The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of a bottle cap bouncing across the floor.
Then—a sudden jolt.
Yan Yansheng's eyes snapped open. The chair creaked beneath him as he instinctively pulled at the ropes binding his wrists and ankles.
"Tch—!" His muscles screamed, but his strength felt drained, sluggish, like he'd been dipped in syrup.
The cold sweat trailing down his neck wasn't from fear—but realization.
"...Poison."
His voice rasped out in disbelief.
He tried to surge forward again, only for the chair to wobble slightly, ropes biting tighter into his wrists.
From across the room, lounging on the opposite chair, Howard took another lazy swig from his third can of beer.
He was still in his female form, long black hair cascading over his shoulders, oversized white shirt slipping off one side.
His red eyes glimmered with amusement.
"You're finally awake," Howard said, lowering the can with a sigh.
"Was starting to think I overdid it."
Yan Yansheng narrowed his eyes.
"What the hell is going on? Who are you?"
Howard tilted his head, then gestured vaguely with the can.
"Captured you. Need data. You're the key to bypassing your company's internal security net. Figured the best way was to go through the source directly."
Yan Yansheng stared, then burst into a dry, bitter laugh.
"Mercenaries," he scoffed.
"You people think you can just walk in, pull something like this, and expect to live? When I get out of here—"
Howard cracked open a fourth can without even blinking.
"Yeah, yeah. Tortured, buried, dogs fed with my corpse. Real scary." He lifted the can in mock salute.
"Cheers."
His red eyes slid sideways, gesturing with his chin toward the young Lupo man with long white hair, unconscious and bruised, lying on the floor.
Yan Yansheng froze.
His lips parted.
"…That's not possible," he muttered, his voice dropping.
"You… you caught him?"
Howard didn't even need to nod.
The Hybrid's identity was obvious from his features alone.
The room fell into a loaded silence.
The tension snapped as Yan Yansheng leaned forward slightly, as much as the ropes allowed.
"…Alright. Listen. You don't know what you're dealing with. That man—he wasn't supposed to exist outside the deeper districts. He's one of the Projects."
"Oh?" Howard said, stretching with a yawn.
"Then I guess we're both breaking rules."
Yan Yansheng's eyes sharpened.
"I can help you. I mean it. You want to get through my family's firewall? You'll need more than a data spike and brute force. I know the codes. I can patch you in—but you'll have to let me go after."
Howard glanced at the screen—still frozen on a security feed image of the explosion.
Then at Yan.
And for a moment, the laziness faded from his expression. His voice turned cold.
"… You think I haven't heard that line before?"
Yan Yansheng's throat tightened.
Howard's red eyes burned in the dim light.
"But…" he continued, letting the silence linger,
"You've got five minutes to convince me. If you're lying, I'll let him wake up and decide how useful you are."
He tilted his head toward the Hybrid's unconscious form again.
Yan Yansheng went pale.
"…Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Then let's talk terms."
***
"I accept."
The words came with quiet resignation, a truce forged in necessity.
Howard gave a small nod and stood from the chair, walking behind Yan Yansheng without a word.
With a single tap of his fingers, he struck a precise nerve point, causing the young heir to slump forward—unconscious once more.
A long breath escaped Howard's lips.
"You can stop pretending now."
Across the room, the body of the white-haired man—the hybrid—stirred.
The act of sleep melted away as he sat up slowly, powerful muscles shifting beneath torn sleeves.
Even in human form, his presence was overwhelming—tall, broad, and unnaturally composed, the air around him still humming faintly with residual repulsion arts.
"How did you know?" the man asked.
Howard smiled, red eyes narrowing.
"Graham. That's your name."
The hybrid flinched.
But he didn't attack.
Howard watched him carefully, fingers twitching near his side, ready to summon flame—but Graham only lowered his head.
"I won't fight you," he said at last. "I can't win."
Howard blinked, momentarily taken aback.
That was when the door creaked open, and Hoshiguma stepped in, holding a steaming box in one hand.
The scent of melted cheese and roasted toppings filled the air.
"Got the pizza," she said, her tone light but her eyes quietly scanning the room.
Howard dropped onto the couch with a sigh and gestured toward Graham.
"He's awake."
Without missing a beat, Hoshiguma popped the box open and grabbed a paper plate.
She glanced toward Graham.
"Do you like pizza?"
Graham stared. Slowly, he walked over, still tense—but the smell seemed to pull him forward like a memory he never had.
Howard passed him a slice.
"You're… feeding me?" Graham asked, confused.
"Even after what I did?"
Howard leaned back and took a bite of his own slice, speaking mid-chew.
"I know your heart."
He pulled a small, glimmering device from the coffee table—a metal disc with branching lines and a black, crystalline core.
"Found this inside your brain," he said. "It was controlling you."
Graham's eyes widened.
"That's…"
Howard nodded.
"A neural override. Whoever put it there didn't want you to have a choice. But I do things a little differently."
His tone darkened. "Took a bit of effort, but my body's cell manipulation let me root it out without killing you."
Graham stood frozen, fingers twitching at his sides.
"…I never knew," he whispered.
"The thoughts… the rage… I thought that was just what I was."
"It wasn't."
He sat down, finally, taking a bite—and his entire posture softened.
His eyes flickered, blinking rapidly as the taste hit.
"…This is warm," he muttered. "Savory… sweet…"
There was a long silence. Then:
"…I've never tasted food before. Not like this."
Howard smiled faintly, watching him.
Hoshiguma took a seat at the edge of the couch, leaning forward with a small chuckle.
"Welcome to Lungmen," she said.
Howard tilted his head back.
"Yan Yansheng woke up. We struck a deal. Tomorrow, we'll get what we need from his data cache."
He paused for a moment, then looked at Graham again.
"I've got an idea," he said. "Graham, want to join me?"
Graham looked up slowly, startled.
"…You want me? After all I've done?"
"You don't have a home anymore, right?"
There was no judgment in Howard's voice. Just honesty.
Graham clenched his jaw… then slowly nodded.
"…Then I'll follow you."
Howard smiled. "Congratulations. You're one of us now."
They clinked their soda cans and shared another quiet bite of pizza.
But behind that warm smile, Howard's red eyes lingered on Graham with something deeper.
A quiet sadness
Something unspoken
A weight he couldn't share.
***
The warm glow of late afternoon bathed Lungmen's upper districts as the trio made their way through the bustling shopping arcade.
It wasn't quite a mission, not yet—but Howard had insisted they prepare Graham for "civilian integration," which apparently meant picking out clothes that didn't scream monster with a murder count in the double digits.
Graham had never looked more uncomfortable.
They walked into a sleek, modern clothing store—rows of jackets, coats, and shoes gleaming under soft lighting.
Hoshiguma immediately veered off toward a rack with folded shirts, already matching colors in her mind.
Howard, back in his usual male form—tousled black hair, relaxed jacket, crimson eyes scanning the room with half-lidded boredom—tossed a look at Graham.
"You're not going to wear those shredded pants forever," he muttered.
"You'd scare off everyone before we even start the next plan."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to wear,"
Graham grumbled, eyeing the nearest mannequin like it had offended him.
Howard smirked.
"That's why we're here."
A few minutes later, Graham stepped out of the changing room in his first outfit: a fitted black turtleneck, long grey coat, and dark slacks that tapered into sturdy boots.
"…He looks like a fashion-forward bodyguard," Howard commented, sipping on the iced coffee he'd picked up from the shop across the street.
Hoshiguma nodded with a smile.
"It suits him."
Graham looked down at himself. "It's… tight."
"That's called a good fit," Howard said.
"Not everything needs to hang off you like a curtain."
They tried again. Next was a dark maroon sweater and charcoal overcoat, the collar high enough to frame his sharp jawline.
Graham ran a hand through his long white hair—clean now, freshly brushed—his golden eyes glancing awkwardly to the mirror.
"…I look like one of those Lungmen office elites."
Howard raised a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Then came the absurd ones.
Hoshiguma snuck in a floral shirt just to mess with him.
Graham stood in the changing room doorway like a lost tourist, looking offended on a spiritual level.
"I'm not wearing this."
Howard nearly spat out his drink laughing.
Finally, they settled on a look—a dark navy coat with a high collar, combat-ready boots, and fingerless gloves that matched the metallic tones of the city's skyline.
Something that felt like Graham but still let him walk around without sending civilians into a panic.
Howard stood beside him at the checkout counter as they paid.
"You look less like a walking disaster now," he said.
"That's a win."
Graham glanced at him. "…Thanks. For this."
Howard blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice.
Then he smiled and tossed an arm around Graham's shoulder.
"Don't get too sentimental. We're grabbing hot pot after this."
From the side, Hoshiguma watched them with folded arms and a hidden grin.
The strange little family was growing