Day 30

  Location: Fuma Industries HQ – Floor 50 (The Sky Fortress)

  The Box of Ascension hummed with a low, menacing vibration.

  I stood alone in the center of the elevator, watching the digital numbers climb higher and higher.

  45... 46... 47...

  My ears popped.

  "Pressure manipulation," I whispered, narrowing my eyes.

  "The enemy seeks to disorient my inner ear before the negotiation even begins. A classic Fuma tactic."

  I adjusted the Windsor Noose around my neck, ensuring it was tight enough to look professional but loose enough to prevent actual asphyxiation.

  My hand drifted to my pocket, checking for my hidden weapon.

  The plastic spoon.

  It was brittle, white, and pathetic. But in the hands of a master, even a utensil can pierce the jugular if applied with sufficient velocity.

  "I am ready, Kotaro," I hissed at the steel doors.

  "You may sit on the clouds, but I shall drag you down to the mud."

  Ding.

  The doors slid open with a smooth, expensive hiss.

  I did not walk out immediately.

  I waited three seconds—the time it takes for a hidden archer to loose a shaft—and then exploded into the room, leading with my shoulder, ready to roll.

  But there was no need to roll.

  The room was vast.

  It was an expanse of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a terrifying, god-like view of the sprawling city below.

  The clouds drifted below eye level.

  "A castle in the sky..." I murmured, awestruck despite myself.

  In the center of the room, separated from the door by fifty paces of empty, intimidating space, sat a desk.

  It was made of a single slab of black glass, appearing to float in the air.

  And behind it sat the Demon.

  Fuma Kotaro.

  He did not look up.

  He was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the floating desk.

  He wore a suit that cost more than my entire village’s annual rice harvest, yet over it, he wore a grey hooded sweatshirt.

  In his hand, he held a small, three-pronged metallic object.

  He spun it between his thumb and middle finger.

  Whirrr. Whirrr. Whirrr.

  A shuriken?

  No. It rotated endlessly, defying friction. A hypnotic device?

  "You're late, Hattori," Kotaro said, his voice bored.

  He still did not look at me.

  "I arrived precisely at 0800," I countered, marching forward, my footsteps echoing loudly on the marble.

  "The Box of Ascension was slow. It lacks the urgency of a warhorse."

  Kotaro stopped spinning the device. He caught it with a snap.

  He looked at me.

  His eyes were indeed red. But up close, I saw the truth.

  They were bloodshot. Tired. The eyes of a man who had not slept in three days.

  "Right. The 'Spirit of Total Destruction' guy."

  He gestured lazily to a chair opposite his desk.

  "Sit down."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I looked at the chair.

  It was a complex contraption of black mesh, chrome levers, and strange lumbar supports.

  It looked less like furniture and more like a torture device designed to suspend a prisoner in mid-air.

  "I decline," I stated flatly.

  Kotaro blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "That chair. It is a trap."

  "It's a Herman Miller Aeron. It costs two thousand dollars."

  "The price is irrelevant! Look at the mesh! It is a net designed to entrap the buttocks! If I sit, the fabric will conform to my shape, lulling my muscles into a state of sloth. My core will soften. My reaction time will slow."

  I crossed my arms, standing legs shoulder-width apart.

  "I shall stand. A warrior must always be ready to spring."

  Kotaro stared at me.

  Then, a slow grin spread across his face.

  "You really are insane, aren't you?"

  He laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound.

  "I like it. Most people come in here sweating, trying to impress me with their MBA buzzwords. You come in here and threaten my furniture."

  He tossed a file onto the desk. It slid across the glass and stopped at the edge.

  My Resume of Lies.

  "Your resume is garbage," Kotaro said cheerfully.

  "I... I had assistance from a scribe," I defended.

  "Assistance? It says your greatest weakness is 'Caring too much' and your special skill is 'Aggressive Table Pivoting'."

  He leaned forward, his red eyes locking onto mine.

  "But I saw the security footage from the lobby. You rolled through the door. You threatened the robot. And you screamed about burning the old world."

  He picked up the spinning toy again. Whirrr.

  "I need that energy. I have enough 'Yes Men' in suits. I need a... Cleaner."

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Cleaner.

  A euphemism for assassin.

  The Fuma Lord recognized my true nature! He saw through the polyester disguise and identified the killer within!

  I dropped to one knee, shattering the "Sales Associate" persona instantly.

  "Command me, Lord of Wind," I rasped, bowing my head.

  "Name the target. Is it a rival CEO? A corrupt politician? Or perhaps the traitorous leader of the Red Cola Clan? I shall bring you their head in a box by sunset."

  Kotaro paused. He looked at me kneeling on his expensive marble floor.

  "Get up. No heads. No boxes."

  He stood up and walked to the massive window, looking out over his domain.

  "I have a lot of enemies, Hattori. Corporate spies. Paparazzi. Competitors trying to hack my mainframe. But there is one being in this tower who is more difficult to manage than all of them combined."

  He turned back to me.

  "I need a Handler. Someone with... extreme patience. And high physical durability."

  "I have endured the water torture," I volunteered.

  "Good. You'll need it."

  He pressed a button on his desk.

  A section of the wall paneling hissed and slid open.

  A darkness seemed to spill from the hidden chamber.

  A low, guttural growl echoed through the penthouse. It vibrated in my chest cavity.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Heavy footsteps. Claws clicking on stone.

  "Behold," Kotaro announced, gesturing with a flourish.

  Out of the shadows walked a beast.

  It was a dog.

  But to call it a dog was like calling a typhoon a breeze.

  It was a Doberman Pinscher of monstrous proportions. Its coat was black as the void, sleek and muscular.

  Its ears were cropped sharp, standing like devil horns.

  But most terrifying of all... it wore armor.

  A tactical K-9 vest strapped across its chest, adorned with pouches, buckles, and a glowing red LED collar.

  The beast stood almost waist-high. It looked at me with eyes that burned with intelligence and malice.

  It bared its teeth—white daggers capable of shearing through bone.

  "Nani...?" I whispered, taking a step back.

  "A Wolf of the Netherworld? You have summoned a familiar?"

  "This is Cerberus," Kotaro said, walking over and patting the monster’s head.

  The dog leaned into his hand but kept its eyes fixed on my throat.

  "He's my personal security detail. He hates strangers. He hates suits. He ate the last three assistants."

  "Ate them?" I choked.

  "Metaphorically. Mostly. He just bit their pants off."

  Kotaro grabbed a heavy leather leash from the desk and tossed it to me.

  I caught it. It was thick, braided chain.

  "Your job is simple," Kotaro said, sitting back down in his ergonomic throne.

  "Walk him. Three times a day. Keep him happy. Keep him fed. And don't let him kill the delivery guys."

  I stared at the leash in my hand.

  I stared at the beast.

  Cerberus let out a low growl, saliva dripping from his jowls onto the marble.

  This was not an assassination. This was not espionage.

  This was a duel.

  A battle of dominance between two alpha predators.

  "I understand," I said slowly, wrapping the chain around my fist.

  "You wish me to tame the Wolf of the Wind. You test my spirit against nature itself."

  "Sure," Kotaro shrugged, spinning his toy again. "If he rips your arm off, there's a first-aid kit in the break room. You're dismissed."

  I approached the beast.

  I did not show fear. Animals smell fear.

  I projected the Killing Intent of the Iga Clan.

  "Heel, Demon," I commanded, stepping forward.

  Cerberus did not heel.

  He lunged.

  "WOOF!"

  The sound was like a cannon blast.

  I braced myself, digging my slippery dress shoes into the floor.

  The chain went taut.

  The beast pulled.

  I was dragged three feet across the polished marble, leaving scuff marks.

  "Impressive torque!" I yelled, planting my feet again.

  "But I am the immovable object!"

  I hauled back on the leash. The dog stopped, surprised by the resistance.

  We stood there, locked in a stalemate, man and beast staring into each other's souls.

  Kotaro didn't even look up from his spinning toy.

  "Take him to the park," he muttered. "And bring me a latte on the way back."

  "As you command, my Lord," I gritted out, sweat stinging my eyes.

  I looked at Cerberus.

  "Come, beast. Let us see if you can survive the concrete jungle."

  The dog barked again, a sound that promised violence.

  I smiled.

  Finally. A worthy opponent.

  Days Remaining: 70

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  ? Herman Miller (The Mesh of Sloth): A chair of great expense.

  It is designed to cradle the human form so perfectly that the user forgets the concept of standing.

  A dangerous tool for a warrior who must remain vigilant.

  ? Fidget Spinner (The Rotating Vajra): A weapon of the mind.

  The Fuma Lord spins it to channel his chaotic thoughts.

  It creates a hypnotic visual that distracts the enemy while he negotiates.

  ? Cerberus (The Black Wolf): A beast of war disguised as a pet.

  The armor it wears suggests high rank in the Fuma military.

  I suspect it outranks me.

  Next Episode Preview:

  Episode 32: The Beast of the Park and the Scoop of Destiny

  Masanari: "I take the Wolf of the Wind to the public garden! He drags me through the bushes! He terrorizes the pigeons!"

  Masanari: "But wait... what is this ritual?! He crouches! He prepares to leave a mark upon the earth!"

  Masanari: "I must deploy... The Plastic Bag of Containment! But the Wolf defends his offering! It is a battle for the poop!"

  Next Time: Masanari vs. The Dignity of the Scooping!

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