Zhao Meili slowly withdrew her hand.
Beneath the flawless mask of her smile, she buried her true emotions.
But inside, rage churned like a storm.
(…That damned wretch.)
The thought flashed through her mind like a bolt of lightning.
Me? Zhao Meili?
The woman who's brought every man to his knees without fail?
Rejected—just like that?
No, worse—publicly humiliated?
For a fleeting moment, her eyes darkened.
But Zhao Meili wasn't foolish enough to let anyone notice.
Like a master actress on a grand stage, she never revealed her true face to the audience.
The curtain hasn't fallen yet.
Zhao Meili pulled herself together in an instant.
The fiery rage within her was smothered by cold, calculated reason, honed over years of discipline.
Now is not the time to lose control.
With a faint smile curling her lips, she fixed her gaze on Keito.
(Do you really think you can humiliate me with this?)
A sinister glint flickered in her eyes.
Her cold, calculating smile remained unshaken.
"Oh?"
Her voice carried no trace of embarrassment.
"My apologies, but… calling that a touch? Isn't that a bit dramatic?"
"I was merely showing respect."
"Acknowledging your… stature, if you will."
Her words were sharp, honed like a freshly forged blade.
With effortless grace, she returned to her seat, leaning back in her chair as if nothing had happened.
But inside, it was a different story.
A storm was brewing in her soul.
This wasn't just humiliation—it was a challenge. An unforgivable, audacious affront.
No one in this world can silence Zhao Meili.
In her mind, the outlines of a new plan were already taking shape.
Elena, Haruko, and Catherine exchanged uncertain glances.
They didn't fully grasp what had just unfolded, but one thing was clear—the air in the room was taut, like a bowstring ready to snap.
If they could, they would've dissected every detail of Zhao Meili's expression, pieced together her thoughts from the subtlest twitch of her face, the faintest shift in her gaze.
But right now, she was shrouded in an impenetrable mist.
No one could pierce the veil of her thoughts.
"Hm," Keito's low voice rumbled.
Calm, almost as if spoken to himself, paired with a faint, twisted smile on his lips.
He didn't turn around.
But there was something strange in his tone—sharp, potent, like the edge of a blade.
"…If I were a man craving validation," he continued, "I might've entertained your so-called loyalty."
"But…"
"All I want is the item in your collection."
A heavy, icy silence descended once more.
No one in the room dared utter a word. Even those with the power to stand against Keito, even those backed by mighty patrons—they all remained frozen. His words weren't just words. They carried mockery, pressure, a veiled threat, and an unshakable confidence. Like invisible chains, they bound everyone in the room.
No one could move.
Keito tilted his head slightly, as if lost in thought, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Do you believe in legends?" he asked. "What do you make of myths?"
The air in the room shifted. It grew thick, oppressive, almost suffocating.
Ludwig Dupont scanned the faces around him, a long-forgotten sensation creeping up his spine—a subtle tension, a faint unease. At first, Keito's question seemed like idle chatter, but his voice, his demeanor, and that something lurking behind his one-eyed gaze told a different story. These were no empty words.
Zhao Meili sat slightly apart, her eyes locked on Keito. The smile was gone—no more coquetry, no more feigned softness. Only a cold, silent vigilance remained, her gaze assessing him like a predator sizing up its prey.
Keito slowly approached the window. Hands clasped behind his back, he spoke in a calm, even tone, as if recounting an ancient tale.
"Long ago, something existed in this world."
"A thousand years ago."
"It wasn't human, nor demon, nor god. It was… something else."
"It had countless arms and legs, a power that defied all laws. It didn't just wield magic—it created and destroyed at will, bending reality itself."
"Air turned to metal, stone to flesh, even gravity bowed to a single gesture. The world around it warped, as if the universe itself couldn't bear its existence."
"With a single gesture, entire cities vanished."
"One glance from him, and his enemies froze in time."
"He needed no army."
"He wasn't just an army—he was a concept, surpassing any force."
"No weapon could defy his will."
"No human could keep their body under control in his presence."
"In time, he became… a king."
"A being that ruled beyond the constraints of time."
"Had he not vanished, his name would still reign supreme in history."
The room seemed to freeze.
The air turned dense, heavy, almost viscous.
No one dared to breathe.
"…But," Keito continued, "a shadow never truly fades."
"Though a name may be erased from history, artifacts remain. Fragments of knowledge lie dormant in ancient vaults, sealed within forgotten relics."
"And now… there are those who seek to resurrect them."
He paused, his voice cutting through the silence.
"…You understand what I'm talking about, don't you?"
Keito turned. His eyes remained hidden behind the eyepatch, yet everyone felt the weight of his gaze.
"The method to perform the ritual is recorded in the artifact I seek."
Ludwig Dupont let out a quiet breath, a faint, strained smile tugging at his lips.
"Quite the story…" he said, attempting to lighten the mood.
But as he glanced around the room, he saw no one smiling.
No one even tried to change the subject.
Silence reigned.
Keito's words hung in the air, growing heavier with each passing second, pressing down on everyone in the room.