast."
Eleanor dragged him into her private quarters, a room filled with the scent of lilies and dominated by a massive bed the color of crushed cranberries. She opened a secret drawer and pulled out a folded parchment. "Here. Everything on Van Damme."
Dante took the paper with chilling indifference. "I knew you had what I wanted... and it seems you have much more than that."
He turned to leave, but Eleanor’s strong grip caught his arm. "Where do you think you’re going?"
"My lady, I didn't come here to dally with you. I have important work to do."
Eleanor was stunned by his audacity, which seemed to grow with every word. "Not for that, you idiot! If you walk out now, you'll raise every eyebrow in the district. You’ll ruin your reputation. Who enters Eleanor’s room and leaves in two minutes?"
Dante understood her point, but he couldn't resist twisting the knife. "Are you sure about your intentions? Because I’m not. How many men get dragged into a woman's room in broad daylight just to sit and talk?"
Eleanor leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "It happens often enough... these days, women only drag in the ones they find 'less of a man' just to chat."
Dante laughed, a sharp, mock-wounded sound, as he looked her directly in the eye. "That’s cold, Eleanor. Truly cold."
"The contrast between the heights and the depths is just beginning. What are your thoughts on this? I'd love to hear your impressions."