XLVIII

As Reynard exited the courtroom, the air shifted from charged tension to a strange, almost casual atmosphere. The directors exchanged glances, their reactions a kaleidoscope of emotions—amusement, unease, and guarded curiosity.

The room’s layout, with the directors perched high above the floor like spectators in a coliseum, was intentionally impractical for a courtroom hearing. It was a precaution. No defendant, no matter how gifted or desperate, could easily cross the yawning gap to reach them if things escalated to violence.

Atropos stood still, her arms crossed, her expression stoic. Yet beneath her calm facade, a storm churned. Reynard’s behavior troubled her deeply. It wasn’t his claim of amnesia or the unsettling familiarity he projected when their eyes met moments ago. No, it was the transactional nature of his demeanor. He was using her, and that much was painfully clear.

This revelation didn’t surprise her—it simply reinforced the gulf that had grown between them. Whatever they had once been to each other, those bonds were gone. What remained was cold, pragmatic calculation on his part.

President Bob’s booming laughter shattered the silence like a hammer striking an anvil. “Hahahaha~! What an interesting guy, isn’t he?” He leaned forward, slamming his desk in delight. “What is he? Like five years younger than me? And he’s already pulling moves like this? Love it!”

Dr. Yamada rubbed the back of his neck, his usual smugness replaced by visible unease. “So scary… I think he wanted to kill me,” he muttered, his voice lacking its usual bravado.

Maurice, seated to Bob’s left, shot Yamada a sharp glance. “You shouldn’t have provoked him. What were you thinking, saying something like that?”

Klein, his pale skin glowing almost unnaturally under the room’s lights, leaned back with a mischievous grin. “Ahahaha~! Relax, Maurice,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I asked the doc to say that. It’s not like he lost his mind or anything.”

Maurice’s exasperation deepened. “Why would you do that?”

Klein shrugged, his grin widening. “Call it an experiment. Don’t worry, Doc, you’re not getting killed over this. You’re a doctor, after all. That’s like a shield of morality, right?”

Dr. Yamada’s face twisted into a reluctant grimace. “You’re giving me the thing, right? Like you promised?” His tone was low, but the underlying eagerness was unmistakable. Whatever “thing” they were discussing, it was undoubtedly questionable in nature.

Maurice groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “Unbelievable. That’s all you amount to? That’s your price? Really?” He shook his head and sighed. “Still, that Reynard… there’s something off about him. His aura’s weird. I can’t tell if I should be scared or not. Is his control just that good, or is it actually that ordinary?”

Atropos finally stirred, her voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. “Reynard’s aura isn’t ordinary,” she said, her tone cold but precise. “It’s… mutated. You feel strange because it’s too different for our senses to properly interpret.”

Her words brought an uneasy silence to the room. Bob leaned back in his chair, his grin broadening as though he’d known the answer all along. Maurice frowned, his discomfort deepening, while Klein’s grin grew even wider, his curiosity clearly piqued.

For Atropos, the conversation might as well have been happening in another world. Her mind lingered on Reynard’s parting words.

Until then, sister.

The phrase was simple, but it carried a weight that pressed against her composure.

His parting words echoed in her mind.

Until then, sister.

The phrase was simple, but the tone beneath it was sharp, cutting through her defenses. It wasn’t familial. It wasn’t warm. It was strategic—a calculated move. She recognized it because it was the kind of thing she might have said herself.

For the first time in years, she wondered if her brother was more like her than she cared to admit.

Her usually composed expression softened briefly as fragments of the past surfaced. She remembered a time when Reynard’s voice was bright and full of warmth, when he’d call her “Big Sis” with a smile that could disarm anyone. That boy was gone now, replaced by a man as cold and calculating as the world had forced him to become.

The sharp contrast between the boy she had known and the man he had become stung more than she expected.

Her thoughts drifted to the day she had hidden in the shadows to witness his wedding. She had stayed out of sight, watching from afar as Reynard exchanged vows with a woman who exuded power and charisma. Leora. A hunter of extraordinary skill and renown, Leora had been the kind of woman Atropos might have admired—perhaps even envied—in another life.

The memory of the ceremony was bittersweet. She had seen Reynard smile that day, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen since they were children. For a fleeting moment, she had dared to hope that he might find happiness.

But the whirlwind of events that followed had crushed that hope. Reynard’s life had spiraled out of control. Leora’s existence had shattered him, remade him, and his once-stable existence had been consumed by the hunter world. In turn, Reynard had become a hunter. 

Or, if she were to believe the patterns she’d observed over the years, into a predator on the hunt.

Atropos clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she wrestled with the implications. Reynard wasn’t just surviving; he was moving with purpose, a predator stalking prey in a world where alliances shifted like sand in the wind.

She took a deep breath, her mask of composure sliding back into place. The directors’ chatter around her was nothing more than background noise. Reynard’s presence had been like a stone thrown into still water, and the ripples were far from over.

Her gaze turned to the door once more, her thoughts a swirl of regret, suspicion, and an unsettling sense of foreboding.

Until then, sister.

The words lingered, a promise—or perhaps a warning—that she couldn’t ignore.

“Atropos,” Tori’s sharp voice cut through the lingering tension, snapping Atropos out of her reverie. Her cold, precise tone was matched by the glint of her glasses as she adjusted them. “Explain yourself. This is the first time we’re hearing about a younger brother, and to think you went behind our backs for this? Reynard’s qualifications are questionable at best. If anything, we should fail him outright.”

Atropos straightened, her usual impassive mask firmly in place. “I agree. We need to fail him.”

The room fell silent. The weight of her words was palpable, and the directors turned to her, their expressions a mixture of surprise and suspicion. Atropos rarely spoke with such directness, let alone in agreement with Tori’s pointed accusations.

Tori narrowed her eyes, her suspicion deepening. “You agree? Then why bring him here in the first place?”

Atropos’s gaze was steady. “I didn’t bring him here. But you are right. We must fail him.”

Klein, ever the provocateur, chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. His grin widened, amused by the unexpected twist. “That’s a surprising reaction. I thought there’d be nepotism at work here. If he’s as capable as he seems, I wouldn’t mind him joining my staff. I could always use another talented individual.”

Dr. Yamada yawned loudly, breaking the tension with his characteristic nonchalance. Without missing a beat, he produced an erotic magazine from seemingly nowhere, flipping through it with the ease of a man utterly detached from the weighty discussion around him.

Maurice groaned, his frustration evident. “No way, Klein. He goes with me. HR is overstaffed anyway. I could use someone like him to pick up the slack.”

The bickering between Klein and Maurice grew louder, their tones a mix of banter and genuine interest. Despite their usual irreverence, it was clear they both saw potential in Reynard.

Bob’s booming laughter cut through the noise, silencing the squabble with its sheer volume. The president leaned forward, resting his elbows on the ornate pedestal in front of him. His grin stretched wide, his jovial demeanor belying the gravity of his position.

“He wanted to be a Hunting Dog though?” Bob asked in a sentence-like manner, his voice carrying a provocative edge.

The room fell into an uneasy quiet. Those seven words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy with implication. The Hunting Dogs—an elite yet infamous hidden weapon of the Hunter’s Association—was not a weapon used lightly. It was a world of blood and shadows, where morality blurred and survival often depended on one’s willingness to sacrifice everything.

Atropos’s jaw tightened, but she maintained her calm. “Yes. He chose that path, knowing full well what it entails. His reasons are his own.”

Bob’s grin widened, but his eyes grew sharper, scrutinizing her. “And you? Do you think he’s fit for it, Atropos?”

The question struck like a hammer. Atropos hesitated for the briefest moment, the weight of her conflicted emotions pressing against her stoic exterior. “No,” she finally said, her voice steady but laced with an edge of finality. “He is not fit for it. Never.”

Klein’s grin didn’t falter, though his eyes glimmered with intrigue. “Interesting. You say that, but the way he handled himself back there? I’d say he’s closer than you think.”

Maurice nodded reluctantly. “He’s rough, sure, but there’s something about him. He’s got the makings of a predator, even if he’s still learning to hunt.”

Tori crossed her arms, her gaze cold and calculating. “The Hunting Dogs don’t take in half-measures. Either he’s ready, or he’s a liability. If he’s not fit, then we have no reason to humor him further.”

Atropos said nothing, her mind turning over the implications. Reynard’s choice to pursue the Hunting Dogs wasn’t just reckless—it was dangerous, not only for himself but for anyone tied to him. And yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that his resolve, twisted as it was, might be stronger than anyone realized.

Bob clapped his hands together, breaking the tension with a resounding smack. “Well, this is shaping up to be more fun than I expected! Let’s keep an eye on him, shall we? Whether he’s a predator or prey, Reynard Bright is bound to shake things up.”

The Hunting Dogs were an unusual breed—a patchwork of psychopaths, criminals seeking redemption or leverage, battle-hardened maniacs, and eccentric souls with goals so consuming they willingly surrendered dignity and freedom. To join their ranks was less a career choice and more a life sentence, bound by a code as ironclad as it was ruthless.

They lived and died for results, and anything less was unacceptable.

Atropos’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained calm and neutral. “That’s precisely why he shouldn’t join. He won’t make the cut.”

Bob leaned back in his chair, arching an eyebrow as a sly grin spread across his face. “And here I thought you’d be proud of him following in your footsteps, Atropos. After all, wasn’t it you who said only the strongest and most determined could survive among the Dogs?”

Her jaw tensed, but she didn’t flinch. “That’s why I know he doesn’t belong there.”

For a moment, Bob studied her, his gaze sharper than usual despite the playful edge to his tone.

Atropos had been a Hunting Dog once—but not the Association’s. The Dogs originally belonged to the Government, a secretive unit tasked with doing what no other division dared. They had been untouchable until Atropos betrayed them. Through her cunning and Bob’s authority, the Hunting Dogs had been wrested from the Government’s control and folded into the Association. It was a coup that had left scars, both visible and hidden.

Klein chuckled, breaking the tension. His voice was tinged with amusement, but his eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Oh, but he’s got the determination. Did you see how he carried himself today? That’s Hunting Dog material right there. Rough around the edges, sure, but there’s fire in his eyes.”

Maurice scoffed, crossing his arms. “No way. He’s too unpredictable. We don’t need more problems in the Hunting Dogs, especially after—”

“After what?” Klein interrupted, his grin turning razor-sharp. “After Leora? Don’t be coy. We all know she’s the one exception.”

The mention of Leora’s name sent a ripple through the room, silencing even the most irreverent among them. Her name carried weight—a living legend whose story had become myth within the Association. Leora was the impossible: a Hunting Dog who had not only survived but walked away with her dignity and freedom intact. She was a force of nature, her skill unmatched, her resolve unshakable. And, as fate would have it, Reynard’s wife.

Atropos’s gaze darkened at the comparison. She and Leora had shared a similar path, but their exits from the Dogs couldn’t have been more different. Leora had left by sheer force of will, carving a path for herself without bowing to anyone. Atropos, on the other hand, had left by changing masters, trading one leash for another.

The thought gnawed at her pride, though she would never admit it aloud.

Maurice shook his head, his tone firm. “Leora was a once-in-a-generation exception. Reynard isn’t her. He’s frail and untested.”

“Untested, maybe,” Klein countered, his grin unwavering. “But isn’t that the point of the Dogs? To break the untested and rebuild them into something extraordinary?”

Bob’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of the pedestal, his grin fading into something colder, sharper. “That’s exactly the point,” he said, his voice losing its usual joviality. “If anyone’s got the guts to handle the Dogs and come out alive, it’s someone married to her.”

Atropos’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her knuckles white against the synthetic skin. She kept her face impassive, but the thought of Reynard walking the path of a Hunting Dog made her stomach twist. That life wasn’t just brutal—it was consuming. It devoured people, leaving only hollow shells behind. She wanted Reynard as far from it as possible.

But Bob had already decided.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he cut through the murmurs in the room. “No arguments,” he declared, his tone final. “The Hunting Dogs fit him. Let’s not waste time bickering over something that’s already set in motion.”

The room fell silent.

Atropos’s chest tightened. She had seen firsthand what the Hunting Dogs did to people. She had seen the broken minds, the fractured souls, the humanity stripped away. Bob’s decree felt like a death sentence, one she couldn’t stop, one she had no power to overturn.

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel as she stared at Bob, whose booming laughter once again filled the chamber. It grated against her nerves, each guffaw like nails against a chalkboard. Finally, with gritted teeth, she spoke, her voice low and pleading.

“Bob,” she said, her composure cracking at the edges. “Please don’t do this to me.”

For the first time, Bob’s grin faltered completely. His eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, there was something almost like regret in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice heavy.

Atropos’s throat tightened.

Crying wasn’t an option for her—not anymore. Most of her parts were no longer human, and whatever remnants of her humanity remained were buried beneath layers of steel and circuitry. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her emotions a storm raging inside her.

Bob.

She owed him her life. She cherished him, admired him, loved him in a way that was almost worshipful. She had laid her heart bare to him, trusted him with her soul.

But Bob trusted no one.

Tori’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “You want to use Reynard as a hostage, don’t you, Bob?” she said, her tone laced with venom. “You are such… a cruel bastard.”

Bob turned his gaze toward her, unflinching. “That’s President Bob to you,” he said plainly, his voice devoid of humor.

The room grew even quieter, the air thick with discomfort. Even Dr. Yamada stopped flipping through his erotic magazine, his usual nonchalance replaced by unease.

Bob didn’t deny it. He didn’t try to justify it. He simply let the accusation hang in the air, unchallenged and unrepentant.

Atropos’s stare remained fixed on him, her eyes burning with a mixture of fury and despair. She had always known, deep down, that this was Bob’s intention. He didn’t see Reynard as a person, as her brother. He saw him as a tool, a bargaining chip, a means to an end.

She had been in denial, clinging to the hope that Bob might see things differently, that he might care enough to spare her this agony.

But Bob trusted no one.

Not even her.

Not even Atropos, who had devoted everything to him.

~048