Two young men approached a worn, nondescript building.
A few hours earlier, following Pauoka's instructions, Egor had called a man, listed the documents they needed, taken a photo of Klaus, and sent it to the provided email. The reply came quickly—coordinates, nothing more.
Pick-up point.
Simple.
Efficient.
Illegal as hell.
Egor had no intention of sitting at home fulfilling the prince's endless demands, so he chose to make himself useful.
For Klaus.
Again.
In a single day, that damn guest had somehow become the center of his life.
"Grandma, what else do we need besides the basics?" Egor asked, giving Klaus a long, assessing look.
The prince lounged on the couch like he owned the place, flipping through channels.
Too-short pants.
A tight shirt stretched across his chest.
Egor's gaze lingered longer than it should have—over the defined lines of muscle, the solid chest, the effortless confidence—
He snapped out of it and turned away sharply.
Annoyed.
Irritated.
And, for some reason, unable to stop looking.
"Let me think," Pauoka said. "You'll need meat. The Prince of Isorobia seems incapable of surviving without it. And don't forget your promise."
"What promise?"
"The one that keeps us from going broke."
Egor groaned.
Tomorrow he had a shift.
And now he'd have to drag Klaus along with him.
The thought alone made his head throb.
Still—
his grandmother was right.
Klaus needed work.
And maybe—just maybe—it would knock some sense into him.
What bothered Egor more was something else.
The possibility that Klaus might stay.
For a long time.
And Egor had no desire to share his life with a self-proclaimed prince.
"Hey. Get up. We're leaving."
"Wait," Klaus said without looking away from the screen. "This is… interesting."
Egor stepped closer.
Animals.
On the screen.
"Since when do you like rabbits?"
Klaus turned his head slowly, almost offended.
"I like eating them. There is nothing 'cute' about them. It is… unusual to watch them instead of hunting them."
He switched off the television and rose in one smooth motion.
"Well? Why are you still standing there? Move."
Head high, posture rigid, he walked out as if the world itself should make way.
Egor rolled his eyes and followed.
Several exhausting hours later—bags cutting into his fingers, mood completely ruined—the two stood outside the address from the message.
"Why the hell am I carrying everything?" Egor snapped. "Most of this is yours!"
"You are the servant," Klaus said without even looking at him. "I am your master. Do you require further clarification?"
"I am not your servant! How many times do I have to say it?!"
And he'd thought—what?
That this guy was interesting?
That there was something worth paying attention to?
Egor burned with irritation, ready to explode.
But what would that change?
Teaching this arrogant bastard to act like a normal human being felt like trying to train a wild animal.
"You are weak," Klaus said calmly. "You should strengthen your body. Carrying weight will do you good."
"Oh, you—"
"So," Klaus cut in, glancing around. "Where do we go?"
Egor clenched his jaw.
"I don't know. The message only gave this address."
Klaus studied him—his flushed face, the tension in his shoulders—with faint, dismissive contempt.
Why deny it?
The boy would fall after a single strike.
He was weaker.
Therefore—he should obey.
This world was absurd.
"Klaus Deffender?"
A smooth female voice cut through the tension.
They turned.
A tall blonde stood nearby, long legs exposed through a high slit in her tight black dress. Her gaze slid over Klaus—slow, deliberate, assessing.
Lingering.
Too long.
Egor frowned.
He didn't like the way she looked at him.
Without waiting, she turned and disappeared inside.
They exchanged a brief glance and followed.
Inside, the building told a different story.
Clean walls.
Tiled floors.
Solid wooden doors.
Klaus slowed.
His body tightened.
Every instinct sharpened.
Something was off.
They reached a closed door where the blonde waited.
"The boss is expecting you."
She knocked twice and pushed the door open—but stayed outside.
The room inside was suffocating.
Red.
Everywhere.
Red furniture.
Red curtains.
Red carpet.
Even the light itself seemed stained.
Egor's stomach twisted.
This wasn't an office.
It was a den.
A brothel.
A massive canopy bed dominated the room, silk sheets tangled around three half-naked girls, still asleep.
The air reeked of alcohol, sweat, and expensive tobacco.
Heavy.
Stale.
Clinging.
Egor had the sudden urge to tear open the windows, to breathe—
But a desk blocked the way.
Behind it sat a man.
Feet up.
Shirt open.
Cigar burning between his fingers.
"So," he drawled, eyes dragging over Klaus, "you brought your little lackey. And gifts."
His gaze dropped to the bags in Egor's hands.
"I came to take what you owe," Klaus said evenly.
The man laughed.
"I don't owe you a damn thing, boy. This is a favor—for Pauoka. My grandfather owed her, and we pay our debts." He tilted his head. "Whiskey? Or are you still a child?"
"I have been drinking wine since I was ten," Klaus replied coldly. "Now give me my documents. And I will leave this place."
The air shifted.
"Careful," a voice growled.
Only then did Egor notice them.
Men.
Large.
Armed.
Watching.
"Sasha," the boss said lazily, "relax. The boy just arrived. Doesn't know how to behave yet."
He looked back at Klaus.
"You're from Pauoka's world, aren't you?"
"I come from a place where men like you do not last long," Klaus said.
Egor's pulse spiked.
What the hell are you doing?
The boss smiled slowly.
"Big words." He leaned forward. "You sure you can back them up? Why the new identity? Kill someone? Steal something? Or sleep with the wrong woman?"
"I owe you no explanation."
Klaus stepped forward and extended his hand.
The boss picked up a folder and handed it over—
but didn't let go.
"New citizenship. New name. Clean slate," he said softly. "Let's see what kind of trouble you bring into my city."
Klaus yanked it free.
The weight felt wrong.
Too heavy.
A new life.
Or the pressure in the room pressing down on him.
"And where is my gratitude?" the boss asked.
"This is your business," Klaus said coldly. "You are paid for it. I owe you nothing."
"You arrogant little—"
Sasha moved.
Fast.
Too fast for Egor.
But not for Klaus.
A shift.
A pivot.
A sharp, precise movement—
The bodyguard hit the floor hard.
His arm twisted behind his back.
Klaus pressed him down with controlled, brutal force.
"I would not do that," Klaus said quietly. "Unless you are prepared to lose the arm."
Egor hadn't moved.
Not even a step.
He stood frozen.
Watching.
Something electric ran through him.
Sharp.
Unsettling.
Wrong.
Klaus's presence filled the room.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Like a storm about to break.
"Interesting," the boss laughed. "If you ever need work—come see me."
"I will not."
Klaus released the man and walked out without looking back.
Egor hesitated—
then followed.
"Have you completely lost your mind?!" Egor hissed once they were outside.
"I am not accustomed to being spoken to like a slave," Klaus said. "I am the heir to a throne. A warrior."
"Not here you're not! Here you're just a kid!"
"I was born as I am. I will die as I am."
"You'll get yourself killed long before that if you keep acting like this!"
"Then be silent."
"I promised Grandma I'd teach you how things work here!"
"Then teach me."
"You're unbearable!"
They rode home in silence.
Egor noticed women glancing at Klaus.
Interested.
Curious.
Drawn in—
until they met his eyes.
Then they looked away.
Arrogant bastard.
Perfect description.
And Egor had already regretted his promise a hundred times.
"How did it go? Did you get the documents? How is Andryusha?" Pauoka asked as soon as they stepped inside.
"Andryusha?" Egor stared. "You mean that red-obsessed gangster? Where do you even find people like that?"
"I have lived long enough," she said calmly. "You meet all kinds."
"That's exactly what worries me."
"That smells good," Klaus said, sitting down. "I do not know what it is, but I will eat it. Egor—hurry. Your master is hungry."
"How many times do I have to say I'm not your servant?!"
"So you refuse to feed me?" Klaus's eyes flashed.
"I didn't say that," Egor muttered, backing off slightly. "You could at least ask instead of ordering."
"Egor is right," Pauoka said. "Klaus, you promised to try to blend in."
Klaus exhaled sharply.
"Give me food."
A pause.
"…please."
"That's better," Pauoka smiled. "So? How did it go?"
The two young men exchanged a glance.
"We took the documents and left," Klaus said.
"Yeah," Egor added.
He could have told her everything.
About the fight.
About how close it came to breaking.
But he didn't.
"Good," Pauoka said.
Klaus leaned back slightly.
Petty humiliations would not break him.
Not here.
Not without magic.
He would prove his strength anyway.