Le Saphir was the type of place that made someone like me feel sinful just by stepping on a carpet thicker than my own faith. Crystal chandeliers hung from five-meter ceilings, casting a golden glow that made everyone look like a high-end life insurance model. The smell of the room? Money. A scent you can only detect if your bank balance has at least nine digits.
Ideally, my task tonight was simple. I just had to be a shadow in the corner, ensuring Alaric didn't sound too much like a robot to Elara, and occasionally signaling the right time to order dessert so their romantic mood wouldn't crumble. A standard wingman mission I should've been able to do with my eyes closed.
But the moment the restaurant doors opened to reveal two very familiar figures, I knew this was going to be a special episode of "Small Apocalypse at the Dinner Table."
Isabella marched in, her bright red dress trailing arrogantly across the floor, while Vivian followed in a silver silk gown that shimmered under the crystals. They both walked in like they were about to declare World War III right on top of our dinner table.
"Arlan, why did you go pale all of a sudden? Is the AC too cold?" Elara asked with her innocent face. This intern was the literal definition of "unaware that death is calling."
"Hic! Uh, Ra... I'm just calculating the life insurance payout if this table explodes," I replied between hiccups.
[System: "Warning! Jealousy Radiation detected at dangerous levels. Suggestion: Wear welding goggles or at least pretend to faint to avoid the blast."]
At the table, the atmosphere was a serious health hazard to my sanity. Isabella sat to Alaric's left, Vivian to his right, and Elara was squeezed in front of him, looking both adorable and pitiably confused. Alaric himself? Don't even ask. He remained as flat as a washboard, focused on cutting his Wagyu with the precision of a surgeon.
"What a coincidence to meet you here, Alaric," Isabella said with a sly smile. "I didn't realize your standards had dropped so low that you'd bring an intern to a place this sacred."
Vivian wasn't about to be outdone. She placed her expensive handbag on the table with a soft thud. "I was surprised too. But maybe Alaric is just doing some charity work, right, Alaric?"
As a (forcibly) dedicated assistant, I tried to de-escalate before the crystal plates started flying. "Ladies... hic... actually, Mr. Alaric intentionally invited everyone so we could discuss... uh... inter-divisional synergy in a relaxed setting."
Alaric glanced at me with one eyebrow arched. I sent him a desperate SOS with my eyes: Please, Sir, just go with it for our collective safety!
In the midst of that tension, the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood up. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a dark shadow moving rapidly behind the velvet curtains. A cold aura I knew well—Seraphina's aura—was locking down the area. Wait, if Seraphina is on high alert, something is wrong, I thought.
Sure enough, a waiter emerged from the kitchen. His gait was incredibly stiff. His focus wasn't on the glasses on the table, but on Alaric's neck. I could see the glint of a small metal object tucked under his napkin.
[System: "Emergency Mission! Become a Human Shield for the Boss. Reward: 100 Points and Passive Skill 'Pain Tolerance'. Penalty: If the Boss dies, you're the prime suspect. Do you want to end up in prison eating stale porridge?"]
The waiter drew closer. Before my brain could file a formal objection, I lunged from my chair.
"SIR! DON'T EAT IT! THE RICE IS SPOILED!" I screamed the first thing that came to mind while shoving Alaric's heavy chair with all my might.
CRASH!
I slammed into Alaric's shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling. In that same second, a sharp, searing heat suddenly flared in my left arm. I looked down briefly to see my assistant's jacket—which cost as much as a monthly scooter installment—torn wide open.
"Oh. Okay. I got stabbed. My jacket... man, that was expensive," I muttered weakly.
Just as the waiter was about to plunge his knife a second time, Seraphina appeared like a ghost from the shadows of the curtains. Her movement was so fast that a normal human eye could only catch a blurring black silhouette. With a spinning kick that sounded like a breaking branch, she sent the waiter crashing helplessly to the floor.
"Secure the perimeter!" Seraphina barked, her aura turning into a full-blown Terminator in an instant.
I slumped to the floor, clutching my bleeding arm. The reactions at the table were a study in contrasts—like a three-act play performing simultaneously.
Vivian stood up immediately, letting out a small shriek with her hand over her mouth. "Arlan! Oh my god, blood! Seraphina, call the most expensive ambulance right now!" She looked so panicked she nearly spilled her wine on me, while Isabella remained seated, pale but maintaining her dignity.
"You're all useless! How did a rat get into this restaurant?!" Isabella screamed at her guards at the door. Her hand holding the fork trembled slightly, but she refused to look weak.
Amidst the shouting and orders, Elara simply froze. She stood up slowly, her large eyes trembling with shock. In her hand, she was still holding a small piece of bread she had been about to eat.
"K-Kak Arlan... is the rice really so spoiled that it makes you bleed?" Elara asked in a tiny, shaky voice. She actually believed my nonsense excuse—she was so innocent she hadn't even realized a knife had almost turned the Boss into a late CEO. Her confusion was so pure it felt like it came from another dimension.
"Arlan!"
Alaric ignored everyone, including Elara and her bread. He lunged toward me, kneeling without a care for his ruined trousers, and tore his silk handkerchief to bind my arm. His hands shook slightly as he pulled the knot of the emergency bandage.
"Why would you do something so stupid?" Alaric barked, his voice low and sharp.
"Hic! Well, Sir... you're a valuable asset... if anything happens to you, who's going to sign my paycheck next month?" I answered honestly, fighting off a wave of dizziness.
Alaric went silent. He stared at me with an intensity that felt like he was calculating the value of his assistant's life against the company's entire stock.
[System: "DING! Mission Complete. Congratulations, you've earned 100 Points! Bonus: Elara now views you as the world's bravest 'Anti-Spoiled Rice' Hero."]
He suddenly grabbed my collar, helping me up with a distinctly possessive movement.
"Dinner is over," he commanded the room, his voice absolute. "Seraphina, get my private car ready. From this second on, Arlan must stay within a two-meter radius of me. I won't have my most reckless asset getting damaged again."
I could only gape as I was forcibly dragged out of the luxury restaurant, leaving Elara behind, still staring blankly at the bread in her hand. Turns out being a hero only earns you a pair of invisible handcuffs—from the Icebox Boss himself.