NOVEL NEXT Chapter 62: New development before the d-day
Under the brilliant, golden embrace of the daylight, Nyxander strode purposefully through the bustling walkway, his figure blending seamlessly into the chaotic dance of merchants, customers, and street performers. His destination was Miss Bertha's restaurant, a cornerstone of the market's vibrancy. Though his original trio of SSA members no longer worked there, his curiosity about their performance remained.
Miss Bertha welcomed him with a warm smile, her seasoned eyes crinkling at the corners. "They did well," she began, her voice carrying the weight of both praise and criticism. "Their work ethic was commendable, but their mouths…" she trailed off, a sigh escaping her lips. "Their manner of speaking and addressing issues left much to be desired. The foul language, they need to learn some restraint."
Nyxander nodded, his expression composed yet attentive. He thanked her for her feedback, offering his appreciation with sincerity. In turn, Miss Bertha expressed her gratitude for the new services his organization had provided. "I look forward to working with your agency again," she added, waving him off as he departed.
The market's noise wrapped around him like a familiar melody as he navigated the crowded streets. Nyxander moved carefully, skimming through the throng like a shadow, his head subtly tilted down to avoid recognition as the leader of the SS Agency. Eventually, he reached Miss Bal's fabric shop, his next stop.
Instead of walking through the front door, Nyxander leaped silently through the window like a wisp of smoke, his movements practiced and calculated. From his hidden vantage point, he observed his three members, Kal, Bili, and Bako, working with the fabric assigned to them. Their task was simple: separate and arrange the delicate cloth. Yet, as they worked, their muttering grew louder, their words dripping with bitterness.
"This guy calls himself a leader?" Kal grumbled, gripping the fabric with more force than necessary.
"A leader? More like a glorified babysitter," Bako added, his frustration evident in his rigid handling of the materials.
"Don't even get me started. I'd rather…" Bili's voice trailed off as a small rip echoed through the shop.
Miss Bal, her patience wearing thin, approached them with a firm expression. "Careful! Those fabrics aren't cheap!" she admonished, her voice quivering with both irritation and concern.
The trio responded not with remorse but with an outburst of foul language, their words sharp and cutting. Nyxander, still unnoticed, remained silent in the shadows, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.
As the evening settled into a gentle twilight, casting the streets in hues of amber and shadow, Kal and the other two prepared to leave Miss Bal's shop. Kal, brimming with misplaced confidence, strode forward, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Hey, old lady, when are you paying for our service?" he demanded, his tone dripping with arrogance, the words an echo of entitlement.
Miss Bal, her expression unreadable, stepped closer without a word. Her footsteps, though quiet, seemed to carry the weight of unspoken authority. She held out three faded coins, her hand steady despite the faint tremor in her voice.
"Old lady, just because we've been holding back doesn't mean you can bully us by not paying us in full," Kal sneered, his face twisted into a mask of arrogance, each word laced with disdain.
Miss Bal's reply was low, almost a whisper, but it carried a sharp edge. "I'm paying less in return for the damages you've done." Her voice trembled slightly, but there was a spark of defiance in her eyes that refused to dim.
Bako, towering behind Kal, stepped forward, closing the gap between himself and the frail woman. His eyes bore into hers with cold intimidation. "Should we put you in your place before you comply?" he growled, his tone heavy with menace.
But Miss Bal's response was unexpected. She smiled, not a smile of fear, but one of quiet strength, as if drawing from a well of forgotten resolve. "In the past, I might have feared you," she began, her voice calm, her words deliberate. "But can you handle the consequences when your boss hears of this?"
The moment her words landed, an invisible weight fell upon the room. Kal, Bako, and Bili clenched their teeth, their bravado faltering as unease flickered across their faces.
Fueled by frustration, Bako stretched out his arm, his fingers gripping the fabric of Miss Bal's clothes. "Do you think..." His rage-filled words trailed off as his eyes met hers. For a fleeting moment, her calm gaze unraveled something buried deep within him, a memory, a fear he thought long forgotten.
"Bako," Kal called sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. "Let her go. Retreat your grip and forget it. We can't risk losing our fingers for this old rag."
As Bako turned to comply, his gaze caught something beyond her. His body froze as an icy chill raced down his spine. Sweat gathered on his brow, dripping down like beads of dew in the morning light. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound escaped.
Seeing his unnerved state, Kal and Bili exchanged confused glances. "Why the sudden acting?" they asked in unison, their voices tinged with suspicion.
Bako's trembling hand finally rose, pointing behind them. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Kal and Bili turned their heads. And there he stood. Nyxander.
The weight of his gaze fell upon them like a mountain. His calm demeanor was a mask, concealing a force of nature waiting to be unleashed. Their bodies stiffened, paralyzed by an unspoken fear. Sweat poured down their faces, soaking their collars as if they had been caught in a downpour.
A few minutes later, the trio knelt before Miss Bal, their once-defiant spirits crushed under the suffocating pressure of Nyxander's presence. His voice, calm yet commanding, broke the silence. "I'm sorry for their way of speaking. I promise this won't happen again. We'll work on that."
His smile was gentle, almost disarming, but the three men kneeling behind him felt the sharp edge of his concealed wrath, each word slicing through them like a blade.
Miss Bal, now composed, offered a subtle smirk, her earlier fear replaced with a quiet satisfaction. "No problem. I've deducted their penalty fee from their payment, so rest assured. Just ensure they improve their characters."
"Of course," Nyxander replied smoothly. "Thank you for the reminder. We'll certainly work on that, but I'll need your help in this matter."
Moments later, the streets of the bustling district bore witness to the trio's punishment. the trio found themselves burdened with heavy carriages filled with water pots strapped to their backs. They jogged through the marketplace under Nyxander's watchful gaze. Each lap was a grueling test of endurance, their muscles screaming in protest, their pride trampled beneath the weight of their burden. Fifty laps and a hundred push-ups later, their faces dripped with exhaustion, their arrogance washed away like dust in a storm.
By the time Nyxander returned to his residence that night, the stars shimmered like a thousand distant lanterns, their soft radiance spilling across the quiet station district. The air was crisp and calm, a tranquil contrast to the day's whirlwind of events.
As he stepped inside, he removed his top, revealing a physique honed by years of relentless discipline, muscles carved with purpose, strength tempered by resolve. Without a word, he collapsed onto his bed, the firm mattress embracing his exhaustion. The echoes of the day's challenges flickered briefly in his mind before the soothing tide of sleep washed over him, a solemn reminder that even amidst chaos, rest was a sacred necessity.
Minutes after Nyxander surrendered to slumber, a shadow flitted silently through the night. Seraphina, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaped through his open window with the nimbleness of a cat on the prowl. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, her steps barely whispering against the wooden floor. The room was still, the faint hum of the nighttime breeze the only accompaniment to her stealthy approach.
Nullpoint, observed her intrusion but, knowing her strength, deemed her no threat and refrained from interference. Similarly, Nyxander's latent instincts, an unawakened force which surpass even the divine, remained untriggered, sensing no malice that warranted action. Yet, these dormant instincts subtly took command of Nyxander's body, guiding him even as he remained deeply asleep.
Seraphina crept closer, her face alight with a sinister smirk, her mischievous intent practically palpable in the still air. She halted by his bedside, the shadows caressing her form as she raised her fist, aiming it towards Nyxander's exposed ribs with the intent to strike. But just as her punch descended, Nyxander rolled to his left, evading her fist with effortless precision. Her smirk faltered, twisting into a frown of disbelief.
"Hmph," she muttered under her breath, her pride pricked by the effortless dodge. Determined to prove her resolve, she leapt onto the bed with feline agility, positioning herself above him. Her legs planted firmly on either side of his sleeping form, she stood like a predator over her prey, her silhouette illuminated faintly by the silvery light streaming through the window.
"Hehehe," she let out a low, mischievous laugh, her confidence surging once more. "This time, let's see how you avoid my fist!" she declared, raising her arm. Her clenched fist descended swiftly, a streak of determination carved into the air itself. But just inches before it could land, Nyxander's instincts took over once more. His body twisted fluidly to the right, the motion subtle yet calculated, causing his shift to nudge her left leg just enough to throw her off balance.
Caught off guard, Seraphina teetered precariously, her control slipping as gravity seized the moment. Before she could regain her footing, Nyxander's left arm swung upward with instinctive precision. The strike, though unintentional, carried the latent power of a trained warrior. His hand connected with her face, the impact unleashing a force that sent Seraphina hurtling through the air with supersonic speed.
Her body shot toward the window like a comet breaking the atmosphere, brushing against the wooden edges with a resounding crack as she was launched into the night. The faint echoes of her surprised cry faded into the quiet night as the stars bore witness to her unplanned flight.
Nyxander, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, turned onto his side, undisturbed by the chaos his unconscious instincts had wrought. The room settled once more into tranquil silence, save for the faint creak of the swaying window. Somewhere outside, Seraphina groaned, blood dripping from her nose and mouth as her ambitions foiled yet again, her pride bruised more than her body. Yet even in her defeat, a grin tugged at her lips. "Next time," she whispered to herself, whipping blood from her mouth and nose as well brushing dust from her clothes, "next time, I'll get you for sure."