— Part Five —

Gren and Iria steered their Kreper into a cavernous, hangar-like structure positioned just beyond the imposing Administration Headquarters. The space stretched vast and open, its sheer magnitude accentuated by the brilliant fluorescent lights arranged in flawless symmetry across the lofty ceiling. Their stark illumination cast a cool, sterile glow over the scene, highlighting the rugged texture of the paved floor. The faint irregularities in the pavement—tiny cracks and scattered patches of wear—hinted at the countless vehicles that had passed through, grounding the otherwise immense and orderly space in a sense of utility.

Iria's eyes widened in wonder, her gaze flitting across the bustling cityscape with the rapt fascination of a child glimpsing magic for the very first time. Gren watched her with a soft, amused smile, noting how she had been like this throughout their journey. From the moment they braved the treacherous expanse of Batabitajira's desert—an unforgiving sea of swirling storms and endless sand—her sense of awe had remained unbroken. Every new sight seemed to ignite a spark of boundless curiosity within her, as though the world she thought she understood had suddenly unfolded into something vast and extraordinary. And, in truth, it had.

From the time that they had left the vast majority of their supplies leftover from the desert village at Gren's hovel on the outskirts of the city...and after more than a few sobering tears as they hover craft sped away from the desolate village she had called home for so long, Iria had been like this. From the sprawling, low-end housing on the outskirts of the city, to the vibrant and chaotic commercial zones brimming with colorful wares and lively vendors, her enthusiasm never waned. She had marveled at every storefront display, the glittering signs, and the seemingly endless stream of people bustling about their lives. As they neared the heart of Myce City, her fascination only grew. The Administration Headquarters towered at its center, an impressive steeple of gleaming steel and glass that seemed to pierce the clouds above. It was as if the city itself had been designed to overwhelm the senses—and Iria, ever the eager learner, was determined not to miss a single detail.

Along the way, she had bombarded Gren with questions, her voice tinged with excitement and a hunger for knowledge. Every few minutes, she would point out something new and demand to know its purpose, its history, or how it worked. Gren had done his best to keep up, answering what he could, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she would exhaust herself from the sheer flood of new sights and information. Yet, even as the afternoon wore on, Iria's curiosity showed no signs of ending.

When they finally arrived at the Administration Headquarters moments earlier, Iria's attention was immediately drawn to the enormous, bulbous golden disc mounted high on the building's façade. Its metallic surface gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the sky like a massive, otherworldly beacon. She had tugged on Gren's sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What's that for, big brother?" he remembered her asking, tilting her head as she examined it from every angle. Her tone was laced with both amazement and expectation, as though she couldn't fathom a world where he wouldn't know the answer.

Gren had stifled a laugh, struggling to keep a straight face. The truth was, he had no idea what purpose the strange golden disc served—if it had one at all. And he still didn't, even while mulling over it himself long after she had brought it to his attention.

"I don't know," he admitted with a shrug, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Maybe it's just there to look nice?" he recalled answering her nonchalantly.

Iria's expression shifted instantly to one of exaggerated disapproval, her pout practically a work of art. "That's not an answer!" she huffed, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare that only a younger sibling could muster.

He couldn't help but admire her relentless pursuit, even when it came to things as enigmatic as a decorative architectural feature. Her energy and determination were infectious, and though he was certain she would crash eventually, for now, he was content to let her curiosity run wild.

In the parking area, rows upon rows of vehicles stretched endlessly across the vast expanse. Sleek hovercrafts gleamed under the bright lights, parked alongside single-seat, umbrella-like Dempadans and larger mass-transport vehicles. Each design, from the elegant and streamlined to the bulky and functional, showcased a variety of colors and craftsmanship. The vehicles were arranged with meticulous precision, their lines symmetrical and orderly, giving the space a sense of calculated perfection.

Iria's astonishment was almost tangible as she leaned over the side of the Kreper, her wide eyes darting from one vehicle to the next. She craned her neck, trying to absorb every detail, her enchantment growing with each row they passed.

"What is this place, big brother?" she asked. She practically perched herself on the edge of her seat, her enthusiasm uncontainable. "I've never seen this many Krepers before!"

Gren couldn't help but smile at her wide-eyed amazement. As he navigated the vehicle through the lot, he stole glances at her now and then, a soft chuckle escaping him. Her energy was infectious, and in moments like this, he found himself seeing the world through her eyes—suddenly realizing just how much he had apparently taken his mundane drive to work for granted.

"This," Gren said as he steered the Kreper toward a reserved unit marked with his credentials, "is the parking district." He gestured toward the vast rows of vehicles as the Kreper hummed to a stop. He began flipping a few series of switches as he spoke. "It's restricted to people with direct ties to Administration—or occasionally, to someone lucky enough to be favored by the Tedan Tippedai."

Iria's eyes widened as she took in the seemingly endless expanse of hovercrafts and transport vehicles, their polished surfaces gleaming under the lights. "This place is amazing!" she exclaimed, practically leaning over the edge of the open cockpit's hull. "Do you think they ever get confused and lose their Kreper in here?" She looked at him with playful concern. "...have you?"

Gren snorted, shaking his head as he powered down the hover craft, its spindle-like engine slowing its harmonic whirs.

"Iria, it's a parking lot," he said with a laugh, unlatching his restrains and giving her an entertained glance. "It's not exactly that captivating."

"But it could be!" she shot back as she hopped up in her seat and spun herself around to take in the view even more.

Uh oh… Gren thought, knowing what happens when the gears in Iria's mind start turning in overdrive.

"Imagine how fun it would be to drive through here in one of those little carts they use for maintenance," her face beamed at the thought. You could weave around all these hovercrafts like an obstacle course! Or you could get one and we could race like we used to back home!"

Gren raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, that sounds like a great way to get kicked out of the district—and possibly arrested." He added with a playful shrug, "Not exactly the grand adventure you're imagining on your first day in the city, is it?"

"Pfft, you're no fun," Iria teased, blowing her tongue out at him in boredom before turning back to admire the scene. She hoped to her feet in her seat and stood tall above the Kreper, propping her one of her new long white boots against the edge of the Kreper's open side rail. "You don't think this is even a little bit cool? I mean, look at all of this!" She spread her arms wide as if to encompass the entire expanse.

"It's parking, Iria," Gren said with mock exasperation, though his smile betrayed his amusement. With a swift, fluid motion, Gren vaulted over the edge of the craft, his momentum carrying him gracefully to the ground. His blue cloak unfurled behind him, billowing like a banner before settling around him as he landed softly on the hard floor. "You're acting like I just brought you to some futuristic wonderland," he quipped as he straightened.

"You did!" she exclaimed as Gren walked the circumference of the vehicle to the passenger side. He gazed up at her proud position, watching her as if she was standing like a conquering hero or an explorer looking for a new escapade.

Gren, taken aback, eventually gave her a solemn shrug of his broad shoulders. "You got me in a box here, 'sis. Myce definitely isn't Batabitajira. But you'll get used to it."

She narrowed her eyes playfully as she simpered down at him. "You know, your lack of enthusiasm is deeply concerning. Are you sure you're not secretly a robot or something?"

"Very funny," Gren replied, rolling his eyes as he opened a compartment on the side of the Kreper, grabbed one of their remaining bags from the backseat. "Let's just hope you don't faint from all this excitement before we even get inside the building."

Iria grinned, clearly unfazed by his teasing as she watched him stow the bag into the storage cubicle and sealing it shut. "Well, someone has to appreciate the little things around here since you clearly can't."

Gren laughed softly, shaking his head as he locked the lid of the compartment. "Alright, fine. You win. It's...a slightly above-average parking lot. And yes, I have lost the Kreper in her before." He added sheepishly as reached a gloved hand up to her. "Happy now?"

"Very," Iria replied smugly, her smile shining bright as she grabbed his hand and leapt off from her victorious perch.

"But seriously," Gren said, steadying Iria's small frame after her less-than-graceful landing thanks to the new, heavy equipment she was still adjusting to. His tone shifted to something more serious, though his touch remained gentle. "New place, new rules. You've got to keep your guard up here."

Iria adjusted herself, brushing off the imaginary dust from her long blue sleeves as they began walking along the long row of parked crafts. "Earlier, you mentioned something about the Tedan Tippedai," she said, her brow furrowing slightly. There was a weight to her voice, as though she already understood the significance of that name. "I know you don't like them… because of, well…" She hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "You know, what happened back home?"

Gren let out a soft sigh, shrugging as he searched for the best way to answer. If she was going to start training for this life, she needed clarity—not a skewed perspective clouded by his own notions.

"Unfortunately, they're just something we have to deal with," he said, his tone measured. "Yeah, they're a pain in the ass most of the time, but they put food on the table. Their bounty offers come through the comm' or their headquarters, so you won't see them hanging around here much."

He shot her a quick glance, his expression softening. "Just focus on learning while we're here. Follow my lead, and do exactly as I tell you. Got it?"

"Certainly goes against all that stuff you typically drill into my head with a blunt hammer," Iria raised an eyebrow, a toothy grin creeping across her face. "All that doubt and acting talk…"

Gren smirked, shaking his head. "New place, new rules."

Iria rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're so inconsistent, you know that? All that talk about acting on instinct, and now this?" Her grin widened, teasing him as she pressed her point. "Make up your mind, big brother."

"New place, new rules," Gren repeated once again firmly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "At least for now."

"Fine," Iria relented, though her tone betrayed her pout. She kicked her boot against the hard pavement with a faint scuff, folding her arms over her armored vest as they walked. "You act like I'm just some little kid or something…"

Gren shot her a playful smile, shrugging slightly. "...you are a little kid."

That was the last straw. Iria came to an abrupt stop, her scowl directed squarely at his back. "I can take care of myself, you know!" she huffed, her voice sharp with defiance.

Gren kept walking, only half-turning his head to reply with a dry chuckle. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of…" he muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to catch but not confront.

He didn't stop, his stride unbroken as he called back over his shoulder, "C'mon, I want you to meet someone while we're here!"

Iria lingered for a moment, glaring at his retreating figure before groaning in exasperation and jogging to catch up. "You better not be dragging me to meet some boring old administrator," she grumbled, her grimace returning in full force.

Gren burst out laughing, his amusement echoing through the garage as he replied, "I'll be sure to pass that sentiment along to Bob when we get there. He'll love that."

Iria's expression shifted instantly from annoyed to horrified. She grabbed at the crimson gauntlet covering Gren's wrist, her small hands tugging urgently. "Wait—what? You didn't tell me it was him!"

"I told you to keep your guard up, didn't I?" Gren teased, tilting his head in mock thoughtfulness, reeking with mischievous humor. "You know, I've always wondered how old Bob actually is. Maybe you should ask him? And while you're at it, let him know he could stand to cut back on all that partying he does. All that gray in his mustache—"

"Stop it, Gren!" Iria interrupted, her voice rising in alarm as she tugged harder on his arm. Her wide-eyed panic only fueled his amusement. "If you're going to make him my babysitter when you're not around…" she added with a pointed glare, her delivery biting with sarcasm, "the last thing I need is for him to hate me before I even get started!"

Gren couldn't hold back a hearty chortle, shaking his head as he gently pried her hands off his wrist. "Relax, 'sis," he said, his grin widening. "Bob doesn't hate anybody… well, not unless they're stupid enough to insult his mustache. But maybe you'll be the exception?"

Iria groaned, smacking his arm lightly in frustration. "You're impossible!" she muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "This isn't funny, you know. The idea of Bob scares the crap out of me."

"That's because you've never met him," Gren replied, his timbre softening slightly. "He's tough, sure, but he's fair. And if you listen—and don't do anything too reckless—he might actually like you."

"Great, so I just have to avoid being me," Iria grumbled, crossing her arms with a wry face. "And you're one to talk about being reckless. Where do you think I got it from?

Gren smirked, nudging her shoulder lightly. "And yet, here we are with Iria in the big city. So just follow my lead. Easy enough, right?"

Iria rolled her eyes but fell into step beside him. "If he yells at me, I'm blaming you."

"Deal," Gren said with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with humor and affection as they continued toward their destination.

Iria scoffed at Gren's teasing, brushing it off with a dramatic roll of her eyes. But her mock annoyance quickly gave way to amazement as her gaze landed on a massive sliding door ahead. It opened and closed in smooth, rhythmic motions, granting passage to a steady stream of Hunters and suited executives. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the movement and the hum of activity beyond the door. Without a second thought, she grabbed Gren's hand and tugged him along, her enthusiasm propelling them forward at a brisk pace.

"Whoa, slow down!" Gren protested with a laugh, stumbling slightly as she yanked him forward.

Ignoring his plea, Iria quickened her pace, practically dragging him through the now-opening door. As the sleek panels parted, she rushed inside, her boots clicking against the polished floor as her head swiveled to take in every detail of the grand front lobby.

It was a hive of organized chaos. At its heart stood a sprawling reception desk, a commanding presence flanked by glowing holo-screens that projected dynamic data streams and rotating maps in mesmerizing detail. Workers moved with practiced precision, stationed at sleek consoles and computers, their faces bathed in the shifting glow of countless digital displays. The air thrummed softly with the hum of machinery and the murmur of quiet conversations, blending into an orchestrated rhythm of unyielding efficiency. Iria's jaw fell slightly, her wide eyes darting from one station to the next, as she struggled to take in the sheer scale and complexity of it all.

Gren, following close behind, smile at her childlike wonder. "This," he said, gesturing to the bustling room with a casual wave of his hand, "is the front lobby. Simple, right?"

Iria tore her gaze away from the holo-screens just long enough to shoot him a playful smirk. "Simple enough," she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm, though her bright expression betrayed how thrilled she really was.

Gren chuckled, shaking his head. He could tell she was ecstatic to be here, even if she wouldn't admit it outright. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to share in her excitement. But as he watched her, a familiar weight began to settle in his thoughts. His smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

Something wasn't right.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the nagging feeling had been with him ever since the other night at home in the desert. The subtle unease prickled at the back of his mind, and he found his gaze drifting toward the shadowed corners of the lobby. The bustling workers and holographic projections suddenly felt... too polished. Too perfect. He clenched his jaw, his gaze narrowing as he focused on the main desk. A small cluster of Ghomvack and Administration officials stood apart from the bustling workers, their hushed conversation exuding an air of secrecy that felt out of place amidst the orderly activity of people simply doing their jobs. Gren's eyes lingered on them for a moment, his unease growing as he tried to read their body language. Though their words were well beyond earshot, something about the scene didn't sit right with him. Shaking off the thought, he forced his attention back to Iria.

She was still exploring, her attention flitting from one dazzling display to the next, completely unaware of his growing unease.

"Iria," Gren called out to her, his voice more serious now, though he kept his tone even. "Remember what I said—new place, new rules. Stay sharp, alright?"

Iria glanced back at him, her brow furrowing slightly at the shift in his demeanor. "I am staying sharp," she said, her tone defensive but still soft as she firmly planted her hands on her hips. "Don't worry so much, big brother."

Gren smirked at her quip, but the unease weighing on mind refused to fade. His gaze darted around the lobby, his eyes sweeping over the faces and state of those milling about. Workers moved with purpose, their tasks seamless and orderly, but Gren's instincts urged him to look deeper. His attention waver to the sprawling corridors branching out from the grand room, his senses on high alert. Most people seemed perfectly in place—until his gaze landed on the group he'd noticed earlier near the main desk.

The cluster of Ghomvack and Administration officials had finished their intense—albeit inaudible discussion and were now briskly moving toward another group emerging from the shadows of a distant corridor. Gren's eyes narrowed as he studied the newcomers. Their garish navy and red uniforms, complete with small white berets perched atop their heads, were unmistakable. Slung across their chests were large, cylindrical drum-like rifles, suspended by thick straps around their necks. The combination was a dead giveaway.

Tedan Tippedai security, he thought grimly, his confusion sharpening. What were they doing here?

Gren's gaze followed the two groups as they converged briefly, then disappeared down a separate hallway far in the distance, heading to a set of lifts along the passageway. The sinking feeling in his gut deepened, though he quickly forced his expression back to neutral. He reached out instinctively, resting a reassuring hand on Iria's shoulder and gently pulling her closer.

"Just stick close, okay?" he said, his tone even but steady. "I don't want you wandering off in here."

Iria tilted her head back up at him, giving him a curious look. "Why do you always do that?" she asked, her excitement dimming slightly as she caught the subtle tension in his voice."You act like something bad is going to happen."

Gren hesitated for a moment, then gave her a lopsided grin as he pushed his reservations aside for her benefit. "Because I know you," he said lightly, ruffling her hairbeads despite her protests. "You'd find trouble in an empty room."

"Would not!" she shot back, swatting his hand away.

As they ventured deeper into the lobby, Gren's senses heightened, the peculiar sight from earlier leaving him on edge. It felt almost as if he were already on his first contract as a Hunter, every detail around him scrutinized with sharp, instinctive vigilance. The nagging feeling that something—or someone—was watching, refusing to dissipate, lingering at the edges of his awareness. Still, he forced himself to push the thought aside, redirecting his focus to Iria.

Gren's thoughts shifted, reorganizing themselves as his approach changed. If his gut was telling him something was wrong, he needed to lean into that feeling—but do so in a way that kept Iria both safe and unsuspecting. There was no point in alarming her if he could avoid it.

"Care to prove me wrong again?" Gren asked casually, his tone light, though his eyes carried a flicker of something more serious. He was hearkening back to the previous day during their target practice, a challenge she had enthusiastically risen to.

Iria's large brown eyes shot up to him with anticipation, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her smooth face steeled with a confident smirk, ready for Gren's challenge once more. "I'm ready for anything!"

Gren smirked and gestured toward a quiet spot in the lobby. "Then you won't mind sitting here for a few minutes."

"What?!" Her smile dissolved into a pouty frown over the generally unremarkable request, her arm crossing her chest in a discourteous huff. "That's it?!"

"I have a few things to take care of," Gren said, shrugging and flashing her an easy smile. "Getting promoted isn't exactly a walk in the park, you know."

"You just don't want me to have any kind of fun today, do you?" she asked, half jeeringly though, as Gren could tell, half serious as well.

"This is way more than some empty room," he chided. "Let me check on a few things and prove me wrong. Afterwards, I'll find Bob. Then I promise to give you the grand tour after. Deal?"

Iria sighed in indistinct boredom, clearly not thrilled at the idea of waiting around for him, but relented. "Fine…"

Gren reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately yet again, a move that, as always, coaxed a reluctant smile from her. "I'll hurry back, so just wait here. No wandering."

Iria plopped herself down in a nearby chair, her boots scuffed back and forth against the floor in mild irritation, though the hint of a smile still lingered on her lips. Satisfied she was settled, Gren turned and began making his way down one of the ornately decorated corridors, his footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floor.

The moment he slipped out of her line of sight, Gren's easygoing façade fell away. His jaw tightened, and his shoulders drew taut as the gnawing unease he'd been suppressing surged to the surface. It was becoming impossible to ignore. Something was wrong—he could feel it, the ominous pressing heavier with each passing minute. His instincts roared in warning, a primal alarm he couldn't shake. Yet, he forced himself to bury it once more. Iria couldn't see this from him.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, his gaze softening as it fell upon her in the distance. She sat swinging her legs idly, her attention momentarily drawn to one of the glowing holo-screens on the wall. She seemed perfectly at ease, blissfully untouched by the tempest churning within his mind. The thought of leaving her alone gnawed at him, tugging at a part of him he could barely suppress. Yet he reminded himself that she was safe here—this place was, after all, as impenetrable as a fortress. Still, the reassurance did little to quell the unease twisting like a thorn inside him.

Was it her? Gren wondered, his thoughts tangled. Is it just my nerves, worrying about her being here? Or… is it something else entirely?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his focus back to the path ahead. Whatever was stirring this malaise, he needed to uncover it—and fast. Iria didn't need to know. His responsibility, above all else, was to protect her, to shield her from the shadows of his world for as long as he could.

His eyes swept the corridors ahead, alert and calculating, as his hand drifted instinctively to hover near the hilt of his sidearm. The gleaming surfaces and ornate gilding of the Administration Headquarters, once impressive, now felt stifling, their grandeur a thin veneer over the tension that clung to the air. Gren's jaw tightened once more, a resolve hardening within him as he prepared for whatever lay ahead.

"Hey there, buddy!" a gruff, gravelly voice rang out nearby, yanking Gren from his thoughts like an unwelcome jolt.

Gren exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes as he came to a reluctant halt. The nagging sensation that someone had been watching him earlier now crystallized into certainty, though the confirmation couldn't have come at a worse moment—or from a more insufferable source. He recognized the voice immediately. How could he not?

Turning slowly, Gren fixed his gaze on the figure sauntering toward him, suppressing a groan. The man was taller than him, with a disheveled, rugged look that practically shouted "old-school Hunter," though there was something undeniably slimy about his presence. His green-tipped, spiky black hair jutted out in disorderly directions, a greasy sheen catching the light, while a long, tangled ponytail hung limply at the back of his head. A stubby beard framed his wide, crooked nose, which had clearly been broken more than once.

His attire was just as unkempt—loose, ragged clothing that hung awkwardly on his lanky frame and simple gear that had long passed its prime. A short-stocked shotgun rested lazily over his shoulder, its worn barrel a testament to years of rough use. But it was the man's grin that sealed the image—a cocky, lopsided smirk brimming with smug self-assurance, as though the entire world existed purely for his amusement. The faint glint in his eyes hinted at a sharpness that put Gren further on edge.

Gren fixed him with a cold, cutting glare, his expression laced with quiet disdain. "What do you want, Fujikuro?" he asked flatly, his voice sharp enough to slice through the man's unendurable bravado.

Fujikuro smirked, stepping closer as he scratched at his scruffy, patchy beard and mustache. His swagger was as gratingly confident as ever. "Sheesh, kid! Can't a guy congratulate an old buddy on earning his stripes around here?" he said with a lazy shrug, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. That smug, self-satisfied air of his—one of Fujikuro's many irksome trademarks—had a way of making Gren's patience wear thin. And today was no exception.

Gren folded his arms over his cloaked chest, his brow furrowing. He wasn't about to let himself get drawn into Fujikuro's games. Bob had warned him about men like this, and Gren had taken the lesson to heart.

"Let me guess," Gren said coolly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "You're thrilled about my promotion because it's well-deserved—or because it gives you another Hunter's keep to poach?"

Fujikuro's smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, before his bushy brow furrowed in mock indignation. Raising a hand in an exaggerated gesture of innocence, he chuckled low, his voice rasping. "Whoa, easy there," he drawled, the faintest edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. "You accusing me of being a bounty jumper, Hunter Gren?"

Gren's gaze didn't waver, his expression unyielding. With a faint shrug of his shoulders, he replied smoothly, "If the boot fits…"

Fujikuro barked out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as though the accusation was utterly beneath him. "You've got it all wrong, kid. I don't jump bounties—I just help things along, make sure the job gets done, you know?" His grin widened, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the darker truth wrapped in his words.

Gren's expression remained unyielding, cold as ice. "If that's the story you want to tell yourself…"

"Hey, someone's gotta pick up the slack when these rookies drop the ball," Fujikuro retorted, his tone smug as his eyes raked over Gren with a scornful once-over. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a sharper, more stinging edge. "And with the way you're glaring at me right now, kid," he continued, his gaze narrowing, "I can't help but wonder—when exactly did this rookie decide to drop his?"

The tension between them thickened, almost palpable, as the two stood locked in a silent standoff. Gren's stance remained steady, his instincts on high alert, while Fujikuro's deceptively casual demeanor was betrayed by the subtle twitch of his fingers against the grip of his rifle. Yet Gren did not flinch, and he saw the faintest flicker of hesitation creep into the older Hunter's stance.

"Besides," Fujikuro muttered, leaning back in a feigned gesture of ease. His accusatory finger, however, jabbed sharply toward Gren. "Maybe I wouldn't be so hard up for Kem if your bald-headed boss over at Ghomvack threw me a decent case every now and then…"

Gren remained as still as a sentinel, his expression as rigid and unyielding as stone. He refused to rise to Fujikuro's bait, fully aware of the grizzled Hunter's tactics. Fujikuro thrived on gamesmanship, cycling through his arsenal of provocations in search of the one that would finally pierce his opponent's defenses. But Gren's resolve held firm, his composure unshaken.

"Who's the chick…?"

….and then Fujikuro struck.

The sudden question sliced through the tense silence, its casual delivery belying the sly malice lurking beneath. Fujikuro's smirk twisted into something slick and oily, his voice laced with faux curiosity that barely masked the predatory gleam in his eyes. Gren felt a flicker of hesitation tug at his focus, the calculated shift catching him just enough to break the rhythm of his thoughts. Fujikuro's aim was clear—dig deeper, find the crack, and exploit it.

Gren's jaw tightened as he cast a brief glance over his shoulder toward the central lobby where he had left Iria. His teeth ground together, the urge to lash out at the older Hunter rising with each provocation. But he forced himself to remain composed, though his patience had frayed to its breaking point.

"She's my sister," Gren said, his voice a low, deliberate growl. "So stay away from her."

Fujikuro arched a brow, his lips curling into a sly smirk as he regarded Gren with feigned surprise. "A sister?" he drawled, the word dripping with mock incredulity. "Now, that's interesting… You've never mentioned her before."

Gren's muscles tensed, but he held his tongue, his eyes fixed on Fujikuro's face as he tried to gauge the man's intent. The older Hunter's grin widened, his gaze flicking briefly toward the lobby before returning to Gren, sharp with thinly veiled malice.

"Curious…" Fujikuro continued, his voice as smooth and slippery as oil. He stroked his long, scruffy mustache, his tone light yet laced with an unmistakable edge. "She doesn't look much like you, does she?" He let the insinuation linger, his faux-innocent expression barely masking his true intent.

Gren's fists clenched beneath his cloak, his temper held on a fragile leash. He knew Fujikuro's game all too well. The man wasn't just a scoundrel—he was an opportunist, a predator who thrived on exploiting weaknesses. Bob's warnings echoed in his mind: Fujikuro's record of bounty jumping, underhanded dealings, and habitual misconduct was well-known. Yet, somehow, the man always managed to skate just beneath the Administration's radar. Gren knew better than to give him even a sliver of truth.

"She's my sister," Gren repeated, his voice sharper, daring Fujikuro to press further.

The older Hunter chuckled softly, raising his hands in counterfeit surrender. "Relax, kid," he said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just making an observation." He leaned in slightly, his tone turning sly, his gaze gleaming with a predatory glint. "But you're so tense. Makes me wonder… is there more to this story than you're letting on?"

"Drop it," Gren said through gritted teeth, his voice low and firm.

"Sure, sure," Fujikuro replied breezily, though his smirk remained firmly in place. He turned slightly, his expression one of contented satisfaction. "Just a little friendly conversation between old buddies."

Despite his words, his gaze flicked once more toward the lobby, a brief glance that made Gren's stomach twist. Fujikuro was a snake—coiled, calculating, and ready to strike when least expected. Whatever interest he had in Iria wasn't innocent, and Gren could feel it.

"Got her all knitted out too, huh?" Fujikuro said with a sardonic whistle, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the lobby. His tone was heavy with mock concern as he clicked his tongue. "Little Ghomvack starter kit? A pretty girl like that, getting into this line of work? Dangerous game, Gren. Especially with all these bounty jumpers crawling around…"

Gren's fists tightened beneath his cloak, his frustration smoldering just under the surface.

"But 'stay away from her'? What kind of talk is that?" Fujikuro pressed, his grin widening into something lecherous. "I think I should at least go say hello to the sister of the famed Hunter Gren. Don't you think?"

Gren's eyes darkened, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp edge. "I didn't stutter. Stay the hell away from her. Clear?"

Fujikuro's brow arched slightly, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Or what…?" he asked, his tone daring as he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of challenge. He let out a low, taunting chuckle before turning away, his posture radiating self-satisfied indifference.

"Suit yourself, rook'," he said over his shoulder as he strolled toward the parking deck door. His tone turned darker, the threat in his words veiled but unmistakable. "But if I were you… I wouldn't forget to watch your own back while you're so busy watching hers."

The words lingered like a cloud of smoke, heavy and suffocating, as Fujikuro spun on his heel and disappeared through the exit.

Gren stood frozen for a moment, his jaw clenched tight as he watched the man leave. His fists ached with the urge to strike, but he forced his ire down. The sinking feeling in his gut only deepened. Turning inward, he began to plan—his mind racing with ways to ensure Fujikuro stayed far from Iria, no matter what it took.

"Asshole," Gren muttered under his breath, his dark eyes fixed on the door through which Fujikuro had disappeared. His frustration simmered, but he forced himself to take a steady breath. Just as he began to steady his nerves, a sharp, blaring alarm pierced the air, cutting through the ambient hum of the lobby. A rhythmic red light began flashing overhead, casting the polished walls in a harsh, urgent glow.

The sudden noise jolted Gren to full alertness. What now…? His head snapped upward in surprise as a calm yet commanding female voice echoed crisply through the comm system.

Attention: all available security personnel report to Transit Station 3 on Level B-2 immediately. All unauthorized persons are hereby ordered to exit Level B-2. Repeat: all available security personnel report to Transit Station 3 on Level B-2 immediately…

Gren froze, his mind racing as the announcement began looping. The strain in the air thickened, mirrored by the hurried movements of guards sprinting past him. Their boots thudded heavily against the sleek floor as they made their way toward the lifts that would take them to the lower levels—the same direction the Tedan Tippedai officer had come from earlier.

Of all the times… Gren thought bitterly, his gut churning. The eroding ease he'd carried since their arrival was now screaming at him. Could this be what his instincts had been warning about? His jaw tightened as his gaze darted across the lobby, locking onto Iria.

She was standing now, her wide brown eyes fixed on him, worry etched across her face. For a moment, Gren's resolve faltered. He couldn't take her with him—not into whatever chaos was unfolding on B-2. But leaving her here, alone and vulnerable, clawed at his conscience. Fujikuro's taunts and veiled threats still lingered in his mind like an unwelcome shadow.

Iria stood frozen amidst the chaos, the blaring alarm and swirling crowds pulling at her already-frayed nerves. She bit her lip in frustration, her feet shifting as though she might bolt toward him. But hesitation rooted her in place as she glanced around the growing tumult of the lobby.

"Iria!" Gren's voice cut sharply through the din, snapping her attention to him as he moved swiftly toward the lifts.

Her lips parted in protest, but before she could speak, he pointed firmly to the chair she'd vacated. "Sit there and don't move!" he barked, his tone harsher than he intended, though urgency left him no time to temper it.

"But—" she began, her voice rising in defiance as her hands balled into fists, caught between fear and concern.

"No!" Gren's voice cracked like a whip, leaving no room for argument. "Stay here!"

Already halfway across the room, he threw her one last look, his expression a mixture of determination and apology, before weaving through the crowd and slipping into the elevator behind the rushing guards.

As the doors slid closed, sealing him within the metallic confines of the lift, Gren's mind sharpened into a laser focus. Whatever awaited on Level B-2, he was walking straight into it.