“What is your business being late?” Corolla growled, his mask strapped tighter to his face than ever before, gripping like leather on sweaty skin. As of late, he wouldn’t even mind if his entire face ripped off the next time he took it off.

Leon sipped his glass of water, his white suit blinking firelight as the flames danced in the pit to his side. He took his time with his drink, considering the taste as if it were wine.

But water was bland. Bland like the suit Leon wore, drab, perhaps stylistic a few hundred years ago.

“I’d business,” Leon eventually said.

Corolla seethed, angry, bitter. He took his more elegant drink—a fine, sweet whiskey distilled and imported from hills of Leon—and sucked the tit of the bottle. Typically, the drink nulled Corolla, and while it didn’t make his pain disappear, it shoved it to the side so he could ignore it again later with another bottle.

But something was wrong. Corolla felt emptier than ever. Hollow like the glass shell he squeezed between his thin fingers. His healing wrist flexed in anguish as he clutched his fist firm. Corolla noticed the pain in his head dimmed when his wrist stung.

“Another drink, sir?” Fand asked, squirming in his boots. Corolla’s new assistant shook with every question like an active volcano. Though, as of late, it was Corolla who felt like erupting.

“For the last time!” Corolla barked. “If you need to ask, then yes. I do need a drink.”

“Sir, right away, sir,” Fand scurried hopeless across the bar, scavenging what was left from the private part room they occupied. He bent forward and swiped below the counters, stepping over discarded bottles and worthless ales. He eventually found something down and near the end.

The base arrangements were acceptable, all things considered. While temporary, it was a secure enough place to stay for a few more days before establishing a longer-term holdout. One that didn’t empty Corolla’s pockets as much.

Corolla was always the show's main event, the director of operations. But it was Don who made everything run smoothly, making the transitions between spaces seamless. With Don in charge of taking care of Corolla, the bottle of whiskey in his hand felt bottomless.

Fand, on the other hand, permeated the air with incompetence. His sloppy behavior infuriated Corolla. New did not excuse ineptitude.

Why, Don? Why did you have to get caught?

Corolla huffed, then inhaled a whiff of smoke from the fireplace, which infected the whiskey he drank and poisoned it with the bitter taste of ash.

“You seem off edge,” Leon noted. “Your drinks not working?”

Corolla shook his head.

“Maybe you’ve grown immune,” Leon laughed, still unbelieving of Corolla’s story. He always used Corolla’s addiction as a hammer to nail his superiority.

“We’ve been over this. How can you not believe me at this point? I’ve fought the King of Soucrest and survived! What other explanation other than the story I told you years ago could explain that?”

Leon smirked, Corolla reading a well, I’ll give it a try. “You aren’t a skilled fighter, Corolla. You’re just lucky. As always. What happened on the pier was ultimately a fluke. A king who wanted so desperately not to kill you, he held himself to the point he somehow let you escape. That’s my take on what happened.”

“You weren’t there,” Corolla tapped his teeth. He raised his right wrist, splinted and wrapped tightly in cloth. “He put a crack in the bone! My head would have come off If I hadn’t worn my suit!”

“Good thing I wasn’t there,” Leon grinned. “You would have sold me out just like Don.”

Corolla halted, averting his eyes down. Why was it now he couldn’t look Leon in the eyes?

“I would have sold anyone out for that armor,” Corolla said. He gained the courage to reengage in eye contact. “And I would have sold you out for half as much.”

Leon grinned. “Now that is Alphonse’s son right now. That is exactly how he would have handled it. You’re getting closer and closer to who he was, you know. I think if you keep this up for a few more years, Alphonse would be proud.”

A part of Leon sounded genuinely sincere. As if Corolla’s father would be proud. A complete utter fallacy. Alphonse wouldn’t be proud. Not until he was satisfied. Not until the Green Chefs were number one.

To his father, you were either first place or a failure: the best or the worst.

“So you think I made the right decision about Don?” Corolla asked.

“Absolutely,” Leon said. “Think of it like this. You were paying him a premium to do what? Follow you around and hand you whiskey? It’s replaceable work. Selling the Colorsword’s armor was like a severance package, but for the boss. It’s great, brilliant even.”

“I sold the armor and invested what I got back into the company,” Corolla paused. “But Alphonse was a trophy hunter, right? He would have hung that armor up in his office.”

“Right,” Leon nodded. He leaned forward in his chair. “Your father wasn’t faultless.” Leon rolled his eyes, presumably because Alphonse chose Corolla to inherit the company over him. “But he was ruthless. Well, a different kind of ruthless than you.”

“He never slaughtered a town before, right? That was always below him.”

Leon nodded.

Fand returned to Corolla’s side, handing him a bottle of whiskey. Corolla made sure to grasp the glass with his right hand as he kept his left fisted, feeling his sweaty hands inside his Soulsmithed gauntlet dampen further to the heat from his right.

Fand, unsure what to do next, sat down next to Corolla, allowing a cushion’s space between them.

“You were critical of my decision back then,” Corolla said. “If I recall, you called me irresponsible.”

Leon laughed. “Gods, Corolla, irresponsible is an understatement. You fought the king of Soucrest a little more than a week ago. You are far from responsible. No, you’re by far the most reckless fool I’ve ever had the pleasure to work for. But it works, damn you. I never found out why that is.”

“I’ve told you—”

“Shh,” Leon held a finger to his lips. “As I said, I care not for how you claim to have gotten your ability, but you will not discuss this in front of our workers.” His eyes wandered to Fand. “Especially those recruited only a few days ago.”

Fand blushed. His hands secluded into his small body. He really was trying his best, which Corolla hated faulting him for it. But compared to Don, who always felt involved in his own way, either by counting coins or offering advice, Fand was an introvert. Fand wanted nothing to do with Corolla’s affairs.

“Regardless, you’ve said time and time again that you don’t believe me,” Corolla sighed.

“And I’ve told you your business decisions were foolish and destructive, but look where most of them end up. We’re on the best quarter of our decade, thanks to your stunt at Igor. I still don’t agree with your decision to stick to Soucrest when our product is doing well practically everywhere else, however. I’m stuck wondering whether you’re a total fool who struck gold once or if you’re a genius above my comprehension.”

Corolla drank from his bottle, eying the contents dwindle as he sucked it dry. “I appreciate the compliment.”

Leon sneered. “Why continue in Soucrest anyway? They aren’t playing around. We’re subtle everywhere else, but here, we’re a thorn. They’ll pull us out eventually, then discard us if we’re aren’t careful.”

“You wouldn’t like my reason for why.”

“Try me.”

“Being here,” Corolla said, his voice suddenly dry. He paused for a moment, realizing why that was. His bottle was empty, and he needed more. Corolla shoved the bottle over to Fand. “Makes me feel alive. There’s a thrill to being hunted and comfort in being wanted.”

“Soucrest is the lover you never had,” Leon joked. “But seriously now. That’s ridiculous.”

Corolla didn’t need to respond. Leon didn’t deserve anything out of him. He, out of all people, didn’t need to understand. Gem God, Corolla never understood why Leon did what he did so many years ago.

Poor Lenny, we both deserved better.

Corolla coughed, parched, still waiting for his drink. “Tell me, Leon, have you ever had a friend?”

“Of course. Your father, Alphonse,” Leon said, pouring himself water.

The stream of clear liquid antagonized Corolla, as it made him feel stranded, deserted, searching for a drink of any kind. He almost begged him for the glass of water. Water!

“No,” Corolla hesitated, taking a dry breath. “I mean a real friend. Not somebody with an ass you had to kiss.”

Leon chuckled, though he was very well offended. “Kissing ass is a part of friendship too, you know. Your father was a very powerful man. Charismatic too. He could order men killed as easily as he could ask a woman to remove his clothes. That’s how you’re here right now.” Leon winked. “Smart too. Alphonse knew I was sucking up to him. He didn’t care. Cause I did my job, and I did it well. At the end of the day? He gave the business to you, who at the time spent a good few hours every day crying his eyes out over the silliest things.”

“And do you remember the day I cried the most?” Corolla asked, seeking to evoke some sort of shame out of Leon, but the old man shook his head.

“No. Should I have?”

Corolla snapped, feeling a fury unlike anything he had felt before. Unadulterated hatred was overwhelming him as his heart pounded a dense, erratic rhythm. That was it. It was time to finally kill Leon, the bastard who killed his best friend.

Justice had to be served. No mercy, Corolla’s gauntlet was too quick, too easy for him. What Leon deserved was the same pathetic boot he used on Lenny.

“You bastard…” Corolla said.

“Corolla, what’s the matter?” Leon looked left and right, settling his eyes on Fand. “Where is his drink?”

“I’m going to kill—” Corolla paused. No one moved a muscle, and Corolla would have mistaken the eerie quiet for time stopping, only if it wasn’t for his racing heartbeat. He looked to his left, looking at a panicked Fand. “You’ve been sitting there the entire time? My drink was empty for a while now…”

“Sorry sir, my apologies—”

“Go get me my drink, Fand,” Corolla said.

“Sir,” Fand swallowed. “The bar is empty—”

Corolla snatched his head with his gauntlet, and as his assistant jerked to a jolt, he hushed him. He held his hand tight for a few long, miserable seconds. At least, for Fand’s sake, his end came swiftly while Corolla stood in anguish.

Fand’s last breath hung in his head for a good moment. Yes, the feeling was still there—the guilt of doing the wrong thing yet again.

He thought it was finally time once again. After so many years since Alphonse died, Corolla believed he would cry once more. He released his grip on Fand’s corpse then sat down. Pathetically, Corolla tried to weep.

There were no tears to shed. He was truly incapable of the act now.

Leon stayed motionless in his seat. He mustered enough courage to take a sip out of his glass. “I’ll get you another assistant,” he said, his voice suddenly as dry as Corolla’s. “And I’ll make sure he is briefed on his requirements beforehand so this mistake doesn’t happen again.”

Corolla couldn’t figure out if he acted like that due to a few minutes of sobriety or if rage simply boiled over him. Why, though, did he snap on Fand when he was inches away from killing Leon?

Corolla glanced at the corpse seated on the couch, burn marks on his forehead the size of fingers. There was guilt in him. He had disregarded yet another assistant. If Don were beside him, he would have never let Corolla go longer than a second without his drink.

Why didn’t I even fight for him? I could have taken them all on and kept the armor to sell. What’s wrong with me…

“I’m sorry,” Corolla eventually said.

“No apology needed, I understand,” Leon nodded. “Emotions can get the better of all of us.”

“I wasn’t apologizing to you,” Corolla hissed.

Leon lowered a brow. An inch away from death, and he was back to his usual pompous attitude. “There’s no reason to apologize to a dead man. What’s done is done.”

Corolla stared deeply into Leon’s eyes. “I wasn’t apologizing to him either.”