03. The One Who Vanished.

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As 110281 followed Spider out, he tossed his hood toward her.
It fell over her shoulders, covering her completely.
She caught it, adjusted it properly, and kept walking behind him.

Laughter echoed through the hall.
The masters stared at the Lord, their amusement turning into loud, manic laughter as they looked toward the door where Spider had disappeared with 110281.

“Lord,” the host asked, still half laughing, “didn’t he just break an order?”

Lord Arc leaned back in his chair, still chuckling.
“He’s Spider,” he said. “You all know the name — he’s not just anyone.”

Another man grimaced. “Exactly. The Spider.”

Lord Arc’s smirk widened.
“Let’s see what happens when he realizes who he’s taken,” he said slowly. “Not just my bait—but another Lord’s. He walked out of here with someone’s personal slave.”

Shock rippled through the room.

“H–how?” the host stammered, fear creeping into his voice. He had been the one to use her, and stealing another Lord’s property carried the worst punishment imaginable.

Lord Arc looked at him, unimpressed. “She’s a diamond, you fool. That cut on her arm? It means she already had a master—or a Lord—before the Spider took her. Let’s see how that plays out.” His smirk turned dark. “And besides, he stole what was supposed to be mine.”

The host hesitated, then cleared his throat. “But how can you be so sure he’s not her master? Maybe they’re the same—”

Lord Arc cut him off with a glare of disgust.
“I’m ashamed to share a room with someone so ignorant,” he snapped. “Look at her. She didn’t recognize him. She didn’t speak a single word to him. A slave only speaks to the one who holds her leash. Clearly, he’s not her master. He’s no Lord of hers—just a thief playing one.”

No one in the hall had a clue who her true master was, or what had gone wrong between them.

“Who is this Spider?” someone asked, their voice low with unease. “He’s not from our side of the region. He never attends our meetings.”

Lord Arc’s gaze shifted toward the speaker, his expression unreadable.
“Spider,” he said slowly, “is the man who broke Hell years ago. A member of the Code—and the most dangerous one alive.”

A murmur spread through the hall, growing louder as the weight of his words sank in.

Arc raised a brow, his tone dripping with disdain.
“Of course he’s from the Code. No one else could have gained access here. The problem,” he said with a bitter laugh, “is that he’s a Lord now. The first to ever rise from the Code’s ranks.”

He leaned back, voice hardening.
“The Code was built for dogs—trained to obey without question, chained to orders like fools. And yet he, a mutt among them, sits at our table.”
His disgust was unmistakable.

The room fell quiet for a moment, then heads nodded in reluctant agreement.

Meanwhile, Spider had already reached the main hall, where the rest of the masters waited for their slaves to arrive. The room stirred with whispers as he passed through.

“Who is that?” someone muttered. “That’s Spider?”

“He must be,” another replied. “That mask… no one’s ever seen one like it. It’s crafted for someone important.”

The murmurs followed him as he walked, his steps calm, deliberate.

Behind him, 110281 hesitated.
She stood uncertain, torn between returning to Madam O or following Spider into the unknown.

Spider’s gaze swept over the hall, cold and unreadable.
Without a word, he turned and walked out.
110281 followed quietly, her steps hesitant but obedient.

A few masters tried to engage him, but his single glare was enough to silence them.

One man didn’t move aside. He stepped directly into Spider’s path, smirking.
“Congratulations, Spider… or should I say Lord Spider?” His beard was coarse and jagged, giving him the look of something half-wild.

Spider’s smirk was calm, dangerous.
“Titles aren’t what make people shiver,” he said evenly.

Before the master could respond, Spider’s eyes shifted—catching sight of 110281 standing uncertainly a few steps behind. His jaw tightened.

“Come here.”

The command hit the air like a whip.

She froze for a second, her heart racing, then lowered her gaze and obeyed.
Spider reached out, grabbed her jacket, and tugged sharply, pulling her forward until she collided with his chest.

Without another glance at the other master, Spider walked past him, jaw clenched, his steps heavy with restrained anger.

She followed close behind, silent and small.

When they reached the exit, a cold rush of air hit her face. She instinctively pulled the hood tighter around herself, but never looked up—not even when Spider stopped beside a sleek black car and opened the door.

She hesitated, glancing back. No one followed.
Not even Madam O. No commands, no instructions—nothing.

Her throat tightened as she climbed into the car.

Inside, the air was warm—too warm—like silk wrapping around her. The heat soothed her body, but her fear crawled even deeper under her skin.

Spider slid behind the wheel, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The engine started with a low growl, and the car eased forward into the night.

She couldn’t look outside. The darkness, the speed, everything felt too vast. Her hands rested on her lap, her eyes fixed on the faint mark across her arm.

“Do you know who your master is?”

His voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp.
The question jolted her; she hadn’t spoken to anyone freely in years.

She shook her head.

Spider’s smirk deepened. His eyes flicked toward her arm. “You know who I am?” he asked, voice darker now, so deep it seemed to vibrate through the car itself.

She shook her head again.

Silence returned—thick and heavy. Only the hum of the engine filled the air.

Then a blaring honk shattered it.

110281 flinched violently, gripping her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Spider’s smirk curved wider, almost amused. He turned the wheel sharply, sending the car swerving left. She lost balance, instinctively leaning against him for a heartbeat before catching herself.

The horn still blared behind them as the headlights flashed past, and the night swallowed them again.

The honking grew louder, relentless, until Spider finally eased the car to a stop.
A white vehicle swerved past and parked directly in front of him, blocking the road.

Spider exhaled slowly, irritation flickering in his eyes. He stepped out of the car.

Across the headlights’ glare stood a tall man in a white mask, waiting—motionless.

Spider leaned against his car, smirking.
“Long way from home, White.”

White Mask’s voice came sharp and low.
“Don’t come in my way, Spider.”

Spider’s smirk deepened, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.
“It’s war, White. Everything’s fair in war—” he tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting, “—even stealing your slave.”

He ran his tongue across his lip, smiling darkly.

White Mask’s eyes burned crimson through the narrow slits.
“Not this time, Spider. Hand her over, and we’ll end this peacefully. Or else—”

Spider raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

White didn’t hesitate.
“You’re dealing with White Spider, the one who carries a knife sharp enough to end you in seconds. So keep quiet, and give her back.”

Spider’s smirk faded into something colder. He sighed, voice low but steady.
“Can’t, White. Let’s just say I own her now—more than you ever did.”

White’s fists clenched tight.
“I took her first, Spider. You came second. If you want to settle this—then we fight.”

Spider clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Fighting’s all I’ve done today. Come back tomorrow.”

He turned away—just as a blade whistled past and slammed into the hood of his car, sparking against metal.

Spider stopped, his shoulders tensing.

Slowly, he turned back toward White, that familiar smirk returning, sharper than before.

“So soon you forget the rules of Lord Spider!” White sneered. “That’s what happens when you become a new lord. Let me remind you: you can’t take a slave unless her master gives permission. Hand her over, or I’ll take her by force.”

Spider’s fingers closed around a knife. He flicked it toward White — a throw meant to test. White’s hand moved like lightning; he caught the blade without flinching.

“Warning isn’t your forte, White,” Spider mocked, voice flat. “And generosity? Am I dreaming?” His mouth twisted into a hard smile, darkness gathering in his eyes.

Spider drew a pistol. White’s knives flashed in response. The two men faced one another in the middle of the road like predators — metal and intent glinting under the streetlights. 110281 sat frozen, utterly lost in the violence she didn’t understand.

“Why so possessive over a girl?” Spider called, the words almost playful. “Why so desperate, White?”

White hurled a knife.
Spider dodged, but a second blade sliced across his arm, drawing blood.

He groaned, raised his gun—
but White spun fast, disarming him in a single motion.

Spider grinned through the pain and slammed his forehead into White’s face.
Blood sprayed from White’s nose.

Spider tore off his mask and threw a heavy punch that sent White stumbling back.
Both men stopped for a moment, panting in the streetlight.

“Leave her, Spider,” White growled. “This is the last time I’ll ask.”

Spider’s smirk deepened. “Not in a million requests, White.”

He snatched up one of White’s fallen knives and lunged, but White rolled aside, and the blade clattered against the pavement.
In the same breath, White scooped up a fistful of dirt and flung it at Spider’s face.

Spider cursed, blinded for a second—just long enough for White to drive a punch into his gut.
Then came the chokehold.

“I don’t make requests,” White hissed in his ear.
He kicked Spider hard in the back, sending him to his knees.

“I demand the hell to bend, Spider. Next time, stay out of my affairs. I said she’s mine—so she’s mine.”

He released him and strode to the car, yanking the door open—

Empty.

She was gone.