[On Ezra's Phone Screen]

"Ezra, I'm really sorry. I'm busy right now. I'll make it up to you with a meal. Sorry, Ezra."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, the glow of his phone reflecting against the dim, golden lights of the club. His thumb lingered on the screen a moment longer before he set it aside.

"I guess she really is busy," he murmured under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The Moonfang Club was said to be one of the finest in Bloodfort—famous for its imported beer and extravagant atmosphere. Elena had been the one to recommend it, swearing that the place's quality was unmatched. Tonight, though, Ezra sat alone at the bar counter, a half-empty glass of amber beer in front of him.

He swirled the drink lazily, the bitter taste settling on his tongue as his thoughts wandered.

Cassy…

He had given her a task—digging into Justin's background, uncovering the truth. But an entire day had slipped by with nothing to show. No message, no call, not even a whisper of progress.

Ezra finished the last of his beer in a single motion and placed the empty glass on the polished counter. Rising from his seat, he began to make his way toward the washroom.

On his left, a pair of eyes followed him.

A young woman lounged on a high stool, legs crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. Her outfit left little to the imagination—a short, glittering skirt and a fitted bralette that framed her curves. A butterfly tattoo curled along her lower back, barely visible above the hemline.

She leaned closer to the man sitting beside her.

"Kris," she said, her voice smooth, almost playful.

The man turned to her, eyebrows raised. "What is it, Mary?"

"Go and get me another drink," she replied, her gaze still fixed on Ezra's retreating back.

Kris slid his hand along her thigh, chuckling. "Right away, babe." He pressed his lips against hers in a quick, heated kiss before standing.

Mary rose to her feet as well. Her heels clicked lightly against the marble floor as she followed after Ezra, her eyes narrowing with predatory intent.

_______________

Ezra pushed the washroom door open, slipping past a couple too wrapped up in each other to notice him. He moved straight to the sink, water running over his hands as the mirror caught his calm, unreadable expression.

"Hey."

The voice broke the silence.

Ezra glanced sideways. Mary leaned against the tiled wall, her arms folded, lips curled in a faint smile. She looked entirely unfazed at being in the men's washroom, as if rules and stares didn't apply to her.

Ezra said nothing. He simply dried his hands, tossed the tissue, and walked out.

Mary blinked, caught off guard. What the…? For a moment, she just stood there, stunned. No one had ever ignored her like that.

But curiosity—and pride—got the better of her. She followed him out.

Back at the bar, Ezra had already ordered another drink, his posture casual, his attention elsewhere. Mary stopped by a mirror column on the way, quickly adjusting her hair, running her fingers through her black locks streaked with red. She angled her phone for a quick glance at her reflection, reapplied her smile, and strode toward him with the confidence of a predator spotting prey.

"One Scarlet Whiskey," she told the bartender as she slid into the seat beside Ezra.

Ezra didn't acknowledge her. He simply raised his glass, taking another slow sip.

Mary leaned on the counter, eyes fixed on him. "Sorry. That was… rude of me. Intruding in the men's washroom."

Ezra's only response was silence.

She let it go, twirling her glass when it arrived. The ruby liquid caught the light as she brushed a hand through her hair again, the streaks of crimson glinting. For a while, she sat quietly. Then, with a playful tone, she spoke.

"Are you from the Capital?"

At last, Ezra turned his head slightly, his eyes sharp, weighing her. "You're quite persistent, Miss."

Mary's smile widened. "Not 'Miss.' Mary Clark. You are?"

Ezra's lips curved faintly, just enough to show amusement. "Ezra Celestrian. From the Capital."

"Quite a good name." Her voice lowered, teasing. "Do you know what it means?"

Ezra shook his head. "No."

"Helper," she said, leaning closer, her cleavage pressing against the counter deliberately. "Ezra means helper. So… want to help me?"

Ezra exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. "Lady Clark, I think I can't help you."

"Why not?" she pressed.

Ezra tipped his chin toward the space behind her. "Look behind you."

Mary turned.

Kris stood there, both hands gripping drinks, his face dark with fury. His knuckles whitened around the glasses as he glared daggers at Ezra.

Ezra rose, finishing his drink. "You have a boyfriend. Don't cheat on him," he said simply, dropping coins on the counter and heading for the exit.

Mary sat frozen, lips parted in surprise.

"Sorry, Kris," she blurted, turning back quickly. "I know him—sort of. He's a friend from the Capital."

But Kris wasn't buying it. His eyes burned with betrayal. "We're done, Mary. I saw how you leaned into him. I saw how you showed yourself off. I shouldn't have trusted you."

He set the drinks down with a sharp clink, his jaw clenched. "Don't bother paying. It's already covered."

And without another word, he stormed out, leaving her behind.

Mary stared after him, her chest tight, guilt creeping in. She had really broken him this time. Slowly, she turned back toward the empty doorway where Ezra had disappeared.

She whispered to herself, her voice trembling between regret and intrigue.

"I should apologize to Kris tomorrow… but that boy Ezra… I like him."

____________________

Ezra's SUV cut smoothly through the late-night streets of Bloodfort, city lights streaking past his window. He muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"What a crazy woman… cheating in front of her boyfriend."

He intended to drive straight back to his hotel, but fate had other plans.

Out of nowhere, an elderly woman staggered into the middle of the road. Ezra's eyes widened.

"What—?!"

He slammed the brakes, tires screeching across the asphalt. For a moment, silence. Then—bang!—a sickening impact rattled the vehicle.

Ezra's instincts screamed danger. He shoved the car door open, stepping out just as the air around him thickened with killing intent. Mana surged through his body instantly, reflexively coating his skin as he leapt back. His hand flicked, and from his storage ring he drew his sword—silver steel gleaming as he wrapped it in mana.

Shrrrkk!

A crescent slash of pure silver mana carved through the air.

But it wasn't enough.

A roaring lightning strike crashed against his blade, detonating in a thunderous shockwave. The collision flung his SUV like a toy, the vehicle spinning before smashing into the roadside in a burst of twisted metal and fire.

Pedestrians screamed.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

"Run!"

Chaos rippled across the street. Cars braked too late, crashing into each other one after another. The screech of metal on metal filled the air as some vehicles flipped, fuel leaking. A spark—then fire erupted, consuming the line of cars as terrified civilians scrambled for their lives.

Through the mayhem, the "elderly woman" advanced without pause. Her wrinkled guise shimmered faintly with mana—an illusion. Lightning bolts crackled along her arm as she blinked forward, reappearing behind Ezra in an instant.

Zzzhhk!

Ezra spun, deploying his mana shield just as her crackling spear of lightning slammed into him.

The shield fractured but held long enough. Ezra's eyes sharpened.

"Celestrian Swordsmanship—Form Four."

His blade sang, striking thrice in an instant. The lightning shattered, sparks scattering across the pavement. Ezra's movements blurred—suddenly there were four afterimages of him, each slicing toward the woman at terrifying speed.

She blinked away again, teleporting several meters to avoid the strikes. But Ezra anticipated it. His aura warped, and with a surge of will he vanished—reappearing at her side with the same blink magic Kael had hammered into him over the past months.

Mana condensed in his palm, swelling into a blinding sphere. He hurled it like a comet.

The woman dodged with practiced ease, countering with weapons forged from raw mana, her strikes sharp, precise—the mark of a Rank 5.

Ezra's jaw tightened. He had no time to hesitate. His sword absorbed more and more mana, the blade glowing until it swelled into a massive arc of silver light. He raised it high.

The woman stopped retreating. Instead, she smirked. Her lips barely moved, but Ezra read them clearly:

"You are dead."

Her finger flicked.

A vast magic circle unfurled above, swallowing the street in intricate runes. Ezra's eyes widened.

"Shit."

But before he could adjust, the woman ripped a teleportation scroll in half. Her form flickered—and she vanished.

The circle erupted.

Flames as tall as buildings roared to life, devouring the street in an inferno. Ezra descended from above, his sword cleaving straight through the firestorm, splitting it apart. The impact carved a deep scar into the asphalt, shattering concrete and ripping through the circle's structure.

The explosion faded, leaving Ezra standing amidst destruction. Smoke, fire, and ruin stretched in every direction. Civilians had long fled. The wreckage of his SUV smoldered behind him.

And then—

"Hands up! Surrender immediately!"

Dozens of mana rifles trained on him. Military personnel had swarmed the site, armored squads forming tight formation. Sirens wailed in the distance as reinforcements closed in.

Ezra's face hardened. Fighting within city limits was forbidden—especially for those above Rank 3. The devastation around him was enough to condemn him outright.

A voice barked above the crowd.

"Get down, or we'll open fire!"

Ezra felt it—the oppressive aura of Rank 6 pressing against him. He glanced at the officer stepping forward, his uniform adorned with golden insignia. The man's voice was sharp, commanding.

The Colonel Mustafa glared down at him. "Daring to unleash Rank 4 techniques in a city. You've got guts."

Mana rifles clicked. Dozens of barrels followed Ezra's every movement.

For a long moment, Ezra stood frozen in the smoke, sword still faintly glowing. Then he exhaled, slowly lowering it. His hands rose in surrender as he knelt, allowing suppression chains to coil around his body.

"Move him," Mustafa ordered coldly.

Ezra said nothing, his jaw set tight. Inside, though, he thought grimly—

I've really gotten myself into a mess this time.