THE REAL PROTEGE

"How was your meeting with Otako earlier?" Four Eyes asked, his grip tightening slightly around her hand.

Ling Li's fingers remained relaxed in his hold, but her expression was unreadable.

"It went well," she answered simply, her voice even betraying nothing. "Otako will personally go to Hidden Valley to investigate if there is any sign of Solaris."

And just like that, she fell silent again.

No elaboration. No additional thoughts.

Just silence.

Four Eyes frowned ever so slightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her profile. He was trying — trying to listen beyond her words, trying to discern even the faintest ripple of emotion or inner thought.

But it was impossible.

Ling Li was impenetrable when it came to Otako — an enigma locked away so tightly that even her mind felt unnaturally silent.

Four Eyes furrowed his brow. 'How can this be?' He had always prided himself on reading people, sensing emotions even when they weren't spoken aloud, once he held any part of their body. But with Ling Li, there was nothing when it came to Otako.

A void where there should have been thoughts.

Was it deliberate? Or was her mind simply too disciplined — too controlled — to betray anything?

Still, Four Eyes knew better than to push. Ling Li was always aware of what she was doing, and if she wanted to keep him from probing, she would succeed effortlessly.

He took a slow breath, suppressing the curiosity gnawing at him.

"Then, this is good," he finally said, though a part of him still felt restless.

Ling Li turned her gaze to him then, meeting his eyes for a brief moment — a fleeting glance, one that didn't reveal anything yet carried an undeniable weight.

And just like that, the silence returned.

*** A Short Flashback From Earlier ***

The grand hall of Otako Sentoki's estate was bathed in the muted glow of lantern light, casting long shadows against the finely polished floors. The air carried a sharp stillness — a quiet intensity that spoke volumes about the weight of the meeting about to unfold.

Ling Li stepped forward with an unshaken presence, her navy robes embroidered with golden accents flowing like a tide behind her. She was a phantom among men — a force that dictated the very course of history in shadows unseen. Each footstep was deliberate, calculated, and soundless against the hard surface.

At the entrance, Butler Oda bowed deeply, his movements crisp, precise — every gesture measured with the perfection expected of him.

"Madam." His voice carried quiet reverence yet absolute firmness.

Ling Li turned slightly, glancing at Mushu, who had accompanied her. Without breaking stride, she spoke.

"Mushu, just wait for me here. I'll call you when I need you." Her tone was an order, not an offer.

Mushu did not protest, only gave a curt nod. Yet his sharp gaze lingered on Butler Oda a moment longer before shifting back into position, standing guard outside the door like a silent sentinel.

With practiced ease, Butler Oda led Ling Li into the inner chamber, where seven samurai warriors awaited.

The instant she stepped through the threshold, every single one of them — including Butler Oda — knelt with cupped hands pressed together in deep reverence.

"Welcome, Master!" Their voices thundered in unison — firm, unwavering, absolute.

Ling Li did not pause. She did not slow. Their presence did not command acknowledgment — it was expected, as natural to her as breathing.

She moved straight toward the main seat at the front, where an elevated cushion was positioned before them. Lowering herself with effortless grace, she sat, posture poised and unshaken.

For an outsider, witnessing this display would have been unbelievable.

But in this room, at this moment, it was merely reality.

Indeed, the true identity behind Otako Sentoki's infamous samurai mask was none other than Ling Li herself.

Otako was not simply an alias — it was her creation, a legend sculpted from the ground up, forged with precision, and designed for dominance. A persona built on wealth, ruthlessness, and absolute supremacy, ensuring that no enemy dared approach too closely, ensuring that no adversary even considered challenging what they could not understand.

It was fear crafted into form.

It was reverence, sharpened into steel.

It was Ling Li.

Yet, only seven men and Butler Oda knew the truth.

Not even their subordinates.

Because knowledge itself was power, and power — when placed in the wrong hands — was destruction.

And none of them would ever betray it.

Or better yet, none of them would dare.

While each of the seven pillars was immortal, none of them could compare to the true force that Ling Li possessed. None of them came close.

Immortality was merely longevity.

But power? Real power was absolute. The real power was Ling Li.

They understood their place. They understood their limits.

They followed her not only out of loyalty but out of pure survival instinct. Being immortal with power meant danger.

To defy Otako Sentoki — to defy Ling Li — was to invite ruin unlike anything they had ever imagined.

Because the consequence of betrayal was not simply punished. It was erased.

And every single one of them had witnessed it firsthand.

There was no second chance for traitors.

Ling Li's rule was absolute.

The very notion of betrayal was incomprehensible because to betray Otako was to self-destruct. Literally.

They had seen it — watched with their own eyes as one of their own had dared to test the boundaries of their oath.

A warrior who once sat among them — a warrior who once held the privilege of standing in Otako's shadow—had taken a single misstep.

And that misstep, greed, and jealousy had led to his ruin.

Not a battle.

It's not an execution.

Not even an exile.

He had ceased to exist before them.

Because Ling Li was never merciful.

And Otako? Otako did not forgive.

The self-destruction of an immortal was a terrifying spectacle—one that could never be reversed, one that could never be undone.

It was not pain.

The pain was too human. The pain was for those who could survive.

It was an obliteration.

A slow, agonizing dissolution of the body, the soul, the very essence of existence.