"So, did you enjoy it?" Fredric asked as the two rode the monorail back home.

"Enjoy what? My first day back at school?" Zeke replied, his expression weary.

"No, your sweet revenge," Fredric smirked. "It wasn't as great as you imagined it to be, was it?"

"I'm honestly too tired to talk about this," Zeke sighed, dark circles forming under his eyes. "I'm surprised you can be this energetic after staying up all night."

"Oh, that's because I used magic while sleeping to increase the amount of rest I got," Fredric explained nonchalantly.

"What?!" Zeke jolted upright. "How is that possible?"

"Well, for me, using magic is like breathing. I can do it even when I'm not conscious," Fredric said with a shrug.

"Then why the hell didn't you cast it on me?" Zeke demanded, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Casting it on someone else requires a lot more focus. I figured at least one of us should get a good night's sleep," Fredric replied with a sly grin.

"How much sleep did you get?" Zeke grumbled.

"Give or take, about twelve hours," Fredric admitted.

"Unbelievable," Zeke muttered, rubbing his temples.

"I'm a heavy sleeper. I usually require more rest than others. If you'd let me, I probably would have slept for five days," Fredric chuckled.

Eventually, they reached their stop and disembarked near Zeke's apartment. In the distance, they spotted two familiar silhouettes stumbling toward them.

"Is that Mohawk and Bun? What are they doing here?" Fredric wondered, squinting as he tried to make them out.

"Boss! Boss! There's trouble, boss!" Mohawk shouted, visibly out of breath.

"Really big trouble!" Bun echoed, nearly collapsing as they reached the duo.

"Not this again," Zeke thought, suppressing a groan. "What is it? What happened?" he asked, letting out a weary sigh.

"The club's been attacked, boss! You need to help our other boss!" Mohawk blurted out, doubling over and vomiting onto the pavement.

"You guys sure are a handful," Fredric remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Was it Maki who attacked your boss?" His gaze turned cold.

"What? How did you know?" Bun asked, eyes wide with surprise.

"Maki isn't one to let people make deals behind her back without consequences," Fredric said grimly. He turned to Zeke, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Alright, Zeke, we've got a job to do."

"For crying out loud! Do we have to?" Zeke groaned.

"I'm afraid it's partially my responsibility things turned out this way. You see, Maki and I didn't part on the best of terms," Fredric admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I'm too tired for this," Zeke protested, slumping his shoulders.

"Come on, once we're back, I'll cast that sleep spell on you so you can rest a bit longer," Fredric winked.

"Fine, we're going," Zeke relented, rolling his eyes.

"Yay!" Fredric, Mohawk, and Bun cheered in unison.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Zeke said abruptly. "Let me borrow your keys. I'll need to climb into my apartment through the window."

Inside Mohawk and Bun's apartment, Zeke looked around, eyebrows raised in surprise. "This is... unexpectedly clean," he remarked. Every surface gleamed, dishes were neatly stacked and dried, clothes hung methodically on a drying rack near the window, and the air carried a faint scent of lavender.

"Don't blame me," Mohawk explained. "Bun is a bit of a pedantic psycho when it comes to cleaning. Even if a single speck of dust find's itself anywhere here I swear he would turn the place upside down just to find it." He sighed. "I'm more of a dirty laundry all over the room, bad-ass kinda guy myself. But that can't happen with Bun around."

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"Since when is having dirty laundry around considered cool?" Zeke chuckled.

"You tell me. Your place was covered in it until recently. It was so filthy and smelled so bad we didn't notice..." Mohawk trailed off.

"Didn't notice what?" Zeke prompted, his gaze sharpening.

"Your mother's corpse rotting in the closet," Mohawk replied hesitantly.

"Oh, that. Well, you put her to rest, so it's not a problem anymore," Zeke said softly. "By the way, thank you for that." He met Mohawk's eyes. "The place you chose was really nice."

"Yeah, no problem," Mohawk mumbled, a bit taken aback. "But seriously, what was up with all that trash lying around until recently?"

"A man's room reflects his mind," Bun interjected. "A clean space signifies clarity and organization, while clutter represents inner turmoil."

"How very insightful," Zeke smirked.

"Don't listen to him," Mohawk sighed. "He's just happy you cleaned up. You have no idea how hard it was to stop him from tidying your place every time we went over."

"By the way," Fredric chimed in, "how did you get over to Zeke's apartment?"

"Glad you asked," Mohawk said, pulling back the curtains to reveal a makeshift bridge constructed from planks and rope, stretching between the two windows. "We built a bridge!"

"Perfect," Zeke grinned, opening the window and confidently crossing the precarious walkway into his own apartment.

Fredric followed suit, hands casually tucked into his pockets as he strolled across.

"How can they do that without being afraid even a little?" Bun wondered aloud, watching them disappear into the other apartment.

About ten minutes later, Zeke and Fredric re-emerged, now donned in their distinctive gear. Fredric wore his signature fox mask and red hoodie, his eyes gleaming mischievously beneath the mask. Zeke's appearance had transformed dramatically; he sported a black bomber jacket with a white fur collar, black cargo pants, and combat boots. Underneath the jacket, a sleek armored vest hugged his frame, and long gloves covered his arms up to the shoulders. His own mask concealed his features, adding an air of enigma.

Bun and Mohawk sat sipping herbal tea. "Care for some chamomile? It's good for the nerves," Mohawk offered.

"Dude, you threw up less than twenty minutes ago," Zeke pointed out, shaking his head.

"Well then, shall we get going?" Fredric asked, adjusting his mask.

"Where to?" Zeke sighed.

"To assess the damage caused by my dear ex," Fredric replied, his tone light but edged with something darker.

By the time they arrived, Artificial Love was a shadow of its former self. The once-vibrant neon signs lay shattered, their fragments strewn across the sidewalk. The facade was marred by scorch marks and bullet holes, windows blown out, and the scent of smoke lingered in the air.

"This Maki Lin... just who is she?" Zeke wondered aloud.

"A ruthless woman with her own private militia," Fredric said quietly. "She doesn't tolerate betrayal."

As they stepped inside, the devastation became even more apparent. Bullet casings littered the floor, mingling with shards of glass from the grand staircases that now lay in ruins. The dance floor was scarred with deep grooves, tables overturned, and the once-glittering chandeliers dangled precariously from the ceiling.

They moved cautiously toward the back, where the VVIP room was located. Bodies lay strewn along the corridor—guards and patrons alike—silent witnesses to the chaos that had unfolded.

Inside the VVIP room, Derek Archer lay slumped against the wall, blood seeping from a wound in his shoulder where a gleaming katana was embedded. His breathing was shallow, eyes half-closed.

"Boss!" Mohawk and Bun cried out, rushing to his side.

Derek groaned, coughing weakly. "What took you so long?" he whispered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"What exactly happened here?" Zeke asked, his voice steady.

"The Baroness herself paid us a visit," Derek rasped. "She attacked without warning, killed everyone in sight—didn't matter if they were gang members or civilians."

"That sword," Fredric murmured, eyeing the weapon lodged in Derek's shoulder. "The Hundred-Thousand-Credit Blade."

"You recognize it," Derek chuckled bitterly, wincing at the pain.

"She left a message, didn't she?" Fredric guessed.

"Yeah," Derek nodded weakly. "She said, 'Just know that you brought this upon yourself. If you survive—which I doubt—try returning this blade to me. I find it amusing when ants try to crawl.'"

"Sounds like her," Fredric sighed.

"You know, that blade is literally worth a hundred thousand credits," Derek added. "Giving it to me is like a twisted game. If I manage to return it, maybe she'll give back what she took."

"What did she take?" Zeke inquired.

"The girls," Derek said, his eyes clouding. "Not just the two you saw before—all twenty-five of them."

"The homunculi," Fredric recalled. "How did they end up here?"

"Ten years ago, I was part of a revolutionary group called Black Raven," Derek began. "We targeted corrupt corporations. During one raid, we found these girls—experiments destined for who knows what. After the revolution failed, I took them in, raised them like my own."

As Derek spoke, his voice grew fainter, his gaze unfocused. Zeke approached and gripped the hilt of the katana. With a swift motion, he pulled the blade free, eliciting a sharp gasp from Derek.

"Please... take care of my girls," Derek pleaded, his strength waning.

"Heal him," Zeke commanded coldly.

Fredric stepped forward, placing a hand over Derek's wound. A soft glow emanated from his palm, and within moments, the gaping injury closed, leaving only faint traces of blood.

Derek stared in disbelief, patting his shoulder. "How...?"

"We'll get your girls back," Zeke assured him. "But what will you offer us in return?"

"My loyalty," Derek declared, a newfound determination in his eyes.

"Very well," Zeke said, turning to leave. He rested the katana against his shoulder, its polished surface catching the dim light. The words "Hundred Thousand Credits" were elegantly inscribed along the blade.

"Just who the hell is this woman?" Zeke pondered aloud as they stepped outside. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cityscape. The horizon was a tapestry of oranges and purples, the skyscrapers silhouetted against the dying light.

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