"Tear the wrapper for me, thanks... By the way, Phaga, when did you start talking so much?"
Ellen handed Phaga an unopened lollipop, motioning for him to unwrap it.
"Did I? It just happened without me realizing. I always thought I was the same."
Phaga took it, casually peeled off the wrapper, and handed it back before lowering his eyes to his phone again.
As he scrolled through the screen, his gaze caught the game app sitting right in the center—a little pastime to kill spare moments.
The last time he had opened it was after returning from the [Doppelgänger Hollow]. Back then, after they had taken down the Dead End Butcher, Ellen had passed out from exhaustion, and Phaga had played games in the ambulance to pass the time.
But ever since joining Victoria Housekeeping, he hadn't touched it once.
Was it because work kept him too busy?
Probably not. Victoria Housekeeping still worked on flexible hours.
"Woof, what are you thinking about, zoning out like that?"
Ellen tilted her head and bit down on the lollipop, her lips brushing against Phaga's fingers by accident. She had meant to sneak a glance at his reaction, expecting a teasing smirk—yet he only sat there, lost in thought.
"Mm, nothing. Just... Hey, watch the road!"
Phaga was about to continue when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small car suddenly swerving out of control. It slammed over the median, became airborne, and came down on a collision course with their pickup.
In that instant, Phaga ripped the wheel hard to the left; the pickup fishtailed but missed the other car by inches.
The immediate danger passed, but the car slammed into the asphalt and burst into flames on impact. Thick black smoke rolled across the road.
Smoke billowed thick across the road, fire spreading fast.
The glass in the car doors had already shattered, hanging loosely like dying candles in the wind, threatening to fall apart at any moment.
"Drive. Don't stop."
Phaga urged Ellen forward, rolling down his window to glance back. All that remained was a burning heap of twisted wreckage blocking the road.
The driver's door hung open, a charred arm flopping out.
Phaga's pupils flared blood-red, his vision narrowing to ether-tinted purples and the heat-glow of flame.
Purple marked the ether. Red marked heat.
Through this vision, he spotted a blazing hot human-shaped form slumped in the driver's seat—its temperature far beyond that of a living person.
"He's dead. Cooked through, maybe even burned to a crisp."
Phaga pulled his gaze back, making a dry joke to ease the tension.
But Ellen didn't laugh. She ground her teeth in anger.
"That was an attempt on our lives. If he's burned, fine—less trouble for us and more for the coroner!"
Both of them were from Victoria Housekeeping, professionals through and through.
Ellen might have barely scraped by in tests thanks to last-minute cramming, but that didn't mean she was stupid.
Her reflexes were razor-sharp. The fact that Phaga had grabbed her steering wheel mid-spin and the pickup hadn't rolled over was entirely her doing.
She pieced it together instantly: a car on a sixty-limit road, flying fast enough to leap the median and targeting their pickup with surgical precision.
No way that was coincidence.
"You could at least... show some respect for the dead. Say something nicer."
Phaga gave her a glance, chuckled softly, and pressed his palms together with mock solemnity.
"May he rest… at the feet of our first ancestor."
Ellen's expression twisted awkwardly. "Uh, what even is that—"
"What? To vampires, that's a blessing."
"But he wasn't a vampire!"
"Then let's hope the First Ancestor is kind enough to turn him into one."
Uh...
Ellen's eyelids drooped, speechless.
Phaga just smiled faintly, then pulled out his phone and dialed Wise.
"Hey, Wise, I'll send you my location. Pull the surveillance footage from three minutes ago around here."
...
"Damn it, failed."
From the window of a high-rise, a yellow-haired punk—dressed so out of place in the inner ring he might as well have been a neon sign—leaned on the sill, watching.
When the car cleared the guardrail and headed straight for the pickup, he almost cheered
But the next second, the pickup swerved gracefully, dodging the hit.
The punk slammed both fists onto the windowsill, his face darkening.
"Lucius, I told you—the guy who killed the Dead End Butcher isn't someone you can take out that easily."
A calm, steady voice came from behind.
Lucius spun around furiously, glaring at the gray wolf-thiren who had spoken.
He stormed forward, stride heavy enough to stir the fringe hiding his right eye. Beneath it, a long scar stretched across his face, growing sharper as he loomed closer.
By the time his ragged breaths were right in front of the gray-furred Thiren, Lucius had already flicked open a dagger. Lucius flipped out a dagger and lunged.
The gray wolf-thiren raised his rifle on reflex, but Lucius' strike landed, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor.
Before he could recover, Lucius's boot slammed into his side.
Thud!
The blow sent the werewolf flying, crashing to the ground with a dull crack.
"Tsk."
Lucius shot him a venomous glare. "You know how to address me."
"Yes… boss," the man gasped.
Clutching his side, the gray wolf-thiren struggled back to his feet, too cowed to resist.
Lucius's scowl eased just a fraction. With a cold snort, he turned back toward the window.
Then his phone rang at his waist.
Lucius checked the ID, answered. "Yeah?"
"Lucius, how did it go?"
"Failed. And what the hell is Victoria Housekeeping? Since when does a housekeeping company have operatives like that?"
"They take side jobs in their downtime. So naturally, their skills are above average."
"Above average? That's what you call it? Why didn't you say so from the start!?"
"Lucius, we did. You were the one who said you'd clear the obstacles for us."
Even under his anger, the voice on the other end stayed steady as stone, leaving Lucius at a loss for words.
After a long pause, he growled, "Even if they're capable, they're just a handful of people in a housekeeping company. Why don't you handle it yourselves?"
The line fell silent. Time dragged.
The cheap Outer Ring phone hissed with static, grating at Lucius's ears and stoking his fury higher.
Finally, just as he was about to snap, laughter trickled down the line.
"Heh... They dared to take on a commission from a TOPS Alliance core member. The fog hasn't even lifted yet—why would we be the first to tear off our masks?"
"Head back to the Outer Ring, Lucius. Your motorcycle run is about to start. We expect a brave show."
"You're the Overlord of the Outer Ring—we chose you for that!"
...
"I copied the surveillance onto a USB. Safe travels."
Wise opened the pickup's door and guided the Eous—currently under his control—into the backseat, then handed a USB drive to Phaga in the passenger seat.
Phaga accepted it with a polite nod. "Much obliged, [Master Criminal]."
"You—"
Wise tried to add more, but Ellen had already floored the gas. The pickup shot out of the Proxy's garage, heading toward Belobog Heavy Industries.
"Some random car, out of nowhere..."
Phaga turned the USB drive over in his hand, a faint crimson gleam flickering in his eyes as he quietly retraced whether Victoria Housekeeping had provoked anyone lately.
"Whoever you are... you'd better hope I don't find out."