The cheap smell of leather. The tinny speaker of the radio. The gentle rocking of the vehicle— these were all acquainted with K.

  He had ridden this car many times before, pressed tightly in the backseat while his brother lumbered down the streets.

  But this time, his body was covered head-to-toe in bandages.

  There were still notes of familiarity, though; as K drew his gaze from the carpeted floor to meet his brother’s eyes:

  Chet looked at him through the rearview mirror. Firm with horribly concealed distaste.

  “What does it feel like?” Chet asked gruffly.

  Even with the Golden Phantom, it seemed the man couldn’t help but be uncomfortable in lingering silences.

  “You may need to be more specific,” K was hyper aware of all the movements he made. He wondered if his brother could discover his true identity from the way he folded his hands, lolled his head, and spoke in his voice. “I have many experiences that a regular person cannot even conjure in their mind.”

  Chet rolled his eyes, turning sharply. “Having the Blessing. My brother tells me he hears voices.”

  K listened for a scathing retort from Hun, smirking when he found none.

  “My Beast has a distinct voice,” K began. “But I’ve known him for so long that it sounds like my own. Sometimes, I can’t tell where my thoughts end and when his words begin.”

  “He?” Chet spat back.

  K shrugged. “I don’t want a woman inside of me.”

  He saw his brother’s chest expand minutely, holding back a bark of laughter. His crude humor never left.

  When the war wasn't at its peak in Long Shore, K used to be jealous of the older boys his brother played with. How they laughed at jokes he didn’t understand.

  K thought it was painfully poetic. He only had to forge a second identity to get his brother to laugh alongside him.

  “Remember our deal,” Chet said, as the car came to a stop.

  ‘Another deal, another chain to weigh upon your mind, Sire.’

  K drew the passenger door open.

  “From what I recall… you said you’ve been searching for me for a long time, Enforcer.”

  Chet looked wary. “I suppose you can say that.”

  “Then,” K flashed his brother an assured nod. “You know that I always bring results.”

  The car sped away the moment he stepped out of the vehicle, eager to get away from any prying eyes. K could understand.

  After all, standing before him in all of its red-and-gold splendor— was the Guerdon.

  He knew that according to Master Banzai’s wishes, he’d need to meet his troupe— and his new warden. The Enforcer was more than eager to see what secrets this dance hall held, as well.

  K took even steps as he walked across the marble stairway, leading up to the wide portico entrance. The first time he visited the dance hall, K never took note of the grandiose architecture.

  A prominent vertical tower lined the building’s face, ‘GUERDON’ illuminated in bright lights.

  Now, K’s gaze lingered on the red-and-gold moldings and lighting fixtures. They greeted him the moment he stepped into the main dance hall.

  With night having fallen, most of the guests were in the throes of dance.

  On stage, the band was in the middle of a song. Saxophone, piano, and double bass rang through the hall like a roar. A young woman in a sleek dress stood under the spotlight, crooning away.

  K narrowly avoided all of the tables. He decided to lounge by the bar; glass and bottles glistening under the glare of chandeliers.

  “Could I get you anything, sir?” the bartender appeared in front of him.

  The man didn’t appear any older than K— probably only a year or so. His vibrant turquoise eyes widened in shock when they met K’s.

  ‘A cultivator. Perhaps, he’ll be one of yours.’

  K carelessly waved a hand. He was used to such reactions toward his appearance. “Just tomato juice, please.”

  The bartender merely nodded, snapping out of his reverie. He turned to the next patron without relaying his order to the other bartender working the well.

  “And that was our wonderful Ms. Tang, singing the biggest hit in all of the Centrality— ‘I Love You, My Rose’!” a voice suddenly boomed from the stage.

  K froze when he saw the figure beneath the spotlight.

  That damn chiffon cloak.

  The same one he saw Chet chasing after on the day they visited the crumbling remnants of the Dragonfly Diner—

  K watched on with wide eyes as the figure removed their cloak in a flourish.

  White hair. A shock of tan skin.

  “Give her a round of applause, everybody!”

  It was the survivor.

  It was the waiter.

  ‘Pachinko, the Master of Ceremonies.’

  “Tomato juice.” the bartender appeared out of nowhere. The loud clack of the glass against the wooden counter made K jolt.

  But K didn’t even care, watching raptly as the boy named Pachinko hopped off stage. His intense gaze instantly fell upon K.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It was like he had been waiting for him.

  K took a sip of his drink to hide the tense straightening of his spine.

  Pachinko sauntered over and took the chair by K’s side with all the comforts of a typhoon.

  “Well, well! My new charge is here. Sticking out like a sore thumb!” Pachinko laughed. It made K think of butterflies, fluttering above them.

  K’s drink made a glare of red reflect onto his cheeks. “Do I know you?”

  “Ah, interesting question,” the boy smiled at him. That same dimple on one side of his cheek deepened. “Tell me. If we did meet, I’d love to know the circumstances.”

  ‘Don’t let him play with you, Sire.’

  K shrugged. “I just… could’ve sworn that we’ve met before.”

  “Keep swearing, then!” Pachinko extended a hand. “The name’s Pachinko, sweetling. But everyone calls me Chinko.”

  “Chinko?” K repeated.

  The boy let out a loud laugh, doubling over. K raised a silent brow.

  When he finally righted himself, he wheezed. “Oh, no. Sorry, it’s actually Pachi.”

  Sighing, K turned back to face the counter, giving Pachinko— no, Pachi, a moment to wave at the bartender. Instantly, the men behind the counter began to work on his drink: again, without a word spoken.

  “I see you’ve acquainted yourself with the twins: Yuki and Ryo." Pachi gestured with his chin toward the bartenders. “You’ll have a chance to meet everyone soon. Now that Tang’s off the stage, the night’s gonna get a hell of a lot slower.”

  ‘Twins?’ Hun echoed with interest.

  K turned back to the bartenders. He recalled how they were able to prepare drinks without a single word passing from their lips.

  “Water Cores,” K remarked. “It appears that they have a Path that allows them to communicate telepathically.”

  “Close,” Pachi winked. He flagged down the two bartenders to stay when they came closer to deposit his order. It happened to be a campari spritz and a claret cobbler. “Here, Kizuna. I think something bitter would match your tastes.”

  Pachi pushed the campari spritz closer to K. The latter frowned.

  ‘I told you. He’s playing with you.’

  K sipped at the drink either way. He relished in its slight bitterness as Pachi greeted the bartenders. “Boys, meet Kizuna, the Golden Phantom.”

  Now that the bartenders stood side by side, K could see that they mirrored the exact same features. From the turquoise eyes to their builds. They shared straight chestnut hair and the moles on their cheeks.

  “Good,” one began. The other finished with, “Evening, sir.”

  “Thank you,” K nodded at the one standing on the right, then the left. “Ryo. Yuki.”

  Pachi giggled. “You’ll never get their names right. They can transfer one’s consciousness into the other’s. They call it Tree Sparrow’s Dance.”

  “That can be Ryo, or that can be Yuki. It doesn’t really matter. They basically share the same mind, either way.” The other boy leaned closer to carelessly sling an arm over K, pointing back and forth between the twins. K held back the impulse to drive a knife through his throat in retaliation.

  “I’m sure that you’re eager to meet the rest of your troupe.” Pachi stood from his seat with a flourish, grasping at K’s elbow to drag him along. “We better get going.”

  K had always been a lightweight, so only one drink made him more aggressive than usual.

  “Don’t touch me,” K growled, whipping his arm out of Pachi’s grip. But the moment he did so, his hand slammed against a metal tray, glasses clattering to the floor in a loud crash.

  When K turned to face the disaster, he saw an unruly head of blond hair, and the flash of a crimson aura— a Fire Core.

  The glasses K expected to find shattered against the floor didn’t spread across the ground.

  Instead, all the shards stood perfectly together, still in their original places.

  But when the quick shift of K’s frock coat grazed against them— they instantly blew apart. Sliding over the floor as if it was ice.

  “Xian! Watch where you’re going you stupid—”

  “Ah, ah, Mamoru… watch your tone,” Pachi whirled around, as if he had expected this display to occur. “Remember what I told you about treating our customers courteously.”

  The red aura in K’s eyes died down, and he saw the blond boy from earlier dusting off his server’s uniform. With his Path no longer in use, the glass shards ceased their movement. “Whatever! You can tell that walking, bandaged corpse that—”

  The taunt died as he finally took stock of K’s face. “You’re… the Golden Phantom.”

  Without wasting a second, he had turned on his heel and bolted away.

  “His Path can control the friction of any object that he touches,” Pachi explained, looking aptly at the shattered glass.

  “He doesn’t appear to be a fan of me,” K drawled.

  “Oh, trust me,” Pachi’s eyes glimmered. “None of them are.”

  As if punctuating his words, a hand suddenly grabbed K’s— spinning him into a quick waltz.

  Before him was a girl, hair done up immaculately to show off the heavy pair of pearl earrings she donned. She looked K up and down.

  “You look more like a ghost than a spy,” she remarked. The girl smiled blithely, with all the grace of a puppeteered doll.

  K was not fazed. “And you’re surprisingly energetic, for someone who’s been dancing for five hours straight.”

  Imperceptibly, the girl gasped, before depositing K back to Pachi’s side.

  “Shinju! Tell your beloved that there's a mess.” Pachi called after her as she whirled toward the middle of the dance floor. Instantly, the arms of another man caught her.

  “He’s already coming!” she called back in a lighthearted tone, before disappearing into the mass of bodies.

  “She can control the depletion of her energy,” K surmised. “Maybe it’s the lactic build-up in her body. Or neural fatigue.”

  “I can simplify it for you,” Pachi shrugged, pulling K aside so he wouldn’t step on the glass. “She calls it the Firebird Leap. She can control her body down to the molecular level, making it so that she never feels physically tired. Very similar to my Path, actually.”

  K crooked a brow at him. But Pachi quickly deflected his statement by beaming at two approaching people.

  “Was there… a problem… here?” one of them asked; a burly man who spoke slowly. He seemed to ruminate every word that left his mouth, speaking in broken Common.

  “No, no, dear Zhao. Mamoru just dropped some glasses again,” Pachi tugged K closer. “This is Kizuna, by the way! I told you that he’d be coming.”

  “The Triad mutt,” scoffed the other person; who seemed younger than K. He had a broom and a dustpan in his hands, and he instantly set to work sweeping up the glass.

  “Don’t be rude, Wen.” Pachi tutted. “Little Kizuna here can be quite feisty.”

  Hun’s laugh rumbled down K’s mind.

  “Touch me again and you’ll lose your hands,” K spat.

  “See?” Pachi goaded, but stopped draping himself over K’s back. “Wen’s Path is—”

  “Have you just been telling him about our Paths?” Wen spat, horrified. The outburst made the boy double over, wincing in pain. “Are you a fool?”

  ‘He has a malady,’ Hun discerned.

  “I noticed,” K drawled.

  “Hey, now!” Pachi pouted like a child. “Let’s not gang up on me!”

  Wen looked like he wanted to toss the glass shards into Pachi’s face. “We don’t know if we can trust this… thing, yet. For all we know, Banzai sent him here to kill us!”

  “Why?” K cut in. His voice travelled like a lone gust of wind over a rice field. “Is there a reason for me to kill you?”

  Wen’s lips grew tight, frightened. Before he let out a loud sigh. “Tell him whatever you want, then. But I don’t want you spitting a single word about my Path.”

  With that, he turned and walked off, glass clinking in his dustpan as he went.

  Zhao took the moment to step to K’s front. He pulled out a pistol. “I am Zhao… I make… portals… from my gun.”

  ‘I’d love to see what would happen if he shot that little Wen-boy in the head.’

  K shook the thought from his head as Pachi smiled up at the man. “Thank you, Zhao! Looks like someone can still be polite.”

  Zhao smiled down at K before trudging down the hall and toward the entrance. He must’ve been a bouncer of some kind.

  “Well,” Pachi clapped his hands together. “Wasn’t that eventful?”