CHAPTER 77 — The Shadow Financier
The locker room corridors were empty.
The crowd still roared in the arena, but here, deep in the stadium, silence reigned. A heavy silence, broken by the distant sound of applause and shouts.
Zayn and Yojuro were running.
Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor, a fast, staccato rhythm that broke against the bare walls. They had just left the secret library, the file on Nefaria Romanov still warm under Yojuro's coat. But they had no time to stop.
"Where are we going?" asked Zayn, breathless.
"Far. Very far."
"Could we just… sit down for five minutes?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because when the guard wakes up, there'll be an alert. And they'll search everywhere."
Zayn didn't answer. He sped up.
The corridors flew by. Heavy wooden doors, hanging torches, dark intersections. He turned right, then left, then right again.
"Do you even know where we're going?" asked Yojuro.
"No. But I'm running."
"That's a strategy."
"It's the only one I've got."
Their silhouettes disappeared into the shadows.
Behind them, in a luxurious room with dark wooden walls and black leather armchairs, Friedrich von Eisenberg and Arthur D. Blackthorne sat face to face. The wine bottle was open, Arthur's glass barely touched, Friedrich's already half-empty.
Friedrich laughed. A frank, warm laugh, almost too perfect.
"Arthur, Arthur… You know I could buy you and your entire organization?"
Arthur didn't smile.
"You could try."
"That's a joke."
"I know."
Friedrich took a sip of wine. He set his glass down on the table.
"So, these young prodigies. Have you watched them fight?"
"I've been watching them from the start."
"And what do you think?"
"They have potential."
Friedrich raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"Potential is fine. But reality is what matters. Tell me, Arthur. Among these kids, is there anyone who could actually become something? Or did I pour billions into an arena full of overrated children?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately. He looked at Friedrich with his cold eyes, then spoke, his voice calm.
"They survived the labyrinth. They faced death, fear, betrayal. Some lost friends. Others lost part of themselves. But they're here. They're standing."
Friedrich looked at him, amused.
"You talk like a proud father."
"I talk like a man who knows how to recognize value."
"I see. And in your opinion, who deserves the Crown?"
"Time will tell."
"You're being vague."
"I'm being cautious."
Friedrich laughed again.
The door opened. A man entered, dressed in an impeccable black suit, a file in his hand. His skin was dark, his hair short, his gaze modest but sharp. On his chest, a large J embroidered in silver — the symbol of the UAP.
"Lucan," said Arthur.
"Grand Master." Lucan bowed slightly, then turned to Friedrich. "Mr. von Eisenberg. I have the files you requested."
Friedrich took the file, opened it, flipped through the pages. He read aloud, slowly, as if savoring each word.
"Loyd. Neutron King. Origin: England."
He turned a page.
"Ranmaru. Eclipse Class. Origin: Japan."
He turned another page.
"Yojuro Harihiyo. Zenith Class. Origin: Japan."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Another Japanese. Do you export them in bulk, Arthur?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Friedrich turned a page.
"Kai Kurogane. Zenith Class. Origin: Brazil."
He turned one last page.
"Zayn Al-Kage. Zenith Class. Origin:…"
He paused. He frowned.
"An Arab."
He looked up at Arthur, a smirk on his face.
"An Englishman, a Japanese, another Japanese, a Brazilian… and an Arab."
He set the file down on the table.
"An Arab. In the biggest competition of the UAP. Do you realize, Arthur? I've never seen this. Not in thirty years. Not once."
Arthur looked at him, impassive.
"He has potential."
"Potential?" Friedrich laughed. Not a mean laugh, not a cruel laugh — an amused, almost incredulous laugh. "An Arab. In a tournament dominated by Japanese clans, Nordic warriors, South American prodigies. And you want me to believe he can compete?"
"Strength is not measured by origin."
"Maybe. But history doesn't lie. Arabs have never shined in this tournament. Never."
Arthur didn't answer.
Friedrich set the file down on the table.
"Do you really think he can win?"
"I think he can fight."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Friedrich looked at him, a smirk on his lips.
"You're a curious man, Arthur. You defend that kid like he's your son."
"I defend my soldiers."
"Your soldiers." Friedrich repeated the words with a smile. "You see them as soldiers. I see them as investments."
He stood up, picked up his glass.
"But I trust you, Arthur. If you say this kid has potential, I believe you."
He raised his glass.
"To the Crown of Ash."
Arthur raised his.
"To the Crown."
The two men drank in silence.
Friedrich set his glass down.
"One last thing, Arthur."
"Say it."
"If this kid fails…"
He smiled.
"… I'll remind you of this conversation."
Arthur nodded.
"I forget nothing."
---
In the corridors, far behind them, Zayn and Yojuro kept running.
Their footsteps echoed on the flagstones, a fast, steady beat.
"Are we far enough?" asked Zayn.
"Yes."
"Then can we stop?"
Yojuro stopped.
Zayn stopped too, bent over, catching his breath.
"Do you… do you think we'll get caught?"
"Not now."
"And the guard?"
"He'll wake up. He'll talk. But we'll be far away."
Zayn straightened up, still catching his breath.
"And the file?"
Yojuro placed his hand on his coat.
"It's here."
"What do we do with it?"
"We read it. And we decide."
Zayn nodded.
"Let's go back."
The two silhouettes disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
---