John remained silent for a beat, glancing down at the worn, stained attire he had been wearing since the city. He caught a faint whiff of the week's grime and the lingering metallic scent of his mentor's head. His nose scrunched in a brief, involuntary display of distaste.
"Lead the way then" he said, his voice had a hint of respect to it.
The maids turned instantly, their movements hurried and respectful as they escorted him back toward the luxury of the suite to prepare him for the audience that would decide his fate.
Being attended to by a fleet of maids was a jarringly new experience for John. As he stood motionless, allowing their practiced hands to off him of his travel-worn clothes, the close proximity and soft touch served as a blunt reminder of how long it had been since he'd known the company of a woman.
For a fleeting second, the memory of Elara's kiss flashed through his mind, a brief spark of warmth in a cold life. He pushed it aside just as quickly. The opportunity for something more had been there, certainly, but John had never been one to let desire derail his primary goals.
He glanced at the women moving silently around him. They were attentive, graceful, and entirely at his beck and call. He knew that a single word would be enough to turn this clinical service into something more intimate, but his nature as an Ajin acted as a heavy restraint.
While his true status remained a secret for now, he couldn't afford to be careless. In a world where his biology was a weapon or a prize, leaving traces of himself, his blood, his fluids, his essence anywhere they didn't belong was a risk he wasn't willing to take. It was better to remain disciplined and prepared than to let a moment of weakness expose his greatest secret.
The bathing ritual was just as effortless as the undressing, John barely had to lift a finger before he found himself dried and cinched into his new attire. Looking in a mirror, he saw a stranger reflecting back, clad in the dark, functional gear of a League ninja.
His meal had been laid out across the table, but one item immediately caught his eye, a tin of canned dog food. John looked at the label, then shifted his gaze to Dog, who was sitting obediently on the floor, his empty ceramic plate waiting expectantly before him.
It was a strange sight. Throughout their time together, Dog had always eaten exactly what John ate. The League had never bothered with specialized feed before, this was a first for both of them.
John crouched down, his new gear creaking slightly as he reached out to pet Dog's head. "They got some new food for you, huh?"
Dog looked from the tin to John, his tail giving a solitary, curious thump against the floor.
"I don't know if it'll suit your acquired taste," John murmured, "But give it a try. If you don't like it, let me know, and we'll go back to our usual routine. I'm not making you eat anything I wouldn't share."
Dog let out a sharp, affirmative bark.
Nodding, John popped the lid and emptied the contents onto the plate. Dog didn't dive in headfirst. He remained cautious, leaning in for a long, discerning sniff before tentatively licking the edge of the pile to gauge the flavor. After a moment of contemplation, his tail began to wag in earnest, and he began to eat with enthusiasm.
A ghost of a smile touched John's lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared when he returned to his own meal. He had barely taken a few bites before he felt a persistent tug at his pant leg. Looking down, he saw Dog standing there. His plate wasn't empty, but his eyes were fixed intently on John's plate instead.
Dog hadn't forgotten their old routine, luxury or not, he still preferred what his master was having.
John looked up at the maids standing at attention along the walls. "Prepare more of this food for my companion," he said, a hint of command leaking through.
The maids glanced at the animal and then back at John. For a heartbeat, they hesitated, but John met their gaze with a cold, blank stare that brooked no argument. They quickly bowed, and moments later, the sliding doors hissed open as more carts of fresh food were wheeled in.
Knowing the fresh spread was meant for him, Dog let out an excited bark, jumping in small circles. John didn't even have to reach for the serving spoons; the maids stepped in immediately to prepare Dog's second course. They moved with practiced grace, even taking the subtle opportunity to steal a few pets and scratches behind Dog's ears as they worked.
John and Dog finished their meal in a heavy, comfortable silence. The moment John set his utensils down, the head maid stepped forward, her movements fluid and silent. "If you are satisfied, Master, please follow me. The Demon Head awaits your presence."
John took a slow, deliberate breath, centering himself for the confrontation ahead. "Lead the way," he said shortly. He stood up, his new gear rustling as he turned toward the sliding doors.
Dog immediately scrambled to his feet, tail ready to wag, prepared to follow his master into the unknown. But he was met with the sharp, cold edge of John's voice.
"You stay."
John didn't look back. He kept his eyes fixed on the hallway ahead, leaving the animal behind in the room. He couldn't afford any distractions or any vulnerabilities where he was going.
He followed the head maid through the compound, eventually reaching a massive, pagoda-style building. At first glance, it mirrored the one he had just left, but the moment they stepped across the threshold, John realized there were levels to things.
The interior was a masterclass in history and lethality. Walking through the halls felt like moving through a living museum, the walls were adorned with intricate paintings and scrolls that likely told the bloody story of the League's rise.
As they ascended, the displays became more specialized. Exotic, alien-looking weapons hung in glass cases or on silk-lined racks. John's eyes narrowed as he passed a jagged blade that seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic glow. It wasn't just steel and wood in this place, there was something else humming in the air, a power that made the hair on his arms stand up.
The maid came to a halt before a grand sliding door. She paused, casting a brief, unreadable look at John before gripping the handle and pulling it aside with a soft, rhythmic scrape.
The first thing John noticed was the vast, echoing emptiness of the room. It felt less like an office and more like a sanctuary. At the far end, framed by the open balcony, stood a lone figure with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out into the mountain mist. John would be lying if he said he didn't feel a prickle of unease, the sheer presence of the man seemed to heavy the air.
He stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind him with a final, decisive click.
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