Inside the soundproof arena, Duke Moses stood like a statue. He weighed the prototype pistol in his right hand, his mind churning over the insane offer that had just fallen from the young man's lips.
His thoughts moved with a cold, predatory logic, mapping the labyrinth of whatever scheme this boy—this suspected Prince—was weaving. Six months of free distribution was no small compensation, and Moses knew that a favor of that magnitude never came with a simple price tag.
Ren broke the silence. His voice was low and steady, betraying none of the pain from the physical blow he'd taken moments before.
"I'm told you are the newest member of the Loyalist Faction," Ren began. His eyes—crimson and piercing without their contact lenses—locked onto Moses. "And I need your vote within the council. For the sake of the CLOVER Survival Idols."
Moses fell silent. Memories of his invitation into that elite circle flickered through his mind. Truthfully, he couldn't care less about the entertainment system Zero had engineered. He had joined the Loyalists at the Architect's request for one reason only: to dissect the mechanics of Rich City's politics from the inside. It was a strategic move to solidify his standing as a nouveau-riche noble.
But Moses was no fool. He saw exactly where the wind was blowing. In the CLOVER competition, the Loyalist Faction's endorsement was the difference between a candidate's rise and their burial. Until now, Moses had cast his votes at random, a trivial gesture he often forgot—like last month, when he'd been too consumed with rage over the Santino family blocking his custom pistol shipments to even bother.
Moses leaned forward, the brim of his hat casting a sharp shadow over his gaunt face. He looked dangerous. "You want me to back one of the girls?"
Ren gave a single, curt nod. Brief, but absolute.
"Your girlfriend, I assume?" Moses smirked, testing the waters, looking for a crack in the boy's frozen mask.
Ren let out a sharp, dry exhale and turned his gaze toward the cold concrete wall. "Candidate 07. She needs the center position, Duke. That is all you need to ensure," he replied icily.
He ignored the bait entirely. For Ren, this was a mission, a tactical necessity. He wouldn't let Rena's name be dragged into Moses's gutter-tier mockery.
Moses didn't answer. Instead, he raised the prototype Ren had tuned, aimed it at a target at the far end of the room, and squeezed the trigger in a rapid-fire blur.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The shots thundered in the confined space. Every bullet tore through the exact center of the target with terrifying precision. Moses lowered the weapon, staring at the wisp of smoke curling from the barrel with a trace of genuine admiration.
"Casting a vote is easy for me," Moses said, his voice dropping into a heavy, authoritative register. "But I live by a set of principles. And I refuse to do business with a ghost whose identity is shrouded in fog."
"I'm with the Santino family. You've been doing business with them for years, Duke," Ren countered flatly. He felt he'd said enough. He turned toward the heavy steel door, intending to vanish without leaving behind a single name that could link him to his past.
But Ren's boots clicked to a halt as a jagged sentence cut through the silence like a scalpel.
"If I recall correctly," Moses began, his tone deceptively casual, "your mother was arrested on charges of genetic forgery. Specifically regarding that silver hair of yours. So, was the accusation true? Was she so desperate for a royal legacy that she faked your bloodline?"
Ren's eyes snapped shut. His fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms, drawing blood. He didn't care if he was insulted or beaten to a pulp, but hearing his mother's name dragged into the mud awakened a monster in his chest. The "genetic forgery" charge was a grand lie, a fiction conjured by the Crown to dispose of an innocent woman who knew too much.
Ren's mind was a storm. To react emotionally was to practically admit he was Henry's son. But to stay silent felt like a second betrayal of his mother's honor.
In the wreckage between survival and soul, Ren chose the latter. He wouldn't let the Kingdom's lies win today.
"My mother," Ren said, his voice trembling with a suppressed, absolute fury, "never told a lie in her life."
Moses narrowed his red eyes, a flash of victory crossing his face. "Then tell me. What is the name of this 'Prince of the Marble Kingdom'?"
With his breath coming in shallow gasps and his heart drumming against his ribs beneath his black suit, Ren slowly turned around. He looked directly into Moses's eyes, finally letting the dormant, regal aura of the Marble line bleed through his every pore.