"You always say that, anytime I come to see you. And mind you, I'm always the one who visits." I had meant for my voice to carry a reprimanding tone, but instead, it was warm. Like the smile on my lips.
We both walked into the room whose door reminded me of the metal door that I had punched. The one that blistered my knuckles. They might've been of the same material.
Speaking of blistered knuckles. Surprisingly, I didn't even have to flex my muscles. Those bastards were a lot weaker than I thought they would be. They couldn't even stomach my pressure.
But then again, there was no way a bunch of rank 10s and 9s would be able to.
But these gentlemen that my gaze scanned in this room might have been able to put up a fight.
"I know I always say that. But this time, I mean it. I even sent a trusted man of mine to track your location. He should be in the building by now." Mangé said. But, I didn't pay much attention to his words as my gaze was focused on the room before me.
This room appeared slightly more furnished than the other. It also had various rows of metal tables, but the tables weren't as much as the ones in the other room.
On these tables sat men who were dressed in the same shades of grey that Mangé donned. But those grey clothes weren't necessarily coats. They were dressed in different types of clothes, all grey.
Although, I couldn't see the backsides of their clothes. But on the backside of Mangé's, there was that same printed image of a black jagged skull that I saw at the back of Fero's white shirt.
These men didn't even glance at me; they all went on with their activities. Faint laughter, drinks and discussions.
They didn't bother to intimidate me with their Te. But even without them flaunting it, I could feel their different Te. Their Te all had different qualities, qualities that defined their very being and differentiated them from other human males.
No Te of two different people could possess the same quality and texture. Like how no fingerprint of two different people could ever be the same.
These guys numbered up to about twenty or so, much less than the about fifty guys in the other room. And it seemed like they were the real deal. These were the ones that could've been able to withstand my Te pressure, and I would have had to think twice before engaging in a fight with all of them.
"But that kid locked the door with a metal padlock before we came in, so how could it be possible that your 'trusted' man arrived in the building just now?" I asked, still walking alongside him toward an area in this room that seemed like a bar where a long wooden counter stretched, and behind the counter, different drinks were stacked.
"Ha! You ask too many questions, Stel. We, the members of our gang, have a separate way of entering the building. Different from the way a guest might enter. And, before you ask. No. I'm not telling you what that separate way is." Mangé exclaimed, this time, his voice sounded rather annoyed. Although it just made me chuckle.
Annoying this guy's always fun.
"Fine, I wasn't even going to ask. But you seem like a terrible boss, you know. Tasking a teenager to be the guard of your nonsense floating fortress." I pressed.
We arrived at the bar area, and Mangé took a seat on one of the long metallic chairs in front of the counter. And I did the same.
He tapped the table loudly with his knuckle. I thought of it as a signal to the bartender or something.
"So you knew I was the boss, huh?" He asked, his gaze focused on the stacks of drinks behind the counter.
"I would be a fool not to notice."
"Not like you aren't."
A cheap shot.
"Excuse me?"
"I said that boy, Fero, isn't to be underestimated. He has a combat-focused Til that's sure to grow above rank 9 one day. And I'm not exactly sure, but I think his Til is in the striker division. Plus… he has a plasma pistol." He shrugged.
He lied, that's not what he said, but it now makes sense that the boy is their 'guard', I guess. Striker Tils are focused on direct, physical offense. And their powers are applied to a single target or a small area. So if he's diligent with his training and his Til grows, then he could someday become a force to be reckoned with.
"Oh," I exclaimed dryly. My voice lacked any atom of interest.
"Quit the forced interest. Why did you come looking for me?" He asked.
At that same moment, a young man who I assumed to be the bartender walked in from behind the counter with a bottle of whiskey. He dropped the bottle on the table and quickly grabbed two glasses from behind the counter, preparing to pour the drinks for us.
My gaze flickered away from him, resting on Mangé's own green gaze that locked onto mine.
Now, it's time to start playing my cards.
"I'm your friend, Mangé. We've known each other since we were eight. I think I can visit my friend just to catch up over some whiskey, can't I?" I asked, nodding as I grabbed the glass of whiskey that the bartender handed over to me and Mangé.
"But I should be asking you that question. You said you sent your trusted man to track me down." I took a bitter sip of the whiskey. It tasted like brewed urine that had been left to sour. But I didn't grimace. "For what reason?"
Mangé took his eyes off of me once again, turning to face his men gathered at the rows of tables. Then, he snapped his fingers, and they all paused their activities and turned their heads toward him.
As they did, he gestured at them with his hand to leave the room. And in no less than a minute, they all left the room.
Then, after taking a sip of his own, Mangé grimaced and dropped his glass on the counter, his green eyes finding mine as he began to speak in the newfound absolute silence: "Well, you see…"