Music from the grand ballroom faded into a dull, rhythmic thumping as Kenji navigated the silent, dimly lit corridors of the estate. Cold air clung to his skin, carrying the sharp scents of polished mahogany, old paper, and a faint hint of ozone. Every step he took away from the warmth of the gala felt like sinking deeper into an icy bog. Shadows along the baseboards twitched, reacting to his rising anxiety, stretching and whispering like eager hounds sensing their master's unspoken rage. He kept his composure, his face a mask of absolute indifference, though his mind was a storm of calculation. Behind him, he had left Lyra standing near the grand columns of the ballroom, looking vulnerable yet fiercely determined in her elegant gown. Beside her, Eliana had watched him leave with a sharp, knowing gaze, her telepathic aura buzzing with silent, warning vibrations. Now, he was alone, walking toward the heart of the spider's web, preparing to face the monster who had created him. Reaching the end of the long gallery, he stood before a pair of massive, brass-reinforced oak doors. Wards of high-tier defensive magic hummed against the wood, a golden lattice invisible to the untrained eye but glaringly obvious to his EX-Rank perception. Brushing his fingers against the handle, Kenji let a fraction of his shadow seep outward, instantly bypassing the security runes without triggering the alarms. With a silent twist of his wrist, the lock clicked, and he pushed the heavy door open. --- Dim amber light washed over a sprawling, circular library, casting long, distorted shapes across the towering bookshelves. Bookshelves climbed all the way to the vaulted ceiling, packed with forbidden grimoires, ancient tactical scrolls, and classified military ledgers. Sitting behind a massive desk of carved obsidian was Ryuji, the patriarch of the mercenary clan. His father's face was a map of old scars and unyielding cruelty, his eyes dark pools of absolute authority that had terrified Kenji throughout his childhood. Three other figures stood in the room, positioned like vultures waiting for a carcass to stop twitching. They wore the sleek, silver-trimmed suits of the Paradox Commission, their lapel pins gleaming under the low light. "You took your time," Ryuji said, his voice a gravelly rumble that could shake the resolve of lesser men. Kenji closed the door behind him, the lock snapping into place with a heavy, metallic thud. "I had to ensure I wasn't followed," Kenji replied, keeping his tone flat and devoid of emotion. One of the Commission members, a middle-aged man with a cybernetic eye that whirred as it focused, let out a dry, grating chuckle. "Followed by whom? Your little lightning friend?" the man sneered, his mechanical lens glowing a sinister crimson. Kenji's jaw tightened, a microscopic movement he hoped none of them caught. "Lyra is downstairs," Kenji said, his voice remaining level. "She is occupied with the other heroes." "Ah, yes. The shining star of the Hero Association," Ryuji mocked, leaning back in his leather chair. "Our SSS-Rank target whom you were ordered to eliminate weeks ago," Ryuji continued, his eyes narrowing. "I am waiting for the opportune moment," Kenji said, adjusting his cuffs. "An direct assault in public would draw too much attention to our operations." "Excuses," the female Commission member hissed, stepping forward into the light. Her fingers twisted a silver pen, her eyes sharp with malice and greed. "We did not fund your training so you could play house with the enemy, boy." "My records speak for themselves," Kenji said, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "I have never failed a contract." "Because we allowed you to succeed," Ryuji interrupted, slamming his palm onto the obsidian desk. A tremor ran through the floorboards, a demonstration of the patriarch's immense physical power. "You think you are a genius, Kenji? You think your little shadow tricks make you clever?" "We have allowed you to play your part because it suited our timeline." Kenji remained perfectly still, though his mind was racing, analyzing every exit, every threat. "What timeline?" he asked, his eyes darting between the three Commission members. Sensing the tension, the third member, a pale man with slicked-back hair who had remained silent, stepped into the light. He was a high-tier telepath, his mind radiating a greasy, invasive pressure that tried to worm its way into Kenji's thoughts. Kenji quietly raised his mental barriers, a seamless wall of absolute darkness that swallowed the telepathic probe whole. A soft gasp escaped the telepath's lips as he stumbled backward, clutching his temples. "Impressive," the pale man muttered, wiping a drop of blood from his nose. "His mental defenses are... abnormal." "Of course they are," Ryuji sneered. "He is my blood. But his loyalty seems to be wavering." "Speak plainly, Father," Kenji said, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why am I here?" "To learn the truth of your existence," Ryuji replied, his expression turning cold and businesslike. "This entire conflict—the war between the heroes and the mercenaries—is a farce." "A carefully choreographed performance," the female member added, a cruel smile stretching her lips. "We are not enemies, Kenji. The Commission and the Syndicate are partners." Kenji's heart missed a beat, the gravity of her words settling over him like a suffocating blanket. "Partners?" Kenji repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "Our world needs conflict to progress," Ryuji explained, leaning forward. "Without a threat, the public does not fund the Hero Association." "No threat means no funding, and no enemies means no profit for the elites," Ryuji continued. "But the real objective is far greater than simple monetary gain." "We are harvesting energy," the cybernetic-eyed man revealed, tapping his temple. "High-tier energy, specifically from SSS-Rank and EX-Rank individuals." "Every time you and that lightning girl clash, your powers generate an immense resonance." "We have spent years constructing a massive subterranean harvesting grid beneath the Hero Association Headquarters." "It collects the residual kinetic and elemental energies of your battles." "This energy is the catalyst we need to fuel our secret project—a synthetic divinity that will hand us absolute control over the globe." Kenji stared at his father, his mind reeling as the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. Those sudden encounters, the convenient missions that always placed him in Lyra's path, and the constant pressure to push her to her limits—it was all designed. "You set us up," Kenji said, a cold rage building deep in his chest. "We were never meant to survive this war." "Survival is for the weak," Ryuji spat, his eyes flashing with a terrifying intensity. "You were bred to be a catalyst." "Your brother, your sisters, you... you are all just fuel for the machine." "A proud sacrifice for the ultimate evolution of our clan's power." Kenji felt his world fracturing. All his life, he had endured the brutal training, the agony of his bones being broken and reset, the isolation of being a weapon. He had believed it was for the survival of his family, to keep them safe in a world that hated them. It was all a lie. His father didn't care about honor. His family didn't care about their children. They were selling them to the highest bidder, trading their lives like commodities on a stock market. "And Lyra?" Kenji asked, his voice flat, but the temperature in the room plummeted. Frost began to form on the corners of the obsidian desk as his shadow began to manifest, thick and heavy. "She is the perfect partner for your final act," the female member laughed. "Her lightning and your shadow will create the ultimate reaction." "Once you both destroy each other, the energy harvested will be enough to complete the project." "And we will rule the world from the ashes," Ryuji declared, standing up. He walked around the desk, his heavy footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Kenji watched him approach, his body coiled like a spring. Unleashing his full EX-Rank strength would allow him to tear their hearts out in a fraction of a second. But the consequences would be catastrophic. Commission forces would immediately mobilize to destroy him and Lyra before he could prepare his counter-strike. He had to bide his time. He had to play their game until he could strike a fatal blow. "You expect me to just agree to this?" Kenji asked, his voice tight. Ryuji stopped in front of him, a cruel smile on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, metallic device with a pulsing red light. "You don't have a choice, Kenji," Ryuji said, holding it out. His father hands him a remote detonator, saying, 'The ballroom is rigged with dark-matter bombs. Trigger them, or we kill the girl ourselves.'

Chapter 20: The Patriarch's Iron Hand