Resolution (II)

  The scenery had changed considerably in less than an hour.

  After gradually slowing down, the luxury vehicle smoothly reversed into the parking lot of a residential area near the heart of School District Nine. Even from a distance, their destination stood out, and though Cyril had expected a certain level of grandeur, he couldn't help but gawk at the towering condominium before him.

  Even amongst the other high-end residential buildings, this condo in particular stood out, subtly asserting itself as the epitome of luxury. He wasn’t an expert in architecture, but the rectangular, almost block like design made him unconsciously associate the place with the pinnacle of modern engineering.

  He’d glanced at the vehicles GPS display shortly after it pulled into the lot and registered the destination displayed on the large screen. Apparently, the place was known as “Wellington Crest”, an area even he hadn’t been to before despite spending over ten years in Babylon.

  A high-end luxury condo in her first year of high school. Just how rich is Angelica anyway? He wondered to himself, shrugging his shoulders theatrically.

  “This way, Cyril Severin. No need to be reserved.” Yelena called out to him from a little ways in front. Her demeanor alone made it clear that she was used to being in these kinds of lavish environments, a sentiment he didn’t share.

  He glanced over his appearance one last time before following behind her. Detecting their presence, the automatic glass doors parted seamlessly to welcome them inside the lavishly designed lobby.

  He returned the receptionists ginger wave as he wordlessly trailed behind his guide who appeared to be navigating the place automatically. Cyril gazed around the interior, glancing at everything from the dancing chandeliers, murals on the walls and even the expensive-looking antiques on display.

  It took quite a bit of effort for him to keep himself from outright staring, although his clueless expression once again made him seem unmistakably out of place.

  “This place is amazing.” Cyril admitted, his voice softly bouncing off the elevator’s interior.

  “It is up to par for a member of our clan to use as their temporary living quarters, but as far as opulence goes there are a few areas for improvement.”

  “O-Oh is that so?”

  Just what kind of lifestyle are these people used to?

  From his perspective, the condominium was one of the most appealing places in all of district nine, if not Babylon as a whole and yet Yelena still dismissed it as if it were nothing more than a common apartment flat.

  “Is it just the two of you staying here?” he asked reflexively, counting down the blinking lights on the control panel.

  "Yes, we have our own rooms in this building, just like all the other residents. It has a strong reputation among wealthier families across the country, so over time, this dynamic became the norm. That’s why it’s usually reserved for prestigious families —hence the vacancy—and why it features specialized facilities downstairs, such as the training hall, and the archery hall."

  “So it's basically a customized dorm for rich students...that’s a clever idea.”

  The elevator came to a stop as if it had heard his admission, once again parting the doors and beholding their vision to the view of a wide hall bathed in soft, ambient lighting.

  “Follow me.”

  Willfully nodding his head, Cyril obliged her directive and marched down the empty hall with a spring to his step. He deliberately kept himself a few paces behind Yelena as he followed her, the dull tempo of her clanking heels reverberating with each step.

  Eventually, she stopped in front of two large, polished oakwood doors emblazoned with a silver nameplate stuck to its surface. On it was a single word written in bold, the engraved letters gleaming lavishly under the influence of the hallway lights.

  It was a name he found oddly familiar for no particular reason—an aptly regal designation: "Regis."

  Yelena placed a finger on the small panel to the side, it blinked alive with blue lights before displaying the notification “Welcome Back Yelena”.

  The doors here even have mana sensors. I thought only corporate buildings like guilds used those.

  The sight of her casually using what could easily be considered as S-tier security left Cyril feeling even more impressed. Babylon’s era of biometric scanners was coming to a close, it hadn’t even lasted a full ten years in the city because of its large deviant population. At a glance, a biometric scanner might have seemed like the pinnacle of security, but in actuality they weren’t as secure as most people thought.

  With enough skill they could even be fooled using common household items and render the entire thing useless, however the same logic couldn’t be applied if the systems was calibrated to recognize mana signatures as opposed to physical characteristics.

  Every deviant, no matter their level had their own unique mana signature that current technology had no means of replicating. In light of that, mana sensors were slowly starting to become the absolute standard of security for most facilities and apparently, Wellington Crest was among that roster of highly secure institutions.

  A soft click echoed from behind the doorframe.

  Before entering, Yelena had taken care to knock twice and announce her presence.

  “Young Miss, I've returned.”

  “Oh, Yelena you’re back already? I thought you said you’d be gone for at least three hours.” An elegant-sounding, yet extremely easygoing voice came from the other side, followed by the swift patter of footsteps closing in on the doorway.

  “Yes, well, my errand concluded earlier than I’d expected. How are you feeling?”

  “I told you I feel fine. You don’t need to worry so much, and you definitely don’t need to call back home and tell mother or father anything unnecessary.”

  The footsteps came closer, heightening the delicate rhythm of their approach.

  “Young miss, is your current appearance presentable? We have a gue—”

  “A wha-huh?”

  “A-ahahah...H-Hello angelica...”

  A cold sweat broke out all over Cyril’s body.

  In no way was he trying to enjoy the situation—willingly of course— however, the circumstances left him with no choice. From behind the thick doorframe, Angelica appeared, her almond hair that was usually done straight, prim and proper was currently an unkempt mess, sticking out in odd directions as if she'd just rolled out of bed.

  She was clad in a pair of oversized pajamas, the top buttoned unevenly so that one side drooped lower than the other, exposing a hint of her collarbone. One sleeve hung loose, nearly slipping off her shoulder, while the other was bunched awkwardly at her elbow. To top it all off, she wore a pair of mismatched socks—one was a brightly colored fabric adorned with tiny stars, while the other was a bold, striped design in contrasting hues.

  If it was anyone else, he would have probably found the situation a bit comical, but at the moment, he wanted to do nothing more than retreat, because not even a second later...

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  Yelena immediately disappeared, she slipped into Cyril’s blind spot and blocked his eyes from behind with a technique only one step short of being called a chokehold.

  “Woah! Wait, wait-Ah! Yelena!”

  “Angelica, please go and ready yourself, you cannot allow others to see you in such a sloppy state.” Yelena said briskly, clamping down her hand on Cyril's face.

  “Agghhh! You should have told me you were bringing a visitor; I wouldn’t have come out here looking like such a mess!”

  “I do apologize for that, but please hurry, it wouldn’t do to cause a commotion int he halls like this.”

  “I-I know that give me a minute!”

  With that, Angelica scurried back inside the large room, trumping up a fit of rustling noises as she scoured through every faucet of her belongings in a frantic attempt to make herself presentable.

  Doors slid apart, drawers creaked open and slammed shut, fabric rustled as she tore through her wardrobe— the occasional frustrated huff or muttered curse could be heard from within.

  She must not have been used to sudden visits like this, a fact that proved detrimental to the unsuspecting boy who was currently held captive by her retainer. His pleas for freedom went unheard, Yelena wasn’t having any of it at the moment, leaving him no choice but to submit to his restrained status in the extravagant hallway.

  The suffocating conditions pressed in around him, forcing Cyril to endure for nearly twenty minutes.

  Alas, he dared not resist, lest his vision be permanently impaired.

  Several minutes passed before the misunderstanding was finally rectified.

  All it really took was for Angelica to get changed and a bit of Yelena’s well directed hostility for them to move past the issue. Cyril hadn’t been threatened per se, but the cold, almost wrathful intonation lurking in Yelena’s usually indifferent voice made it abundantly clear that he was never to speak of their little skirmish under any circumstances.

  He wasn’t planning to, but the implication her words were alluding to made him want to completely wipe the past hour from his memory, as regretful as it would have been. Of course, he didn’t possess the power to alter reality, and so the scenery was all the more vivid in his mind, as if the premise of his untimely fate had permanently etched it there.

  After he caught his breath, Angelica bashfully welcomed him inside the room, her face flushed to the point where it was practically steaming. The moment he stepped across the doorframe Cyril’s eyes widened; he felt like the space inside their room was somehow even more luxurious than the high-class building itself.

  The design was predominantly framed after a classical English style of architecture with a modernized spin added to all the various conveniences filling its contents from the state-of-the-art kitchen appliances to the sleek, voice-activated lighting system. Ornate crown moldings and wainscoted walls preserved the elegance of tradition, while floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in natural light.

  Cyril took a seat in one of the plush white sofas arranged around a small coffee table; positioned appropriately close to the adjacent window panes large enough to greet the ceiling and frame a panoramic view of the city.

  “Here you go...” Angelia murmured bashfully as she set down a small cup of coffee on the table.

  “Thanks, and sorry again.” Cyril said, moving to take a sip from the steaming cup.

  “N-no I think we can move past that now.”

  She returned, dressed appropriately in a light-colored cotton-wool sweater that reached down to meet her pleated skirt and stockings, before taking a seat next to Yelena on the sofa opposite to Cyril.

  As he glanced around the room between sips, Cyril had a thought.

  Somehow it feels like I’m about to be interrogated...

  “You’ve changed a lot, Cyril. It almost like you’re a different person now, if Yelena hadn’t pointed it out, I might have treated you like a complete stranger.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Cyril replied, lowering his gaze to the small ripples in his cup. “What can I say? I’m still getting used to the silver hair myself, so even if I look like this now, I can promise you the changes are mostly external.”

  “I suppose so. I heard about your re-evaluation but it's the first time I’ve seen anyone get silver hair because of it.”

  “Well...” he began, setting down the wafting cup.

  “I think you already know about how hopeless things got after Yelena carried you out of the dungeon but based on a certain physician’s hypothesis, my brain forcefully increased my C.A.I as a last-ditch survival mechanism after I got injured and it put my body under an immense amount of strain that messed up my hair’s pigmentation. Apparently, a condition like that would have normally made me lose all of my hair but the damage only extended to the loss of my natural hair color.”

  “T-that sounds rough...” Angelica murmured softly, her complexion losing a bit of its color.

  “In hindsight, its actually not that bad. Worst case scenario, I would’ve gone bald at just sixteen-years-old.”

  “Heheh~ That’s true. I guess you really haven’t changed all that much.”

  “Told you.” Cyril said, responding with a theatrical shrug.

  Watching Angelica laugh like that made him calm down a little, a clear contrast to her demeanor from a few minutes ago. At the time she seemed stuck between uncertainty and trepidation, but now, her teary-eyed giggles were beginning to breathe new life into her expressions.

  “So, has the Chairman filled you in about this little mission we’re supposed to do? Apparently, he wants us to blend in with the dungeon’s clean-up crew and catch this scarecrow guy.”

  “Yes, we’ve been given the details, and the young miss has already accepted the chairman’s request.” Yelena’s answer—stoked full of assurance — required no input from Angelica herself.

  “The two of you were chosen for your strength and because you meet the scarecrow’s demographic, he only makes an appearance if there are no A-rank hunters inside the dungeon of choice. Therefore, I must inform you that I won’t be able to accompany you on your mission, my presence there would amount to little more than a hindrance.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve seen enough to know that Angelica is more than capable of handling herself in a fight.”

  “Mhm, I suppose so.” Angelica muttered sheepishly, averting her gaze to the panoramic view on her right.

  “Let me make this clear, I will still be in the area but I won’t enter the gate alongside you. If things go south and this Scarecrow person tries to make a run for it, I will stop him before he has the chance to flee.”

  “Alright, it sounds like we’re all pretty much up to spe-”

  Cyril stopped himself mid-sentence, instantly recognizing the unspoken intent behind Angelica’s raised hand. Yelena curiously tilted her head in response, peering down to glance at the girls down casted expression.

  “Cyril, before we officially team up for this mission, I want to apologize for what happened in the dungeon. Because of my carelessness, I ended up being a hindrance to everyone, especially in your case. I made you experience something terrifying, so I’d like to apologize for that, and for also not believing your words earlier.” Angelica stated solemnly, each word measured and deliberate.

  “If you decide to reject the chairman's offer because of my shameful performance last time, I honestly couldn’t hold it against you. Before we officially sign off on forming a party, I want you to seriously think this over. Are you really fine with having me as your teammate?”

  Her expression, intonation, and mannerisms—all of it reeked of survivor's guilt.

  She hadn’t played any direct part in the tragedies that occurred inside the phantom room—if anything she was one of their biggest defenders and yet the girl refused to see it that way. No matter how hard she had fought, or how much she had done at the time, it still didn’t change the end result: After all was said and done, she escaped.

  I see. This is why the chairman sent me here.

  Cyril indulged in a moment of silence before responding, crossing his arms and nodding to himself knowingly. After a few seconds he heaved a low, dejected sight that sounded like it was grating against his throat on its way out.

  “Have you already decided?” Angelica asked, still looking away.

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got my answer. Damn that cunning old man, if he already knew things would turn out like this then he could have just said so in the first place. Aggh! Being used like this is kind of frustrating, but I guess I don’t have a choice....”

  “Um, Cyril?”

  “Oh right, about your question Angelica.” He answered firmly, his expression fierce.

  After Angelica’s voice pulled him out of that small, self-centered rant directed at no one in particular, he wound up discovering an untapped pit of resolve slumbering deep within himself. Uncovering the chairman's supposedly shrewd machinations must have sparked something inside of him.

  Now brimming with an abundance of vivacity, Cyril’s eyes lit up with a kind of lavender radiance neither Yelena nor Angelica had ever seen before.

  “There’s a simple solution to this.” Cyril told her, his expression fierce.

  Either his tone or his confidence, something about his statement had peaked Angelica’s interest. She leaned forward like a curious child, practically begging him for an answer.

  “What kind of solution? What did you come up with?”

  Cyril smiled playfully, raising an accusing finger and pointing it at her.

  “Angelica, let’s fight.”

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