“Understood,” the man in the black trench coat replied coolly.
…Of course he didn’t care. This had nothing to do with him, after all. He was just a good Samaritan stepping in when someone needed help. Naturally, Chi Zhan couldn’t let him take responsibility for the damage.
Still hadn’t found S, and now he owed nine million. Chi Zhan’s vision dimmed—his temples were already starting to throb with pain.
“If I can’t pay… what happens then?” he asked cautiously.
“We offer installment plans,” the staff explained. “Monthly or annual payments, with different interest rates. Would you like to choose—”
The moment Chi Zhan heard the word “interest,” he knew he was screwed.
Running off wasn’t his style.
But how could he possibly pay that back? Go work under the table? Not even that would cover it.
“Pay in full,” the man in the trench coat said, before dragging Chi Zhan away mid-thought.
“Wait—I don’t have—” Chi Zhan sat bolt upright like someone jolted from a coma, about to explain himself, when a cool fingertip pressed lightly against his lips.
“Don’t speak.”
Chi Zhan froze. Before he could react, the finger was gone. The man guided him into a booth and pulled the curtain shut behind them.
The already dim lighting grew even more obscure, shadows flickering faintly. Chi Zhan could barely make out that the man was probably good-looking, but that wasn’t what concerned him.
“Thank you for your help, but I really should be going—” Chi Zhan started, but stopped short when he noticed the man’s lips had curved ever so slightly, as if in a smile.
Weird.
From the start, this guy had been like a block of ice—polite, sure, but emotionless, and his voice colder than a winter wind.
That smile, fleeting as it was, felt oddly gentle.
For some reason, Chi Zhan found himself momentarily speechless.
But the smile vanished in an instant, like a flower blooming and fading in a single breath.
The man lifted the glass of liquor on the table and took a sip. Calmly, he asked, “What would you like to drink?”
You just racked up a nine million debt, and now you want a drink?
Was it because he owed so much that he’d reached a point of fearless apathy? Chi Zhan’s mind was a mess.
“I’ll pass. I really should—”
“Orange juice okay?”
“Eh? I’m fine with anything, but—”
“One orange juice,” the man said to the server, setting his glass down.
“I appreciate your help,” Chi Zhan inhaled deeply, trying again. “But I don’t want to stay and drink. I’m leaving.”
“Still thinking about the nine million?” the man said. “Don’t worry. Since I invited you here, I’ll take full responsibility.”
What… invited?
Chi Zhan blinked, suddenly realizing something. His eyes shot up and locked onto the man across from him.
Trench coat. The drink. Dragon Tequila with custom scent.
As Chi Zhan’s expression shifted into shock, the man calmly opened his phone and pulled up their chat log.
“54349—that’s you, isn’t it?”
“…Yeah.” Chi Zhan now had no doubt about his identity.
“I’m sorry. If I’d realized earlier, I could’ve stopped that guy in time,” S said evenly. “Now let’s get to the point. What is it you want to investigate?”
But Chi Zhan was still watching him closely.
That voice… it was so familiar.
More and more, he felt that S might be someone he knew.
***
Who exactly was S?
Chi Zhan scrutinized him, mentally ruling out a few names. Height, weight, hair color, voice—none of those could be trusted. All of them could be faked. The only thing he could be certain of was this: no one in his circle could casually drop nine million in cash on the spot.
Was this place chosen to protect S’s identity… or to keep others out?
“There are lots of guys wearing shirts in this bar,” Chi Zhan didn’t dive straight into the topic. Instead, he asked, “How did you know I was 54349?”
S unpinned the tag from his chest and replied, “When an invitee enters Darkport, the inviter gets an alert.” He swiped his fingers across the badge. It lit up, displaying the exact arrival time of the invited guest. This wasn’t some ordinary piece of metal—it was basically a communicator. “During that time window, only you entered the booth.”
Chi Zhan paused for a moment.
“What do the black and white masks mean?”
From the moment he walked in, he’d felt like a target. Nearly everyone wore a black mask—only he had a starkly different white one. Was this some sort of unspoken rule?
Since S had invited him here and even paid a deposit, Chi Zhan saw no need to hold back.
“White means first-timer. Anyone entering Darkport for the first time gets a white mask.” Then he added, “And there’s another meaning—white masks are also issued to Omegas.”
The server arrived with the orange juice and bowed before leaving.
Chi Zhan didn’t touch the drink. No wonder everyone who saw him acted like they’d spotted easy prey. In their eyes, both Betas and Omegas were the weak links—hardly worth respect.
S seemed particularly patient today, perhaps because money had changed hands. But compared to that crushing nine-million debt, this momentary cooperation felt like nothing.
After a moment of thought, Chi Zhan said, “Could you refer me to someone who does pheromone screenings? I asked you about it before.”
“…A friend of yours?”
Chi Zhan offered a harmless little lie.
“Yes.”
S glanced at him, and though his gaze felt featherlight, it seeped into Chi Zhan’s skin like winter snow—cold, yet strangely not invasive.
“They’ll need to come in person,” S replied blandly.
Chi Zhan hadn’t expected that. The words caught in his throat.
“What if I bring a pheromone sample?” he tried again.
“Not allowed.”
Chi Zhan started to suspect that S had already guessed the “friend” was actually him, and was just messing with him on purpose. But S’s expression remained calm—he didn’t strike Chi Zhan as the type who would toy with someone for fun. So…
Chi Zhan sighed lightly.
“Got it. Thanks for the information. I don’t have any more questions.”
