EX: Nightmare

Seeing that she had Westen's full attention, the wild white-haired girl took a deep breath and said softly,

"Will. I will."

Westen nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, grabbed her by the waist, and leapt.

She gasped. Her breath caught in her throat.

By the time she registered what happened, they were already on a rooftop.

The silence was different here. Distant.

The building stood five stories tall, overlooking the narrow warehouse zone below.

Westen sat down, resting his arms on his knees, and gestured for her to do the same. She sat beside him, cautiously.

"This'll keep us off their radar for a while… and give us a view of what happens next,"

He said.

"Well then. Let's get to business. But first—tell me what I'm walking into. Spare me the whole 'it's better if you don't know' speech. I want the full picture before I commit. Understood?"

The girl nodded, still shaken. She took a moment to steady her breathing. The wind pressed against her skin, but it wasn't cold—just sharp.

Below, the warehouse was being surrounded. Police vehicles. Shouts. Lights.

"My name is Vexia Mirelune,"

She began quietly.

"I come from the Mirelune family in the West. We are… or we were an S-tier family. Meaning… we had a few S-ranks among us."

Her voice faltered. She looked away. But she continued.

"We had a secret heirloom… an artifact. It's SSS-rank. Passed down from the time of our ancestor—who was also SSS-rank. That artifact is still hidden."

She clenched her fists, trembling.

"One of our rival families discovered our secret. They orchestrated our downfall. Publicly. Brutally. They used forged evidence to justify everything."

She was weeping now. She tried to speak clearly, but her voice cracked.

"Our allies couldn't move. The pressure was too much. My family… was slaughtered. But before the end, the elders helped me escape. I might be the last one left."

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her torn dress.

"The artifact doesn't matter to me right now. I just… I need to live. To grow stronger. To take revenge. Our bloodline must continue… and one more thing—they don't know I'm here. They also don't know where the treasury is. Our family was famous for our mana formation arts."

She finished. Her words stumbled near the end, but Weston could tell she'd given her all to say them. There was a long silence between them before he finally spoke.

"…Do you have money?"

Vexia, who had just finished wiping her tears, froze. Her red-rimmed eyes blinked in disbelief.

"Money? The artifact is SSS-rank, you know."

"That may be true,"

Westen said flatly,

"but I can't use something I can't wield. Money's more useful. A lot more. So—do you have it?"

She was too stunned to respond. After a pause, she gave a quiet nod.

"How much are we talking?"

He asked.

"…A few hundred trillion,"

She whispered, with a mix of pride and grief.

"Our family's heritage spans 209 years."

Westen let out a low whistle.

"Liquid assets or..?"

"No. It's all locked in physical assets and coded caches. My accounts are compromised—they'd track any transaction."

Westen nodded, closing his eyes. He sat still for a while, just listening. Down below, the chaos had only grown—news reporters, sirens, shouting. Some of the girls were being questioned. Confusion spread like fog through the streets.

Finally, Westen opened his eyes.

"Alright,"

He said,

"You've got my attention. I'll do it. But from this point on, you follow my lead. No questions, no hesitation. If I say jump, you jump. Got it?"

Vexia looked at him, breathing heavy. Then she nodded.

"Good,"

Westen said, holding out his hand.

"When we get back to my place, we'll seal it properly. For now, this'll do."

She stared at his hand… then reached out and shook it.

"Alright,"

Westen muttered.

"Now we wait until this mess dies down. Wouldn't be good if anyone spots us."

He leaned back, stretching.

"Oh, and I'm Westen, by the way. Weston Vale."

Vexia nodded again. She was too tired to respond, but she repeated his name in her heart.

Once.

Twice.

Just enough to not forget. She felt that she would have to spend a long time with this man.

***

The crowd didn't fully disperse until much later in the afternoon. The sun was already dipping past the horizon, bleeding orange and gold across the sky like the last breath of a dying fire.

Westen held Vexia by her waist as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Her body was tense against his, her cheeks burning crimson.

But Westen's expression remained unreadable—focused, detached. To him, her warmth was incidental, not intentional.

Eventually, he halted in a quiet alleyway. The world here was dim, narrow, and lined with the stale scent of rusted pipes and old stone.

He released her waist and stepped away without a word, pulling down his hood and placing his mask back into its concealed pocket. His silver-blonde hair spilled out messily.

Vexia's breath caught.

She hadn't expected this. Not someone so… sharp-edged and beautiful. Almost inhumanly so. The kind of face one doesn't see in crowds—too clear, too cruel, too clean. Her heart beat in strange patterns.

Westen didn't notice—or didn't care. He ran his fingers through his hair with a quick combing motion, fixing it with habitual precision.

"Let's go,"

He said. His voice was flat.

They walked. Twisting alleys turned to wider roads. Cracked pavements merged with mana-powered streetlights. At the intersection of quiet and neon, Westen stopped a passing taxi, and the two climbed in.

He gave the driver the address.

The ride was silent—eerily so. One of the advantages of mana-powered hover cars: not even the engine dared disturb the quiet.

Vexia sat stiffly. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her robe. Westen simply stared out the window, his expression unreadable as dusk turned to night.

They arrived at an apartment building not far from the city's mid-tier district. Westen paid the driver and stepped out first.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and late summer dust. He approached the main gate, held his ID up to the scanner, and the door slid open with a low mechanical hum.

He registered Vexia as an "acquaintance."

The system acknowledged her with a soft chime.

They rode the lift to the ninth floor. Westen silently noted how odd it was—they hadn't encountered a single soul on the way up. Westen somehow felt like an abandoned dog. He knew people of this apartment were mostly from outside, but didn't know to this extents. The building felt hollow, almost forgotten. Like it too was holding its breath.

He stopped in front of a modest metal door. One swipe of his passcard. The lock clicked open.

Lights flickered on as they stepped in.

It was warm inside. Lived-in, but quiet. Clean, but not polished. Vexia stepped in cautiously, her bare feet pressing into the tiled floor. Her heart was loud in her chest—louder than the silence.

This was the first time she had been alone in a man's house.

Ever.

Westen didn't look back.

"Go take a shower,"

He said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway.

"Common bathroom's on the left."

She blinked.

"And tell me your size,"

He added.

"My mom's stuff won't fit."

Vexia turned to him, her brows furrowed with unease. There was something so... casual about the way he said it. Her gaze lingered on him as he sat down, thumbing through something on his phone.

Westen narrowed his eyes when he noticed her expression.

"What? You think I meant your bra size? Seriously?"

He said, voice calm but sharp.

"What would I even do with that? I meant your clothes, obviously. You can't just wear the same thing over and over."

He paused. Glanced at her.

"But on second thought,"

He added,

"Tell me that too. I'll get a full set."

Then, without another word, he returned to his screen, fingers tapping.

Vexia stood there, mouth slightly open, unsure whether to be offended or relieved. Her ears were red.

She gave her sizes in a quiet voice, tripping over some words, embarrassed by how clinical it all felt in front of his blank, unaffected face.

Then she walked to the bathroom.

The door closed behind her with a muted click.

She stood in front of the mirror for a long time, just staring at herself. Her reflection looked tired, hollow-eyed. She touched her own cheek. Cold.

Steam slowly began to fill the space as the water turned hot. She stepped under it, and for the first time in weeks, let herself breathe.

The water scalded slightly—but it felt good. Her body relaxed, her mind unraveled. Thoughts came loose. Faces. Screams. Dust. Blood. Escape.

That man. Westen. His indifferent Red eyes. His voice, stripped of emotion. Her own desperate plea echoing in her ears.

She clenched her fists against the tile.

But the shower was clean. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and citrus. She hadn't felt clean in days. Weeks, maybe. Not like this.

When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she saw something placed neatly on the floor in front of the door.

New clothes.

Folded. Unworn. Still carrying the faint scent of the store's mana-preserving seal.

-To Be Continued