Jiro sat alone in his chamber.
A candle burned low on the table, its weak, trembling light barely enough to read the book he had taken from the royal library and dragged to his estate.
He closed it with a quiet exhale.
Set it aside.
Leaned back.
And rang a small silver bell.
"You called, my lord?"
A young boy in a gray slave's robe appeared in the doorway, head bowed so low it seemed his neck might snap if he lifted it.
"Fresh candles. Wine. And summon Kaimi."
"At once, my lord."
The boy bowed deeper and vanished immediately, as if afraid to exist in the same room longer than necessary.
"Where did you crawl off to, you sly little bastard…" Jiro muttered.
As he waited, his thoughts drifted—as they always did—to the same poison.
He had been born second.
Twenty seconds after his brother.
Twenty.
Seconds.
That was all it had taken to strip him of a throne.
In a week, he would turn sixty-five.
Two sons.
Three daughters.
A legacy built with patience and calculation.
His brother?
One heir.
One.
And that—pathetically late.
Jiro had waited.
Endured.
Planned.
And when he had finally cornered his nephew—
the little bastard vanished.
A blinding white flash.
A scorched circle burned into stone.
And nothing else.
How?
Where?
The questions gnawed at him day and night.
But one truth remained.
He would find Klaus.
He had to.
Without the rightful heir, all those years of patience meant nothing.
He needed the boy alive—
for now.
After that—
his brother would die.
And Jiro would take what had always been his.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
A tall, gaunt man in a deep purple robe entered—the mark of a high-ranking slave.
"Kaimi," Jiro said, gesturing him closer.
Another servant slipped in like a shadow, replacing the dying candles.
"How may I serve you? My power is yours."
"I want to see how far that power reaches," Jiro said. "I need my nephew. Your amulets have failed me. Can you do better?"
"With respect, my lord, the amulets I create are among the strongest. They can find a target even across the farthest reaches of this world."
Jiro lifted his gaze slowly.
"And if the target is no longer in this world?"
Kaimi hesitated.
Only for a moment.
"That would require immense power," he said carefully. "Transporting a living person between worlds is no trivial act. Your nephew should not possess such ability."
"He may have had help."
"Do you know from whom?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be wasting my time chasing ghosts!" Jiro snapped. "Answer me. Can you find him or not?"
Silence stretched.
"Yes," Kaimi said at last. "I can create a tracking talisman. But it will take time—several days. And I will need something tied closely to him. Something he carried often."
"I have it. His sword."
"That will suffice. Its resonance will allow me to bind the spell to him. You will know where he is at all times."
"Then start now. You have two days."
Jiro gestured lazily toward the trembling boy by the door.
"Take him. Use him however you like. Take whatever you need in my name. Two days, Kaimi… or you will prove more useless than that shaking rat."
His gaze flicked to the child.
The boy nearly collapsed.
Kaimi bowed and left.
Jiro lifted his wine.
A thin smile curled across his lips.
"I will find you… and I will take what is mine."
"I'm telling you—act like you belong at the bottom. Like you're… like you're a slave."
Egor grimaced as he said it.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Klaus snapped.
"Yesterday I didn't tell Grandma about your stunt," Egor shot back. "But I'm not covering for you again. Just do what I say!"
"Is that a threat?"
"For fuck's sake—no!" Egor's voice rose. "I'm trying to help you! I made her a promise! And honestly? I want you out of my bed, my room, and my life as fast as possible!"
Klaus went still.
Something was wrong.
A ripple of unease ran through him.
Sharp.
Cold.
He turned, scanning the street.
Clear sky.
People walking.
Nothing.
And yet—
Danger.
Close.
Watching.
Waiting.
He exhaled slowly and forced the feeling down.
Egor noticed.
Something about Klaus had changed.
The air around him felt heavier.
Charged.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
Klaus was silent for a moment.
Then—
"You're right," he said. "I want to go home. I'll follow your advice."
A pause.
"Consider yourself promoted. A high-ranking slave. My advisor."
Egor let out a short laugh.
"How generous of you, my lord."
"You learn quickly," Klaus said.
And laughed.
The sound caught Egor off guard.
That face—
usually cold, sharp, unbearable—
looked… human.
Egor laughed too.
Without thinking.
Sveta was exhausted.
All she wanted was to get home and collapse.
Her eyes kept closing.
So she turned up the music.
Sang along.
Forced herself to stay awake.
Almost there.
The empty highway stretched endlessly ahead.
Her vision blurred—
And then—
A blinding white flash exploded in the middle of the road.
She slammed the brakes.
Tires screamed.
By the time the car stopped—
the light was gone.
"…That's it. I'm quitting night shifts. I'm seeing things."
Still uneasy, she stepped out.
Walked around the car.
Nothing.
Of course.
She turned back—
And the flash came again.
Same place.
Stronger.
A beam of light shot straight into her forehead.
She froze.
For a second—
nothing.
Then she turned.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
Got back into the car.
The exhaustion was gone.
Wiped clean.
One thought remained.
I have to find him.
The car began to move.
She didn't know where she was going.
But her body did.
I have to find him.
The thought repeated.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Everything else faded.
Who she was.
Where she was going.
Why.
Gone.
Only one thing remained.
Find him.
Klaus stood at the bar.
Exactly where Egor had told him to.
Watching.
Memorizing.
Dim light.
Polished wood.
Expensive alcohol.
Soft jazz.
Smoke.
Controlled.
Refined.
Under different circumstances—
he might have enjoyed it.
Now—
he despised it.
This place was not a bar.
It was a cage.
A crown prince reduced to serving drinks.
Grinding his pride into filth.
He studied the room.
High ceilings in the center.
A staircase leading to the second level—overlooking everything.
Reserved for the wealthy.
Of course.
Egor stood nearby, speaking with a woman.
Elegant.
Brunette.
Carefully maintained.
Too carefully.
Artificial.
Refined.
Calculated.
While Egor spoke, the woman watched Klaus.
Assessing.
Weighing.
Pricing.
A familiar feeling.
Unpleasant.
So this is what it feels like…
to be measured like property.
Egor waved him over.
Klaus moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
"Hello, Klaus," the woman said smoothly. "Egor tells me you're looking for work."
"Yes."
The word scraped his throat raw.
"No experience, I assume?"
"None. This would be my first… job."
The word nearly choked him.
"My establishment isn't easy," she said. "I don't hire just anyone. But…"
Her gaze lingered.
"…I'll make an exception."
"So I'm hired?"
"Trial period. Can you start today?"
"Why delay the inevitable."
"Good. Egor, he's yours. Train him. Get him a uniform."
She walked away.
"That went better than expected," Egor muttered. "Please—just follow the plan."
"You are my advisor," Klaus said. "I will listen."
That was enough.
For now.
The shift began.
And collapsed almost immediately.
Five minutes.
That was how long Klaus lasted doing nothing but standing and watching.
"That's not your job," Klara said calmly.
Klaus turned.
Slowly.
His gaze darkened.
He wanted to answer.
To put her in her place.
But he saw Egor.
Working.
Trying.
And held back.
"You see those three women?" Klara continued. "Seat them. Give them menus. And for God's sake—stop looking like you're about to kill them."
He clenched his jaw.
And obeyed.
"Welcome," he said stiffly. "Follow me."
The women exchanged looks—but followed.
"When you're ready to order—call."
He left immediately.
Hours passed.
He served tables.
Badly.
"Out of four tables," Klara said later, "three asked for a different waiter. That's impressive. In the worst way. Last chance. Take a break."
Klaus nodded.
Walked outside.
Calm.
Controlled.
Inside—
he was burning.
He hated obedience.
But he hated losing more.
And right now—
he was losing.
"First day?"
He turned.
A waitress leaned against the wall, cigarette between her fingers.
"Mia."
"Klaus."
"You don't smoke?"
"No."
She exhaled slowly.
"Relax. Smile. Be human. That's it."
"That's three things."
She laughed.
"Do that, and your tips double."
"Why help me? I am your competition."
"I've known Egor for years. He's a good guy. I don't want him stressed."
She flicked the cigarette away and left.
Klaus stood still.
Thinking.
"This is a battle," he muttered. "And in war… anything is allowed."
His final chance came quickly.
A large group entered.
"Last shot," Klara said.
Klaus stepped forward.
And smiled.
Perfect.
Controlled.
Polite.
"Welcome. Please follow me."
Warm voice.
Measured gestures.
Flawless control.
Egor stared.
Who the hell is that?
Klara smiled.
Sergei looked ready to choke on his own anger.
Mia watched, amused.
Inside—
Klaus burned.
But he endured.
Victory required sacrifice.
Later, walking home, Egor shook his head.
"You were insane. In a good way. Where did you learn that?"
"I observe," Klaus said. "I have seen slaves serve nobles. I simply adapted."
"Grandma's going to be happy."
"I expect nothing less."
The politeness vanished the moment they got home.
"Make your own coffee," Egor snapped the next morning.
"How?" Klaus said. "I have you."
"I. Am. Not. Your. Damn. Servant."
And yet—
he still made the coffee.
A week passed.
"I'm impressed," Pauoka said. "You adapted quickly."
"I am honoring our agreement," Klaus replied coldly. "When will you honor yours, old woman?"
"I'm trying. It has been fifty years. I need to find the place where I arrived."
"If that helps, I am ready now."
"We're working today."
"To hell with work if it means I can go home."
"Patience. This is only the beginning."
Klaus's patience was running thin.
"If I must play the role of a servant a little longer to reclaim what is mine," he said coldly, "then we go in two days. I have a day off."
Pauoka nodded.
"Two days."