The door to the past (1)

The woman on the other side of the counter had a magic launcher aimed at my back. Was it an air-powered device, or was I facing a real threat of death? The ease with which she handled the situation made it clear that this wasn’t her first time. I should have known better—always be wary of the one who fills your glass. The waitress had kept a low profile since we arrived at the tavern. I have to admit, she caught me off guard; I never would have guessed that a simple waitress could also be in charge of security. It was important not to make things worse, but honestly, I was already in a bad spot. We had come for information, and I wasn’t about to leave empty-handed because of a minor dispute.

"Wait, are you serious? Didn’t you hear the threats they made against me and my brother?"

Looking for an explanation, the waitress turned to my stand-in brother, who still didn’t dare speak. The other customers weren’t taking any risks either. My show of strength must have convinced them not to take sides.

"No, but I only trust what I see. And what I see right now is that you’ve turned the tavern upside down and are about to make it a crime scene. Do you think I want to clean up after you?!"

The irritation in her voice made it clear that she held me responsible and nothing would change her mind. In this kind of business, it was every person for themselves. The ginger girl was only interested in making money and keeping her customers; the rest didn’t concern her as long as we weren’t spending our cash.

"I have a permit for carrying a weapon, so there’s no need to make a big deal out of this."

"I don’t care about your permits—half the time they’re fake!"

"Hey, lady! You can’t just leave her with a knife to my throat. That lunatic attacked us like a rabid dog! She’s probably a criminal, I’m telling you!"

You, thug—you were bragging about committing a theft just two minutes ago!

Bertrand did the only thing he could, assuming that the waitress's presence would stop me from harming him. His naïve reaction only made me more tempted to act. However, he was right—I couldn’t kill him in front of all these witnesses. Of course, I would have waited until they left the restaurant to trap those fools in a dark alley. Did they have that famous gold necklace on them…?

"Welcome to The Brezee of Renewal, gentlemen. Sorry for the inconvenience; I’ll deal with this troublesome customer quickly and take your order."

"Listen, ginger, you and I want the same thing: to do business without drawing attention. I'm willing to pay whatever it takes to cover the damages. However, I doubt these gentlemen are as inclined. So, I suggest we remove them from the restaurant before they cause you to lose valuable customers."

"W-we’ll take another omelet!" chimed in Edwoyn, who would have done anything to ease the tension.

Only half convinced, the woman behind me took a moment to seriously consider the benefits of following my reasoning. She could choose to kick all of us out, but it was clear I had something in mind that could work to her advantage.

Was I referring to her secondary business? The one her restaurant served as a front for?

Of course.

Her confidence was nothing more than a façade, hiding deeper weaknesses. She wouldn’t be able to keep up appearances for long. I could feel it in her grip, which had tightened—her threats were pure bluff. She couldn’t really shoot me, no matter how much she wanted to. My lips curled into a victorious smile. As I had pointed out, it would draw the authorities' attention.

You’re right to be wary of me because I’m a double-edged sword. I can cost you as much as I can profit you.

“Let him go,” she ordered, not backing down.

Slowly, I eased the pressure from my knife until the hostage pulled away, freeing himself. Humiliated, Bertrand turned his back on me and clumsily made his way toward the exit. I knew deep down he was afraid to meet my gaze. He was the first to realize my strength, my danger. I dominated him in every way, and that realization alone made him tremble inside. From now on, these workers would think twice before attacking anyone. This man should count himself lucky to get away with just a small life lesson. Without a word, his companions struggled to their feet and slunk away, tails between their legs.

As the entrance door closed behind them, the magic launcher aimed at me returned to its hiding place under the counter. The customers at a table near the entrance decided this place was too dangerous to stay in another minute. The others, more accustomed to the city's insecurity, didn’t seem overly concerned. The waitress quickly came to tidy up our mess and clean up the shattered dishes. She was soon called to handle the bill at the other end of the restaurant.

Her furious glare sent daggers my way the entire time she cleared the now-empty table. I smiled at her, my eyes following the movements of her skillful hands: she wore long, dark satin gloves that extended up under her rolled-up sleeves for better range of motion. I had the feeling she was hiding something, perhaps the marks of a work-related accident... One thing was certain—she had experience in her trade, a confidence born only from failing over and over again.

The ginger’s profile was quite pleasing to behold: meticulous yet refined in appearance. Her bright hair was twisted into a braided bun, with the exception of her perfectly straight bangs. This intricate hairstyle, combined with her ocean-blue eyes, gave her an air of nobility. She would have had no trouble becoming a servant in a powerful household. Perhaps she already had? Did she have a family to feed, taking on any contract just to get by? Everything about this woman reminded me of another time. A time when I was still innocent.

As a child, I probably wore hairstyles just as elegant. My parents wanted to bring out the best in me, especially my whiteness, which was synonymous with purity. My silvery hair was the result of centuries of eugenics. Certain physical traits had become an obsession. They only cared about people whose genes might enhance the family’s whiteness. Marriages were based on this single criterion. No drop of magic or technology was responsible for this lack of color and this shine. Only Nature. And how proud they were… I had no other quality than my hair. I remember it used to fall all the way down to the small of my back, to the point where I didn’t know what to do with it. It hurt when it got caught on everything or formed knots, but I had to endure these discomforts to stay beautiful.

One day, I snapped and cut off a good ten centimeters. I was slapped immediately. I don’t remember the other punishments that followed, but that week couldn’t have been pleasant...

"It’s not proper for a girl to cut her hair. Reject the pride of your family? Certainly not! On the contrary, you should show it off even more!"

And after that incident, everything returned to how it was before. Hands spent their time tying my hair, impersonal fingers and blurred faces that I could only recall through their mechanical actions. A few years ago, I still struggled to see other humans as anything more than mere background figures. I paid them no attention unless they were useful to me.

Justine had taught me never to underestimate anyone, especially those who could slip poison into your glass, like this waitress. I had no doubt that this sharp-tongued employee would poison me at the first opportunity. My experience in the field told me she was the type to commit indirect crimes. She took care of appearances just like nobles do, so acknowledging that she had dirty hands would be unbearable for her. With her pretty checkered dress, she aimed to remain discreet, modest, and helpful, even if it meant adopting the image customers wanted to see in her.

The ginger was hiding something—likely a hideous nature. And the greatest fear of people like her was that their flaws would be exposed for all to see. That there would be witnesses to their mistakes. Even though I never made mistakes, I understood her: witnesses, what a nuisance! They can ruin your plans in an instant.

They’re nothing but crows that flock at the sight of blood. They make the situation worse and expose you. The main problem with witnesses is that they’re often innocent. Justine’s code of honor doesn’t allow us to get rid of them so easily. That’s why we established the black code—a sort of state of emergency where our usual rules can be ignored if the organization is in danger. Depending on the situation and the nature of the witness, we have to judge for ourselves how to silence them. Justine binds them with unbreakable oath seals that prevent them from even mentioning the censored subject. As for me… let’s just say I’ve had a few mishaps, but now my secret weapon renders them incapable of remembering anything.

As for the waitress, if I wanted to ruin her fledgling business, I’d start by spreading false rumors. Witnesses may be obstacles, but if you know how to handle them, they can become a long-range weapon. Feeling my lips grow dry, I downed the rest of my drink in one gulp, which shocked the scrawny man beside me.

Nobles don’t drink beer. It’s not refined enough for their delicate palates.

Slowly, I began to feel the innate warmth that alcohol provided, despite its weak effects on my body. Much more relaxed now, I waited for the employee to finish her back-and-forth trips. In rhythm, the hem of her blue dress swayed like a pendulum with each step, and she would swing open the kitchen door with her back.

Normal people are dreadfully boring… It’s so much more interesting to watch them suffer. Only then do they reveal their true nature. Their hideous nature.

I’m no longer like them, I’m not normal—I’ve never had anything human about me.

Dulling my senses with alcohol wasn’t enough to forget. I had wanted so desperately to erase certain parts of my life that they had eventually become blurred, inaccessible, then nonexistent. I knew almost nothing of my life before Justine gave me a second chance.

I hated my former life. The few unpleasant memories I had of my early childhood were enough to stifle any desire to know more. At least, that was the case before I learned about Big Brother… Drinking, I hoped to finally detach myself from the weak, hesitant girl who belonged to the past. Big Brother needed a strong person to support him, not some worthless failure. Since the mission at Hiven Palace, some mysteries had unraveled about the girl I once was.

Why didn’t she want to disappear like all the other disturbing memories? Big Brother had sincerely loved her. I might have been weak then, lacking in confidence and spirit, but that’s what drew the boy’s tenderness. He had protected me and shone like a ray of light in the darkness.

That little girl refused to let me erase the only time I had known happiness, but I refused to be weak. I didn’t want joy and its inevitable pain. I didn’t want to risk reopening the door to a past I had carefully buried six feet under. Because of her, the inner balance I had spent years building had just been disrupted. She had managed to bring Big Brother out of my subconscious by drawing a strong resemblance to the prince.

We’re nothing alike anymore, you and I, little girl. I won’t let anything weaken me again. I’ve risen to the top of the food chain. I’m the one who makes others suffer now—it will never be the other way around. Big Brother was nothing but a trouble magnet; I never needed him. Look, I’m doing just fine on my own!

So why did you keep the prince? Why try to recreate a copy of Big Brother?

Shut up, you’re not the real Aurora. You failed at everything you attempted, you have no say anymore. I’m in charge now. The prince will serve my revenge. He’s a tool, nothing more.

You saved the prince because you want to remember. You want to remember Big Brother, the moments of happiness we shared. We are strong enough to handle the truth. Deep down, you’ve always known what lies behind the door to the past.

The waitress returned to us with a calm expression, sliding the ordered dish under the recruit's nose. He eagerly grabbed his utensils, forgetting to thank her.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Her gloved hands slammed onto the counter so forcefully that our glasses jumped a few millimeters. The pressure she tried to exert didn’t faze me.

“How much will you pay me for that information?” I joked, unafraid.

Anonymity was a crucial precaution in the information trade. Her direct question felt more like a test to confirm my reason for being here. She scrutinized me, then turned her gaze to the prince. He had been eyeing me since the beginning of our exchange, too cautious to intervene, and wisely so. It was better for him to stay out of sight and let me handle the business with expertise. The waitress wasn’t amused by my little jest.

“So, you’re not here for a simple omelet… Make that clear from the start next time. Follow me upstairs, please.”