The Holey Mug Bar pulsed with life, conversation, and music, but for Zack and Tobi, seated at their isolated table, only the shared moment between old friends—or enemies, depending on who you asked—existed. The blue lantern light danced over their faces, casting shadows that hid as much as they revealed.
Zack raised three small glass cups, each filled to the brim with a dark amber liquid that caught the light like feline eyes. Tobi picked his up, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Like old times?" Tobi asked, his red hat tilted over one eye.
"Like old times," Zack agreed, his voice lighter than K had ever heard it.
Together they counted: "One… two… three!"
They downed the cups at the same time, the liquid sliding down their throats in a ritual clearly practiced many times. Zack made a brief face—the drink was sweet for an instant, then burned like fire, finally strong enough to sting his eyes.
"Vex!" Zack called, waving at the tattooed barkeep. "Bring us a Red Goat."
A murmur ran through the bar. Some patrons exchanged surprised looks; others seemed impressed. Vex raised an eyebrow but nodded respectfully.
"Fifty coins for a drink?" Tobi muttered, shaking his head. "You were always extravagant when drunk."
While Vex prepared the special drink, Zack turned his attention to the small stage where Lyra continued to sing; her ethereal voice floated over the bar's bustle.
"Lyra," he called during one of her pauses, "sing 'La Noche Roja' for us."
The heterochromatic-eyed woman smiled, a smile that lit up her serious face. Zack pulled a heavy pouch from his coat; the unmistakable clink of coins sounded as he tossed it toward her. Lyra caught it with one hand, her reflexes impressive.
"A thousand gold coins," Zack said. "For old times' sake."
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Instead she glided over to their table, her movements fluid. When she took the pouch, her fingers deliberately brushed Zack's hand, a touch that lasted longer than necessary. Her eyes—one red, one green—met his black ones with an intensity that spoke of shared history and nights that hadn't been forgotten.
Tobi watched with a knowing smile but remained silent until Lyra returned to the stage.
"You bastard," he murmured, leaning across the table. "Some things never change, huh?"
Zack didn't respond to the taunt. Instead his face shifted; the earlier lightness vanished like mist under a harsh sun. His black eyes fixed on Tobi with an intensity that made the other man's smile falter.
"Why the family?" Zack asked abruptly, his voice low and sharp as a blade.
Tobi leaned back, apparently relaxed, but Zack noticed a subtle tension in his shoulders. "They're paying well," Tobi replied casually, adjusting his right glove with his left hand—a small, almost imperceptible gesture to anyone who hadn't known him for decades.
"You were always a terrible liar," Zack said, a humorless curl at his mouth. "You fiddle with the glove every time."
Tobi froze, his hand halting mid-movement.
"They must be paying a lot for you to lie to me so blatantly," Zack continued, leaning forward. "What's really going on, Tobi?"
Instead of answering, Tobi watched Vex approach with an ornate bottle containing a dark red liquid that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. The barkeep poured two special goblets—black crystal with blood-red details—and withdrew discretely.
Zack didn't touch his drink. He reached into his coat's inner pocket and produced a small, circular object, placing it on the table with a soft click.
A compass.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Tobi stood so abruptly his chair toppled backward with a crash that briefly hushed the bar. His normally composed face twisted into a mask of fury.
"You son of a—" he hissed, fists clenched at his sides.
Zack remained seated, unfazed by the explosion. "You owe me, Tobi," he said calmly, pointing at the compass. "And I'm collecting now."
For a moment it seemed Tobi might strike—his right hand trembled, moving almost imperceptibly toward the hidden weapon under his coat. Then, like a candle snuffed, his rage seemed to fade. He righted the fallen chair and sat down again.
"Low blow, Zack," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "Even for you."
A heavy silence settled. Tobi let out a short, humorless laugh. "You know the joke? After all these years trying to escape the past, I'm still bound by promises made for a stupid kid who no longer exists."
Zack didn't answer. He watched as Tobi reached into his own inner pocket and produced an identical object—another compass, worn by time and use but unmistakably the same.
"Nanashi left it to us," Tobi said, placing his compass beside Zack's. "One for each of us, remember?"
As if rehearsed, both opened their compasses. Instead of pointing north, the needles slowly turned until they pointed at each other—a literal link between the two men, transcending distance and time.
Their gazes met over the open compasses, and something passed between them—shared understanding, memories of simpler times when the world seemed smaller and choices clearer. Both laughed, a genuine, unexpectedly jovial sound.
Tobi laid a hand on Zack's shoulder in a rare show of physical affection. "I miss him," he admitted, his voice softer.
"Me too," Zack replied; the simple confession carried the weight of years of unprocessed grief.
For a moment they sat in companionable silence, each lost in memories of the man who had bound their fates. The bar hummed around them, but at their table there was a bubble of respectful quiet.
"I kept my promise," Zack finally said. "I didn't interfere with the Polyhedron Country."
Tobi nodded slowly. "And you should keep it," he answered, slapping Zack amicably on the shoulder. "I don't want to have to hunt the few people I love."
He took a sip of his drink and continued: "The country didn't get any info on you for over five years. The hunt was suspended—too costly in soldiers and money."
Zack frowned, his black eyes narrowing. "You didn't have to risk yourself," he said, genuine irritation in his voice.
Tobi shrugged, lighting a cigarette with smooth movements. Smoke rose between them as he took another swallow of whisky. "It was easy to manipulate the leads, kill those sent after you," he said with chilling casualness. "Just part of the job."
"Why don't you come back?" Tobi asked suddenly, leaning in. "Poliedro would take you back as a government weapon. Like a trained dog. Break rules, kill, buy what you want—do what I do." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You could do whatever you wanted."
"A life without purpose," Zack replied, shaking his head.
Tobi snorted, reaching out to touch the plain fabric of Zack's clothes. "And that has purpose?" he asked with derision.
Zack didn't take the bait. After a pause, he asked, "How's the King?"
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken meanings. Tobi studied Zack's face at length before answering: "Forget your father, Zack."
The words landed like a physical blow. Zack bowed his head—a rare vulnerability for the feared Hunter of the Black Eyes. His usually proud shoulders seemed to slump beneath the weight of an untold story.
"Why do you still try to believe he'll change?" Tobi asked, voice mixing frustration and compassion.
Zack stayed silent, eyes fixed on the untouched drink before him.
"He's worse," Tobi continued, voice hardening. "Politicians changed the laws. Now adults of any age can marry children as young as ten." His face twisted in genuine disgust. "Seventy, eighty, ninety-year-olds marrying children. With the state's blessing."
Zack's hand clenched the table edge, knuckles whitening; his face, however, held an unbroken mask, concealing the inner storm.
"The country is changing," Tobi said, rising volume. "And because of you!" The last words were nearly shouted, drawing curious glances from nearby tables. "You abandoned the country and left it to the sewers. Because of you, Nanashi, Isabela, Moni—"
He stopped suddenly, words dying when he saw something few ever witnessed: silent tears sliding down Zack's face, his body trembling slightly as he murmured over and over, "Forgive me… forgive me…"
Tobi's anger evaporated, replaced by guilt. "Shit," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Zack, I… I shouldn't have… it's not your fault. I just…"
He stood, walked around the table, and put his arms around Zack's shoulders in an awkward but sincere hug. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have said that."
Zack drew a deep breath and slowly pulled himself together. Tobi returned to his seat; a heavy silence hung between them.
"There's something you need to know," Tobi said at last, his voice low, almost a whisper. "The Polyhedron Country was the one who ordered the family killed and located a baby."
Zack's eyes shot up, suddenly alert. "A baby?"
"This can't leave this place," Tobi continued, leaning forward. "Loren and Matheus's baby has a golden eye."
The words hit like electricity. Zack's eyes widened and he stood so fast his chair toppled backward. The entire bar fell into a deathly hush; every head turned toward his imposing figure.
Sensing the unwanted attention, Zack made a calming gesture. "It's fine," he said loudly. "Carry on."
Gradually, conversations resumed, though many curious looks still flitted toward their table. Zack straightened the chair and sat again, leaning toward Tobi with barely contained urgency.
"What's happening?" he asked in a tense whisper. "How did a golden eye appear? That's so rare—only three recorded in the past thousand years."
"Your father asked me to take this mission personally," Tobi answered, his face grave.
Understanding slowly dawned in Zack's eyes. "You're not backing out of this," he said at last. It was not a question.
"It's not about the money," Tobi confirmed. "It's about the golden eyes."
"It's not a choice," Zack concluded. "It's an obligation."
Before Tobi could reply, a familiar figure approached the table. K had entered the bar unnoticed while the two men were absorbed in their conversation. She stopped beside them, watching the palpable tension between the two predators facing each other.
Without asking, K pulled out a chair and sat between them.
"Get out," Tobi snapped immediately, his voice cold.
"She's with me," Zack intervened, surprising K. "Just don't touch the subject of the eyes. The rest you can talk about."
K exchanged confused looks between them. "What's going on here?" she asked.
"Nothing personal," Tobi said to K with disturbing casualness, "but you'll die for being in the wrong place and taking the wrong job."
Zack picked up the bottle of Red Goat and poured a glass for K, pushing it toward her. She accepted it hesitantly, her gaze never leaving the two men.
K took a small sip and nearly choked on the drink's strength. As she caught her breath, she watched Zack and Tobi—two men who clearly intended to kill each other someday, yet who now drank and sometimes laughed like old friends. It was disconcerting, like watching two storms converse politely before they collide.
"I've never seen anything like it," she murmured, more to herself than to them.
Zack heard her. "Tobi is a Hunter-brother," he explained, his voice slightly drawling—alcohol beginning to loosen him. "Moments like this are normal in our world."
"We'll meet in Misfortune later," Zack told Tobi. "To finish our conversation. I have a proposal for you."
"Why don't you give up the job?" K asked Tobi, unable to contain her curiosity. "It would be easier."
Tobi just stared at her, his blue eyes cold as ice.
After an awkward pause he turned to K with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "When was the last time you had fun?" he asked, shifting the subject abruptly.
K blinked, surprised by the question. "A long time," she admitted.
"I have a room available here at the bar," Tobi said, the smile widening. "We could make better use of our time before we try to kill each other."
K raised an eyebrow, then looked to Vex. "Give me a die," she requested.
The tattooed bartender slid a small bone cube across the polished counter. K picked it up and, to Tobi's surprise, handed it to Zack.
"I'll only accept if you roll a six three times in a row," she told Tobi, a challenging smile on her lips.
"That's unfair!" Tobi protested, his voice louder than necessary, his clumsy movements betraying his drunkenness.
Zack laughed, a surprisingly jovial sound. "Look at you," he teased. "The great Hunter Tobi, felled by a few doses of Red Goat. What would your fans say?"
Tobi made a face, but a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "Throw the damn die, then," he grumbled.
Zack flipped the die between his fingers and tossed it onto the table. It spun several times before coming to rest—six pips up. K raised her eyebrows in surprise. Zack threw again—another six. And a third time—six again.
"Impossible," K muttered.
Tobi staggered to his feet, arms raised in triumph. "I win!" he shouted, his usual composure abandoned.
To K's absolute astonishment, Zack also stood, embracing Tobi as the two of them jumped and cheered like fans celebrating a critical goal. They laughed wildly, slapping each other on the back, oblivious to the stunned looks from the bar's other patrons.
K couldn't help herself—she began to laugh too. It was absurd, ridiculous, and utterly unexpected to see the two most feared Hunters in the world behaving like drunken boys. There was something deeply humanizing about the scene, something that turned legendary figures into real people before her eyes.
The celebration ended when Tobi, in an especially enthusiastic move, lost his balance and hit his head on the table's edge, dropping to his knees with a groan that was half pain, half laughter.
"I think someone needs to go to bed," K remarked, still smiling as she rose to help him.
"Take good care of him," Zack said, returning to his seat. "He's an idiot, but he's my idiot."
K slung Tobi's arm over her shoulders to support him. "Come on, great Hunter. Time to rest."
As K led a stumbling Tobi away, Zack remained seated, alone with his thoughts. The joy that had briefly lit his face faded, and his expression grew contemplative. He swirled the glass in his hand, staring into the dark red liquid as if seeking answers in its depths.
He was so absorbed he didn't notice Lyra approach until she was right in front of him. Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that spoke of long-familiar desire.
When she pulled away, her heterochromatic eyes shone with a mix of affection and challenge. "I saved a room for you," she said simply.
Zack raised a hand and touched her face with a gentleness few would have expected from the one who wielded the feared Black Moon. "You've done enough for me, Lyra," he said, his voice low and rough.
"Shut up," she replied, a smile curving her lips.
They rose and, without more words, headed to the back of the bar, climbing a narrow stair to the rooms above. Lyra's room was surprisingly spacious and well decorated—large, beautiful, and tidy, with several mirrors strategically placed on the walls to catch the soft light of scented candles.
"Mira missed you," Lyra commented as she closed the door behind them. "She'll be jealous when she finds out I didn't call her."
"Call her," Zack suggested.
Lyra shook her head, a mysterious smile on her mouth. "Tonight you're all mine," she declared, beginning to unbutton her dress with deliberately slow movements.
The black fabric slid off her body like water, revealing pale skin marked by ritual tattoos that curled like living constellations. Her breasts were small but perfect, crowned by dark nipples that contrasted with her pale skin. A narrow, long scar cut diagonally across her abdomen—a battle wound that only added to her wild beauty.
With a fluid motion she pushed Zack onto the bed, her hands already working to free him of his clothes. Her fingers traced the many scars that marred his muscular torso—each one a story, each one a reminder of lives narrowly spared.
Zack's body was a brutal work of art—muscles honed not from vanity but from necessity and constant use. His tanned skin contrasted with Lyra's pallor, creating a visual mosaic of light and shadow as their bodies met.
Their lips met again, this time in a hungry kiss, years of repressed desire exploding in one connection. Zack's hands explored Lyra's body with reverence and familiarity at once, like a traveler returning to a beloved land after a long absence.
Lyra rode him, her silver hair falling like a curtain around their faces as she guided him inside her. They both sighed at the contact, their bodies remembering one another despite the time apart.
They moved together in an ancient dance, their bodies finding a rhythm that transcended words. There was no gentleness in their union—it was raw, desperate, almost violent in its intensity. Teeth marked skin, nails left red trails, ragged breaths blended with moans and half-formed words.
It was more than physical desire—it was an affirmation of life, a moment of genuine connection in a world where both lived as solitary predators. For those hours they were not the Hunter of the Black Eyes and the Siren-voiced singer—they were simply Zack and Lyra, two bodies seeking comfort and pleasure in each other's arms.
Zack woke hours later, the red moonlight pouring through the open window and painting the room in shades of blood. For a moment he was disoriented, until the memories of the night returned—Tobi, the revelations, Lyra…
Turning his head, he saw he wasn't alone in the bed. Mira slept deeply beside him, completely naked, an arm possessively thrown across his chest. Her body was different from Lyra's—more robust, muscular, marked by battle scars that told stories of violence and survival. Her breasts were larger, pressed against Zack's side, and her short black hair framed a strong face that, in sleep, looked surprisingly vulnerable.
Zack's fingers traced her back gently, following the familiar scars and planting soft kisses on her forehead. Mira responded unconsciously, making small contented sounds without waking.
Beyond her, Zack saw Lyra standing by the window, wearing only panties, her breasts exposed to the moonlight. She smoked a cigarette, the smoke rising in lazy spirals as she stared out over the city.
"How long are you staying this time?" she asked without turning, her voice carrying a weary sadness.
"I came to retrieve the Black Moon and to train my pupil," Zack replied after a moment's hesitation.
Lyra exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with held emotion: "We're tired of waiting, Zack. Mira and I."
Zack didn't answer—his silence more eloquent than any word.
"Everything's getting worse," he said finally, his voice low but intense. "Pulling away from the world, from all of you… it only made the countries worse." Frustration and the disillusionment of a man confronting the failure of his choices edged his tone.
"Then break your promise," Lyra challenged, turning to face him, her eyes gleaming with a mix of anger and hope.
"Nanashi wouldn't accept it," Zack said, shaking his head.
"Nanashi is dead!" Lyra shouted, her voice echoing through the quiet room.
Mira shifted in her sleep but didn't wake. Zack looked at her, then back to Lyra, the weight of years of hard choices evident on his face.
"I'll talk to Tobi," he said at last. "Depending on what I hear… things might change."
Lyra snorted without humor. "I don't believe you."
"I'll stay here three years," Zack declared, his voice firm. "Training Orpheus. And when he turns eighteen…" He paused, as if the next words were hard to say. "My actions will change. And I'll need you and Mira at my side."
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Lyra's face lit with genuine hope; her eyes widened in surprise and joy. She tossed the cigarette out the window and dove onto the bed, jumping on Zack with an enthusiasm that made him laugh despite the gravity of the moment.
"You promise?" she whispered, covering his face with kisses. "Swear it by Nanashi's memory."
"I swear it," Zack answered, holding her face in his hands. "Three years. No more."
Lyra kissed him deeply, her body pressed to his in a physical vow that mirrored the spoken one. Beside them, Mira slept on peacefully, unaware of the conversation that had just altered the course of their lives.
As Lyra showered him with kisses and caresses, Zack looked out the window at the red moon hovering over the city like a watchful eye. For a moment it felt as if the moon looked back—a silent reminder that even in this fleeting peace and connection, greater forces were at work.
Three years. Time enough to train Orpheus, to regain the Black Moon, to prepare for what would come next. Time enough to gather allies and resources. Time enough to say goodbye to the man he had been and ready himself to become the man he needed to be.
The moon continued to watch, impassive and eternal, as he surrendered again to the warmth and comfort of Lyra's arms—savoring a moment of peace he knew would be temporary.