"WOOOAAAHHH!"
Kenzii winced, his eyelids twitching as a sharp, rhythmic throbbing hammered against his eardrum. Standing squished in the absolute dead center of the roaring festival crowd, he genuinely could not stand the deafening wall of sound. Was it really necessary to scream this loud just because a man was singing on a lit-up stage?
Was a performer tearing off his soaked shirt, spinning it violently over his head, and tossing it into the front row truly worthy of the crowd hysteria? Kenzii enjoyed a few musical artists himself, but reacting with this level of theatrical insanity seemed completely unhinged.
"What the hell is wrong with these people?" Sota's voice rasped beside him, his fingers digging into his own temples as he tried to block out the high-decibel screeching.
"Same question," Kenzii replied flatly.
Simultaneously, both of them turned their heads to check on Alas.
Their cousin was standing completely still, staring up at the grand main stage with glassy, sorrowful eyes. The light from the towering LED panels reflected off the unshed tears pooling in his bottom eyelids.
"He looks like he's about to burst into tears," Sota observed, letting out a sigh.
Alas took a slow, shuddering breath and lowered his head, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he finally tilted his chin back up, every trace of nostalgic sorrow had vanished from his face. His expression had flattened into a stony, lethal coldness—mirroring Kenzii's exact unbothered demeanor.
"Everyone!" Drakin's voice boomed through the stadium-grade speakers, amplified across the valley. "This next track is my absolute final song for the night!"
The crowd erupted into another deafening frenzy of cheers and frantic waving.
"You mean your final song on this earth," Kenzii muttered under his breath, a dark edge lacing his words.
Sota immediately nudged Kenzii's ribcage with a sharp elbow. "Watch your mouth. Someone might hear you."
Kenzii glanced around at the sea of jumping, screaming bodies. "In this acoustic nightmare? I highly doubt it."
"My babies, sing with me!" Drakin roared into the microphone, violently striking the first chords on his custom electric guitar.
Coachella shook as the booming bass dropped, sending vibrations straight through the soil under their boots. The crowd sang along at the top of their lungs, operating on an endless reservoir of manic energy.
Sota leaned in close, whispering directly into Kenzii's ear to be heard over the track. "You should move now. He's heading straight for the backstage compound the second this song ends."
Sota slipped a small, black handheld receiver and a lanyard into Kenzii's palm. "Here's the local signal tracker and the forged pass you need. The flashing red dot on the radar grid marks Drakin's private luxury cabin truck."
Kenzii accepted the devices, sliding the tracker into his tactical jacket pocket and looping the VIP press pass around his neck. He glanced back at Alas one last time. His cousin remained hypnotized, watching his former idol shred on stage without a single flicker of emotion.
"Don't worry about him," Sota assured, patting Kenzii's shoulder firmly. "I'll take care of him."
Kenzii gave a worried nod, turning on his heel to slice through the dense wall of people. He pulled his black cap down low over his brow, shading his upper face, and secured a dark medical mask over his nose and chin before slipping through the bottleneck security gates.
Navigating toward the VIP backstage quadrant proved unexpectedly easy. With the main performance, the vast majority of festival security was concentrated along the front barricades to contain the surging crowds. The perimeter pathways were practically deserted, save for a few busy production assistants, sound engineers, and talent managers sprinting between artist trailers.
Stepping into a quiet staff restroom near the technical compound, Kenzii pulled out the tracker Sota had handed him. He analyzed the digital layout of the festival grounds displayed on the screen. A bright, pulsing red dot sat isolated near the edge of the artist parking lot—barely two hundred meters from his current location.
Difficulty Level: 87%, huh? he thought, a cold, mocking smirk forming beneath his mask. This is going to be the easiest job yet.
He adjusted the zipper of his jacket, pulled a pair of black fitted gloves over his hands, and stepped back out into the night.
Silently maneuvering around the back of the catering tents, Kenzii approached the massive, custom-built luxury cabin truck parked under the shade of the eucalyptus trees. He bypassed the digital lock mechanism on the door using Sota's override chip and stepped inside.
He took a quick, analytical sweep of the interior—leather couches, a marble vanity station, ambient LED lighting, and a well-stocked bar.
"Nothing special," Kenzii muttered.
He grabbed a heavy swivel chair positioned in front of the makeup vanity, dragged it across the floor, and placed it directly facing the primary entryway. He sat down, crossed his legs, and waited in total silence.
Ten minutes passed before the handle rattled and the heavy door swung open.
A young woman—Drakin's personal assistant—stepped inside first, her arms overflowing with fresh wardrobe changes and towels. Before she could process the shadow sitting in the dark room or make a single sound, Kenzii moved like a phantom.
He lunged forward, clapping a gloved hand firmly over her mouth while hooking his arm around her waist, dragging her smoothly into the cabin. With precise, practiced execution, he struck the side of her neck with the edge of his palm. Her eyes rolled back, and her body instantly went limp.
Kenzii caught her weight effortlessly, carried her over to the leather sofa on the side, and laid her down softly. Then, he walked back to his chair, sat down, and resumed his wait.
A few minutes later, muffled laughter echoed from the exterior steps.
"Hahaha, don't worry about it man, the festival set just wrapped up! I can deliver your order personally early next week—just text me the exact headcount!"
Kenzii shifted his position slightly. Even from thirty yards away through a closed reinforced door, Drakin's booming voice registered crystal clear in his mind.
Kenzii touched his ear thoughtfully, a dark realization dawning on him. I didn't realize the System's physical enhancements were also sharpening my hearing range this much.
A amused smirk touched his lips. He quietly dragged his chair a few feet to the left, positioning himself deep in the shadowed corner behind the door frame where the angle created a complete blind spot upon entry.
The heavy door creaked open, and Drakin stepped inside, completely absorbed in his phone call.
"Dianne!" Drakin called out loudly, kicking off his designer sneakers at the entrance. "Yeah, of course, partner... you can count on me. Hold on a second—"
Drakin lowered the phone, peeled off his damp socks, and kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. He frowned, glancing toward the vanity where his assistant usually prepped his post-show recovery setup.
"Dianne?" Drakin called out again, catching sight of her legs resting on the sofa. He rubbed his temples in annoyance. "What the hell? Are you serious right now? You look more exhausted than I am!"
Drakin walked over and lightly kicked the bottom of Dianne's shoe. "Get your ass up! Bring me some water and my protein mix!"
He looked back down at his phone screen, only to see the call had disconnected. "Tsk. I told him to hold on... useless idiot."
He turned back to the unconscious assistant, his anger flaring at her complete lack of response. "Hey! I said get up, g-ddamn it!"
Losing his temper, Drakin balled up his sweaty socks and threw them directly at her face. They landed squarely on her nose, but she didn't even twitch.
Growling under his breath, Drakin stepped forward, reaching out to grab her by the collar to shake her awake—
"You could slap her across the face ten times over, and she still wouldn't open her eyes," a flat, indifferent voice echoed from the dark corner behind him. "I put her to sleep."
Drakin froze mid-reach.
Kenzii sat relaxed in the swivel chair, his legs casually crossed, his dark eyes locked onto the pop star. "Why don't you leave your tired assistant alone and face me instead? She looks like she's completely run down from catering to your disgusting lifestyle."
"Who the fuck are you?!" Drakin demanded, shoving his phone into his pocket as he whirled around, taking an aggressive step toward Kenzii.
Kenzii pointed a gloved index finger at his own chest. "Me? I'm your worst nightmare."
Drakin stared at him for two full seconds before dropping his head back and letting out an arrogant, loud laugh. "Hahaha! Man, what kind of cringey, movie-villain line is that?" He rubbed his forehead, the tension leaving his shoulders as a dismissive grin spread across his face. "Ah, let me guess... you're some boundary-crossing, die-hard fan who snuck backstage, right?"
Drakin shook his head, sighing heavily as he walked over to a single armchair opposite Kenzii and slouched into it. "Look, man... I'm sorry for swearing at you. I'm just completely spent after that performance. But you really shouldn't have broken in here. This is my private space, and what you did is technically a federal crime."
Drakin reached over to the side table, picking up a thick silver permanent marker and holding it up between two fingers.
"Since you went through all this trouble, I'll let it slide this once," Drakin said smoothly, gesturing for Kenzii to step forward. "Where do you want me to sign? On your jacket? Or on your back so you can get it tattooed tomorrow? Come on, make it quick before my security detail does their final walk-through."
Kenzii stared at the pop icon, unable to contain himself. A loud, sharp burst of laughter escaped his chest, shaking his shoulders.
"Fuck, your self-confidence is truly something else," Kenzii said, slapping his knee in dark amusement. "You actually think I'm a fan of a demonic degenerate like you? With the sheer amount of disgusting filth you're involved in, you think I'd want your worthless signature inked onto my skin? Are you fucking stupid?"
Kenzii's laughter cut off instantly, replaced by a suffocating silence. He reached into his tactical vest pocket and pulled out a small, metallic remote device with bottoms on it.
"Do you have any idea that with one single press of this button," Kenzii whispered, leaning forward, "every single crime, transaction log, and victim file attached to your name will be broadcast live onto the massive LED screens outside in front of eighty thousand people?"
Drakin's eyes dilated slightly, but he quickly forced another laugh, waving his hand dismissively. "W-What the hell are you talking about? Crimes? Filth? Hahaha! Man, I'm an artist. My life is entirely dedicated to music—"
"Is that so?" Kenzii interrupted coldly. "An artist... and an international sex trafficker all at once?"
The color drained from Drakin's face instantly. He bolted upright from his chair, his eyes locked onto Kenzii's thumb hovering over the red button on the unidentified metallic device. He didn't recognize the hardware, but the sheer, unwavering terror in the intruder's eyes told him everything he needed to know.
"H-Hey... look, man... you've got the wrong guy," Drakin stammered, his polished, celebrity facade rapidly cracking. "I-I'm not that kind of person. You've made a mistake—"
Without saying a word, Kenzii pulled out his smartphone with his free hand, tapped the screen twice, and turned the display toward Drakin.
A crystal-clear, decrypted audio recording began playing through the phone's speakers. It was Drakin's exact voice, explicitly detailing prices, transport routes, and delivery dates for an offshore human trafficking shipment.
"H-How...?" Panic seized Drakin's throat, making it difficult to breathe. He took a frantic step back. "How the fuck do you have that?! Where did you get—"
"You shouldn't be asking how I got it," Kenzii mocked softly, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Instead, you should be asking what I want in exchange for my silence."
Drakin swallowed hard, forcing a tight, panicked smile onto his pale face in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.
"R-Right... of course," Drakin stammered, frantically grabbing his designer leather bag off the counter. He pulled out a checkbook and golden pen, holding them up with trembling hands. "You want compensation, right? Of course you do! Name your price! How much money do you want?! Ten million? Twenty? Just give me a number!"
"I don't need your money," Kenzii replied, tilting his head slightly as his eyes locked onto Drakin's throat. "I have more than enough of my own."
Drakin dropped the checkbook and pen onto the floor, letting out a shaky, desperate laugh. "R-Right... of course, money isn't everything! So what is it?! What do you want from me? Name it!"
Kenzii leaned forward, his dark, hollow eyes burning through the eyeholes of his mask as a terrifying, cold smile spread across his hidden face.
"How about your heart?"