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chibifox88 · 9 days ago

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Tragedy has targets- Chapter 4: Walls Come Up

The darkness was absolute, a suffocating presence that pressed in from all sides. It was cold, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones, and everything around was drenched with a dampness that clung to my skin. Each breath scraped down my throat like shards of broken glass, and my heart pounded against my ribs, loud and uneven, as if it were trying to claw its way out of my chest. I felt trapped in a limbo between wanting to stop and the impossibility of doing so, caught in a relentless cycle of desperation.

A hand gripped mine with unyielding strength. It wasn’t a hold of fear or violence, but one of sheer desperation. Somehow, this hand was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely. I didn’t know who they were—I couldn’t see their face or hear their voice over the pounding in my head—but I knew they were trying to help. They were pulling me forward, not dragging me under, and I clung to them like a lifeline, like an anchor in a storm.

But everything around us felt wrong. The trees, the sky, the ground—none of it made sense. It was as if someone had spilled ink into a half-finished painting, causing the grass to melt into stone and shapes to swim and blur at the edges of my vision. The world shifted with every step, as if it couldn’t decide what it was supposed to be. And behind us, something followed. I couldn’t see it or hear it clearly, but I felt its massive, crawling presence. It was slow and terrible, inevitable, vibrating the air with its approach, a pressure building and threatening to swallow everything we touched.

I tried to look back, but my neck refused to turn. The dream wouldn’t let me. I stumbled, my feet slipping in the wet grass, and the hand holding mine gripped tighter, steadier, urging me to move, to run, to trust them. And so I did. The faster we ran, the more the world around us blurred. Trees stretched taller and wider, warping into pillars of shadow, while the sky turned to sludge, thick and oppressive. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, each breath a piercing knife—but still, we ran.

I struggled to remember what it was, to name it, to focus on a face or shape, but the harder I tried, the more the memory slipped away, like oil on water. My thoughts were fogged, my mind fragmented, unable to hold onto anything except the hand pulling me forward. The ground shifted beneath us again, and suddenly—a break appeared. Ahead, the earth ended abruptly in a jagged cliff, a stark edge where the world simply stopped.

I tried to dig my heels in, to call out, but panic strangled my voice. I didn’t want to fall, but I couldn’t stop—not with it behind us, not with that heavy, invisible presence breathing down my spine. The hand holding mine didn’t hesitate. We ran straight off the edge, and for a suspended second, I felt weightless, my stomach dropping as my body went cold. The silence was absolute, a terrifying void.

Then, laughter echoed around me—not cruel, not joyful, just wrong. It was disjointed, an eerie sound that filled the air as my eyes widened in horror.

I sat bolt upright, gasping, hand lashing out in the dark to grab something—anything. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the room. Sweat clung to my skin, chilling me down to the bone. My breathing came in short, jagged bursts as my eyes darted, trying to recognize shapes, colors—something real.

Nothing made sense.

Not at first.

I forced in one breath.

Then another.

Slower. Deeper. Now. You’re here. Not there. Breathe.

I wiped a shaking hand down my face.

The blanket on my lap slipped slightly. I blinked down at it. Rough brown wool. Not mine. Not familiar.

Where the hell—?

The room was small. Sparse. A couch. A low coffee table. A TV with paper origami perched on top like someone tried halfheartedly to decorate. A flap of cloth fluttered over the door in a morning breeze.

This wasn’t the mansion.

This wasn’t any safe house I knew.

I hissed as I moved to sit forward—head pounding, sharp and deep like the hangover from a dream I couldn’t fully shake. My fingers curled into the edge of the bench. The echo of the nightmare still clung to the corners of my mind, shadowed and hollow.

Then the flap moved.

And Sun Wukong stepped inside, sunlight catching his golden eyes just right.

He smiled the moment he saw me. “Oh good—you’re awake!”

I gaped at Sun Wukong, my mind blank for a moment—then like a truck crashing into me, it all came rushing back. Where I was. Why I was here.

And what I had done.

Heat rushed to my face, hot and ugly, as the memory hit: I’d fallen asleep. I’d actually slept on the ride here.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

How could I have let my guard down like that? With him? Of all people? He could’ve killed me in a hundred different ways, and I wouldn’t have even known until it was too late.

I know the contract says he can’t kill me. I know that. But that’s not the point. It’s the principle. It’s the humiliation.

I hadn’t even noticed myself slipping into unconsciousness. I hadn’t sensed the danger. No twitch of instinct, no internal alarm. Nothing. Just… black.

That wasn’t just stupid—it was dangerous. Weak. I was supposed to be better than that. I am better than that.

And he was still standing there, that stupid smile on his face. Except now it looked tight, like it was being held in place with pins. He was giving me space, letting me figure out how badly I’d fucked up, how much I’d exposed.

Letting me stare at him while I tried to scrape my pride off the floor.

I wanted to punch something. Instead, I forced my expression to lock down. Cold. Neutral. Unshaken.

I threw the walls back up, higher than before. Reinforced. Reinforced with steel and spite.

He can’t see me like that again. Ever.

I shoved the panic, the shame, the sick twist of anxiety all back into the box I kept buried deep. Slammed the lid down and sealed it tight.

Then, as flatly as I could manage, I asked, “How long was I asleep?”

I needed the facts. I needed control back, even if it was only over the clock.

He hummed, thoughtful, as he scratched his chin.

“Oh, I’d say around a day and a half?” He turned to glance behind him, then up at the sky. “Yeah, that sounds right. Dusk’s in about an hour or two, so maybe a little more than half.”

He looked back at me and shrugged, casual. Effortlessly unbothered.

My stomach dropped. I stared at him, the words echoing inside my skull.

A day and a half?

Almost two entire days. Gone. Lost. Just… erased.

I felt my jaw fall open. Not in shock, but in horror. I was asleep for that long? I wasn’t unconscious, wasn’t injured—I just slept. That wasn’t rest. That was shutdown. That was my body giving up before I’d realized something was wrong.

This wasn’t a nap. This was a red flag.

And now I had to go back to my day job like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t just let my greatest threat cradle me in his arms for days.

I forced my jaw to close and clenched my teeth until my head ached.

“Do you have some kind of washroom?” I asked, eyes locked anywhere but his.

“Oh yeah! Here, this little guy’ll show you the way!” he said, turning to gesture behind him.

A small monkey jumped up onto his shoulder with a gentle coo. Wukong smiled at it and asked it to guide me to the bathroom. The monkey nodded, glanced at me, then hopped onto the coffee table and reached out with one tiny hand.

I stared at it for a heartbeat too long.

Then, slowly, I took its hand.

It tugged gently, pulling me off the bench and toward the exit. I moved automatically, ghost-like, doing my best not to look at Wukong as I passed him.

The walk to the washroom felt surreal. Like I wasn’t really inside my body. My skin felt too tight. My heart too loud. My mind too empty.

When we got there, I blinked. It looked… normal. Human. Just a bathroom.

I handled what I needed to, then stood at the sink, gripping the edge like it might disappear if I let go.

I washed my hands, then leaned over to look into the water’s surface. My reflection stared back at me like it belonged to someone else.

Dark bags carved deep trenches under my eyes. My skin was pale, my mouth tight, my shoulders hunched. I looked like someone who’d barely escaped something monstrous.

Because I had.

But worse—I’d let it hold me.

I sighed, low and bitter, then splashed water on my face. I scrubbed at my skin like it might wipe away the fatigue, the weakness, the shame coiled around my bones.

Just one hour. That’s all I needed.

Explain what happened. Get my payment. Leave.

That’s it. Should be easy.

It wasn’t easy.

When I got back, Wukong was sitting at a wooden table just outside his home, the soft glow of late afternoon casting golden light across the clearing. There were two cups set out in front of him, both gently steaming. One rested in his hands, half-raised toward his lips. The other sat untouched across from him—exactly where he expected me to sit.

I sighed quietly and lowered myself into the seat opposite him, trying not to show how tense I still felt. My gaze dropped to the cup in front of me. The tea inside was a light brown color, still swirling from when it had been poured. It looked… normal. Safe. Harmless. But that didn’t mean a damn thing.

Then, just as I was eyeing it, Wukong set down the cup he’d been drinking from—but not in front of himself. No, he placed it in front of me. And then, without missing a beat, he picked up the untouched cup—the one that had been meant for me—and took a long sip.

He was proving something.

My fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into the wood beneath my hand. He was showing me—subtly, smugly—that the drinks weren’t poisoned. That both cups were safe. That he wasn’t trying to trick me, harm me, or get one over on me. He even smiled as he did it, like he’d expected me to automatically reject anything he offered out of sheer principle. And the worst part? He was right. I would have.

But now he’d taken that excuse away. There was no clever out I could use to refuse the drink without looking completely irrational. No reason left to push it away and act like he was the threat.

It pissed me off.

He was trying to be nice. Or… something close to it. I should’ve been grateful. I should’ve responded in kind—thanked him, offered a polite nod, acted like a halfway decent person. But I couldn’t. Not when I was still reeling from the fact that he’d seen me at my most vulnerable. Not when I knew he’d sat there and watched me sleep, completely defenseless, like I wasn’t a threat at all.

He saw me weak. Saw me broken open and unaware. And no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t matter, that I was fine, that I’d bounce back—I couldn’t get that fact out of my head. Not when it’s so fresh.

So I did what I always do when I feel cornered. I bit.

I told myself I was doing it to reassert control, to shake the softness out of his eyes. To put something sharp between us so he couldn’t pretend there was any trust here. That’s how I justified being short with him. That’s how I excused the rudeness I was about to spit across the table.

The truth was, Red and I are more alike than I’d ever admit. Both of us lash out when we’re hurt. Both of us pretend anger is armor.

Still, I lifted the cup and took a sip of the tea, if only because I had no grounds to refuse it now. To my annoyance, it was actually… good. Smooth and warm with a faint, floral sweetness. There was a hint of peach, and I could tell it was oolong—probably a high-quality blend, too. Of course it was. He would have good tea.

But I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. I swallowed, set the cup down, and snapped, “Let’s get this over with. I want the money this week.”

I refused to meet his eyes as I said it. My voice was cold, clipped, deliberately distant.

Because I couldn’t afford to be anything else.

He sighed and looked down into his cup—the one he’d taken from me earlier, as if reminding himself of the strange game we were playing. This whole thing was weird. Just… plain weird. I still couldn’t wrap my head around why he even wanted this arrangement. Why go through the trouble of drawing up a contract with me just to get scraps of information about MK? It made no sense.

But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Not today. Not right now. I still had the lingering weight of the arcade ordeal sitting behind my eyes, making everything feel just a little off balance.

“Okay, so you want to get straight to the point, huh?” he said finally, breaking the silence as he looked back up at me over the rim of his tea. “I can work with that. So, what has MK been up to this week?”

I didn’t hide my annoyance. I lifted my elbow onto the table and rested my chin in my palm, rolling my eyes in the most obvious way I could manage. “You know I’m not gonna see the noodle boy every week, right? So don’t expect me to always have some grand update. You never told me to stalk the kid—so you’ll only get what I see when the Bull Family crosses paths with him.”

My tone was flat, almost bored. But it wasn’t boredom, not really. It was armor. Disinterest was easier than dealing with how messy everything else had become.

His smile wavered, just slightly. His fingers tightened around the ceramic cup, just slightly. He did his best to hold onto that easy, polite demeanor, but I saw through it. The tension in his jaw, the slight twitch in his brow—he didn’t like my tone. Good.

“I’m well aware of what our contract entails,” he said, voice still polite, but thinner than before. “I don’t expect you to go out of your way to watch over him. Just—when you see him, let me know what you saw.”

His eyebrow twitched as he spoke. I rolled my eyes again and gave a little shake of my head, playing the part of the exasperated informant.

This was stupid. He was Sun Wukong. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Shouldn’t he be able to keep tabs on one dumb kid without outsourcing it to me?

But still—a contract was a contract. And I don’t break mine.

“Whatever. You can be a fool if you want.”

That hit him. I saw the way his grip on the cup tightened again, knuckles pressing white against the clay. A hairline crack spidered along the side of the cup, just barely visible.

“You’re lucky,” I added, tone turning pointed, “that I actually did run into the idiot this week. In fact, I saw your precious golden boy just yesterday.”

That got his attention. His posture straightened a touch, and his eyes widened—not a lot, but enough to show genuine surprise. Guess he hadn’t expected me to actually bring anything useful.

“He’s picked up a new trick. Cloning,” I continued, watching him closely. “Though he clearly sucks at controlling it. One of them went rogue and hijacked an anti-gravity arcade. Turned the place into a floating rave trap—music blasting, lights flashing, no gravity, no exits. He kept everyone suspended in the air and wouldn’t let the party end.”

I let that hang for a beat, then added, “Nearly killed one of his own friends before the real MK showed up to shut him down.”

I left out one part. That I was one of the people trapped. That I’d been spinning in the air for over a day with no way to ground myself, no way to breathe properly or think clearly. That I still hadn’t been able to think about eating without feeling like I’d throw up. That the room still felt like it shifted sideways every time I blinked too long.

No. He didn’t get to know that. He didn’t get that piece of me.

Sun Wukong stared at me for a long moment, completely silent. His gaze was steady, calculating. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, trying to decide if I was lying.

It was almost funny—almost—because I realized just then that there was nothing in our contract that said I couldn’t lie to him about MK. Nothing in the fine print. No clause. No magical failsafe. Just… trust. A dumb move on his part, honestly.

I might have to test that one day.

Something worth thinking about later.

For now, I just sipped my tea again and waited for him to speak—still doing my best to pretend this was just another job.

Because if I let it be anything more, I didn’t know if I could keep my mask from cracking.

Wukong didn’t speak right away.

He just nodded—slow and thoughtful, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a quiet breath, leaned back in his chair, and finally said, “Alright. I believe you.”

That was it. No interrogation. No lecture. Just quiet acceptance.

And that somehow irritated me even more.

“Wow,” I said flatly, “how generous of you.”

He ignored the jab, or at least pretended to. Instead, he tilted his head slightly and changed course like nothing had happened.

“So,” he began, casually swirling the last of the tea in his cup, “while you’re here, I was thinking we could clarify some boundaries for this arrangement going forward.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want to waste more of my time? Fantastic.”

His smile was faint now, barely there, a crack in a mask worn too long. “You did agree to an hour minimum for each check-in.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, slouching further in my seat and setting the now-empty cup down with more force than necessary. “What could be more fun than mandatory conversation with someone I don’t like?”

Wukong didn’t rise to the bait. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

“I don’t need you to like me. But if you’re going to keep working under this contract, then I do need basic cooperation.”

“Oh, I’m cooperating,” I said sweetly, lacing the words with venom. “I told you about MK, didn’t I? I didn’t even embellish the story with how laughably bad his clones are at basic morality. That’s got to count for something.”

His fingers tapped once on the wood before he pushed his cup aside and shifted into what I could only assume was a forced “mentor” tone. “Look, all I want is to know what he’s doing when I’m not around. I’m not asking for surveillance. Just perspective. I need eyes where I don’t have them.”

“Sure. You’re just a concerned dad who outsourced the babysitting.” I gave him a sharp grin. “Adorable, really.”

His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Just sat there with that infuriating restraint of his, like he was too old or too tired to be baited by my pettiness.

The silence stretched, but not comfortably.

Gods, this hour was dragging. I resisted the urge to check my phone. Again. The last time I did, only six minutes had passed. Six. I’d rather face that gravity hellhole again than keep listening to his calm, level voice trying to shape me into something more palatable.

“So,” he said eventually, “what exactly were you doing in the arcade before it all went sideways?”

I glanced at him and gave the most bored shrug I could muster. “None of your business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were there when it started. That seems like relevant information.”

“Oh, were you under the impression I owed you every detail of my life? You want that, it’ll cost extra. Plus that’s outside of our current contract so even if you wanted it I’m not going to give it” I bit out.

Wukong didn’t answer right away. Just studied me, that infuriating quiet stretching again, like he could somehow stare past my words and straight into what I wasn’t saying.

I stared back, unblinking. Daring him to pry. To ask. To dig.

He didn’t. Coward.

Instead, he sat back again with a sigh, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

“I will,” I muttered, arms crossed tight. “You’re not entitled to them.”

I stared at my empty cup, the silence between us growing more awkward by the second. I wasn’t going to initiate any conversation; I just wanted this to be over. But I had obligations to uphold. He was trying, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. I had already given up on trying to figure it out.

“We don’t have to be friends, but we at least have to be civil to each other,” Sun Wukong muttered, so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it.

“What?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, my nerves betraying me with an instinctive reaction.

He sighed and repeated, more clearly this time, “We have to at least be civil to each other here.” His gaze met mine, firm and unwavering. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed.

“Maybe. But you didn’t say I had to be nice or friendly in our contract. So I can act however I want until this is over. We aren’t friends, nor will we ever be. This is just a job, nothing more.” I turned away, looking out into his courtyard, noticing the training area with homemade dummies scattered around.

A low growl rumbled from him, snapping my attention back. He was glaring, but then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ran a hand down his face. “I’m aware,” he said, his tone calmer. “I’m just trying to say let’s not make this harder for either of us.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. I glanced back at the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the ground. The training dummies stood silently, a testament to his dedication and discipline. Maybe there was more to him than I had allowed myself to see.

The conversation limped on like that—stiff, slow, half-spoken and wholly miserable. Every time he tried to pivot toward something slightly more civil—contract terms, encounter details, what MK’s emotional state might have been—I’d snap back with sarcasm or clipped replies. Sometimes he’d challenge me. Other times he’d let it slide.

But he never left. Never pushed too far. Just… endured it.

And I hated that, too.

Because it made me feel like I was the only one cracking under the weight of this forced civility.

By the time the hour was finally up, I practically launched out of my seat.

“Great. Done. Not looking forward to this next week. I’m sure I won’t even see that golden boy of your.” I turned before he could say anything else, not trusting myself to keep the sharp edges in check if he tried to thank me.

And I refused to look back—not even once—as I walked away from that table, already counting the days until I could be done with this contract for good.

I walked out of his cave, past the waterfall, and into the thick forest that blanketed the mountainside. The roar of the water gradually faded behind me with every step, until I couldn’t hear it at all. Only then did I let myself breathe—once, then twice, then a third time—each breath a little deeper, a little shakier than the last. I let my spine droop slightly, the exhaustion creeping in again like it had been waiting for its moment. It had now been seven days since I’d last eaten, and two since I’d had even a sip of water besides that cup of tea I just had. My body was starting to protest in ways I could no longer ignore. The trembling in my hands, the way my chest fought for steady breaths—if I had stayed there with him any longer, he might’ve seen through the act. He might’ve seen that I was falling apart.

I closed my eyes, just for a second, hoping it would bring some clarity. But when I opened them again, the world remained as dizzying as ever. My hands were still shaking when I looked down at them—empty, unarmed. I didn’t have my pistols on me. My magic, usually warm and electric in my veins, now felt like a faint whisper, barely there. Probably dulled from the way I’d neglected myself again. If I were any regular demon, I wouldn’t even be able to walk in this condition. And honestly? I was beginning to wonder how I still was.

I knew I was crashing. I could feel it in every aching joint, every flicker of static under my skin. What surprised me more was that Wukong hadn’t noticed. Or maybe… maybe he just didn’t recognize the signs. How long had it been since he spent real time around anyone but the noodle boy? Maybe he’d forgotten what it looked like when someone was quietly falling apart—when they were about to come undone at the seams.

I kept walking I don’t even know how long I had been walking loosing track of time. My pace brisk out of instinct more than intention, until something caught the corner of my eye and forced me to stop. A pond lay tucked between the trees, its surface calm and untouched, lit by moonlight so soft it made the water look like it held the night sky itself. The stars reflected on it danced with the faint ripples of breeze, a stillness so perfect it felt otherworldly. And in that stillness, I saw him.

A boy, maybe around his preteens—though it’s always hard to tell with demons. He was a half-breed like I am. But instead of a cat he was a golden retriever beast demon. Blonde hair, fluffy golden dog ears poking out from his head, olive skin, and a beaming smile that shone like it had never known pain. His hair fell into his eyes in the reflection, so I couldn’t see them. But the smile… I couldn’t look away from it. Not even as my heart twisted violently in my chest, so hard I thought it might stop right there.

My hand went to my chest, fingers digging in like I could stop the ache if I just pressed hard enough. My eyes burned, stinging with tears I refused to let fall. I blinked hard—once, twice—forcing the tears away. I wouldn’t ruin this. I knew it wasn’t real. I knew this was a side effect of becoming unstable.

That’s what they warn you about with half-breeds. The instability. The danger. If our energy becomes unbalanced, it can spiral. We can lose control of our powers completely, become a walking catastrophe. People point to it as the main reason we’re so hated. Feared. But that’s not the only symptom. Hallucinations—those are part of it too. They dig in like claws, pull you under, try to make you forget what’s real. Your energy, once broken, doesn’t just sit still. It thrashes. It wants to run wild. And so it throws bait in front of you. It tries to drag you deeper.

And then, the wind blew.

A voice came with it—light and airy, dancing between the leaves like morning sunlight touching dew-speckled grass. “We were born into tragedy… we know how we’ll die, always have. At least live like a comedy ‘til it catches up.”

My breath hitched. My lungs locked. I couldn’t breathe. Not even a little. That voice—I thought I’d never hear it again. And even if I knew this was my mind trying to sabotage me, even if I knew this wasn’t real, it didn’t matter. It still cut deep. It was still raw. Like it had only happened yesterday. Like he’d just left all over again. Like I had let it happen. Again.

The water shattered, suddenly, violently. Ripples tore through the pond and the image vanished, broken and gone. The smile. The warmth. The illusion. All of it was erased in an instant.

My eyes snapped to the spot where he had been, searching for what had done it—what had taken him away from me again. But it wasn’t a person. It wasn’t anything that could be blamed. Just a water bug, skipping across the surface, doing exactly what instinct told it to.

For a moment—just a moment—I felt my blood boil. Rage prickled beneath my skin like lightning. Irrational. Uncontrollable. I wanted to kill that bug. To punish it for something it didn’t understand. But I turned away instead, eyes squeezed shut, taking in breath after breath, trying to ground myself. There was no point. It didn’t know what it had taken from me.

So I walked. I didn’t know where to. Just further. Deeper into the woods. Away from the pond. Away from the voice. Away from the part of myself that I was afraid wouldn’t come back.

A few hours had passed since I set out on my own. I stumbled upon some wild fruit growing on trees and bushes. Without much thought about what they were, I ate them, desperate to regain some strength. Nearby, a river flowed gently, and I drank straight from the stream, feeling the cool water soothe my parched throat. Gradually, I felt more stable, the shakiness fading away.

Now, I was sitting on a sandy beach, gazing out at the endless ocean. Beyond the water lay a ring of flaming mountains, their peaks casting a fiery glow around the island. It was mesmerizing and unsettling all at once. I needed time to gather my magic again, to prepare for the long-distance teleportation to the harbor. The thought of attempting it now and ending up in the middle of the ocean was too risky.

I was surprised I had managed to sleep earlier, given my fear of the water. Perhaps I was so exhausted that I pushed past the fear. Having Wukong nearby on his cloud should have heightened my unease, yet somehow, his presence was oddly calming. I hated that fact.

I looked at my hands, focusing on the flow of my magic, trying to gauge if it would be enough to teleport across the ocean and bypass the wards surrounding this place. I realized I hadn’t even checked the wards and seals around Wukong’s house. But there was no point in berating myself for it now.

I sighed deeply, staring at the water, my thoughts heavy. If I couldn’t find a reason to skip, I’d be back next week. Just then, a soft whooshing sound caught my attention. I turned to see Sun Wukong approaching, floating effortlessly on his cloud. He must have had some tracking ward set up. He stopped beside me without saying anything at first, his gaze shifting between me and the ocean.

“I’ll teach you how to get past the wards next time,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “But I can see you’re done with this today. I’ll take you back to the harbor.” He extended his hand, still seated on his cloud, offering me kindness once again.

I was taken aback by his continued patience and kindness, even after all the bitterness I’d shown him earlier. I glanced from his outstretched hand to his face. His smile was soft, his golden eyes warm, even though they were surrounded by a bright red aura. Thanks to my true sight, I could see past any glamours, whether I wanted to or not.

I was exhausted and still needed to talk to Red Son about the unstable energies. I couldn't ignore it anymore. It hadn’t been long since I noticed the imbalance, and things shouldn’t be falling apart so quickly. Yet, here I was.

I stood up, brushing sand from my clothes, deciding not to be difficult for the remainder of this interaction. We would have to see each other again, and he was making an effort. The least I could do was be civil, for now. I took his hand and allowed him to pull me onto his cloud, which felt as soft as cotton candy. I remained silent as I settled into it, as we ascended into the sky, as we flew over the vast ocean below. My stomach churned, threatening to betray me again, but I focused on not looking down at the water.

I felt his gaze on me, glancing over every now and then. Finally, he broke the silence. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot. We both could have handled our meetings better. But now that we’ll be spending a lot of time together, I don’t want this to be something we have to suffer through.”

He was right. I didn’t want to suffer through our interactions either. But everything was overwhelming—too new, with too many people having too many different opinions about it. “I thought you’d be better at building magical contracts since you’re the Monkey King,” I said, surprising myself with the comment. His head snapped towards me, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“What?” he asked, clearly taken aback. “I am the best at making contracts. I’m the Monkey King,” he replied, almost defensively.

I focused on the horizon and clasped my hands together to stop them from trembling, trying to keep the conversation going instead of thinking about the ocean beneath us. “Yeah, not so much. You didn’t even include clauses to keep things secret, or who you were private, or prevent me from lying to you. There are probably a bunch of other loopholes I could exploit. Plus, you can’t even give me orders. You kind of left a lot out.” I shrugged as he gaped at me, clearly surprised by my observations.

The sky around us was painted in deep indigo and silver. Midnight air rushed past, cool and sharp, brushing against my skin as we soared high above the ocean. The full moon hung heavy and bright overhead, casting a silvery glow across the clouds and water below. It lit everything in a ghostly shimmer—the waves far beneath us, the gentle curve of the distant shoreline, and the golden blur of the flaming mountains still faint on the horizon.

I shifted slightly on the cloud beneath my feet, hands tucked into the sleeves of my coat. It felt too soft to be real, like standing on solid mist, but I wasn’t about to complain. The silence between us stretched just long enough to feel awkward.

Then I broke it.

“I mean, I’m at least getting something out of this whole arrangement,” I said, watching the moonlight glint off the tips of the waves below. “Protection. A bit of money. Maybe an artifact or two when I feel like it. Something shiny to make it all worth it.”

Wukong didn’t answer. He just stared at me, mouth slightly open like he was halfway through rebooting his brain.

I smirked, still not looking at him. “You? You get nothing. I really thought you’d catch that before sealing the deal. But nope. Now you’re stuck with me. A contract sealed in magic and gunpowder —how romantic.”

He finally blinked, struggling to catch up with my pace. “You—I do get something!” he blurted, a little too loud against the quiet night.

“Oh?” I turned my head slowly toward him, raising a brow. “Do tell, oh wise Monkey King.”

He fumbled for words, visibly reaching. “You said you wouldn’t kill MK or his friends—and if something happens, you’d protect him. That counts for something!”

I gave a mock gasp. “Wow. Me not killing your new puppy and his little litter mates, how generous of me. To be honest with you I wouldn’t even have killed him, since Red was the one that actually wants to kill the boy and won’t let me even if I wanted.”

He squinted at me, probably deciding whether or not pushing me off the cloud was worth the aftermath. “I get peace of mind. That’s priceless.”

“And yet, you still look like you’re one banana peel away from a full mental breakdown,” I shot back, grinning. “Let’s be honest here—you signed up for a weekly headache. You just didn’t realize it came with a sarcastic soundtrack.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do I do this to myself…”

“You mean make emotionally-charged magical pacts with people who annoy you?” I offered. “No idea. Sounds like a trauma response.”

He tried to glare at me, but the look didn’t quite land—especially not with the moonlight softening the edges of his scowl. “You’re impossible.” He muttered shaking his head, then looking away from me back to the ocean ahead of us.

Since I had been asleep for this ride last time, I didn’t actually know how long it would take for us to get to the harbor and drop me off. I had mentally noted that he hadn’t put his tail around me this time. Maybe it was because he just couldn’t stand the thought of touching me right now.

The thought made something twist uncomfortably in my chest, a cold little knot forming before I could push it away. I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

As if he could read my mind, his tail suddenly wrapped securely around my waist—tight enough to anchor me in place, but not so tight that it hurt. I stiffened, caught between the sudden contact and the warmth that immediately seeped into my skin. His tail was soft and warm, just like the rest of him, and my stupid, traitorous cheeks started to heat up in response.

I hated that. I hated that something so small could make me feel anything right now.

“W-what are you doing?” I asked, trying—and failing—to keep my voice steady. I wanted to push him off. I needed to push him off. Anything to break the strange pull wrapping around my chest tighter than his tail ever could.

I reached down and wrapped a hand around the smooth fur, meaning to shove it off, but I must have moved too fast. My ever-present clumsiness decided to betray me, and I started to tilt, slipping sideways off the cloud’s soft surface.

My stomach dropped.

I caught a glimpse of the dark, endless ocean sprawling out beneath us. From this height, the water looked still—deceptively calm, like a sheet of black glass just waiting for me to shatter through it and disappear.

Panic gripped me, real and paralyzing, but before I could fall, I was yanked harshly back into the middle of the cloud.

The impact rattled me, but even through the shock, I felt the undeniable steadiness of his grip. His voice cut through the tight, rising fear in my throat, steady and dry like he was used to dealing with idiots.

“That’s why,” he said flatly, shooting me a deadpan look. “So if you do start to fall, you won’t actually fall off my boy very far.”

He sighed, as if the very idea of me slipping off was exhausting in itself.

“So please, Foxglove, just… stay still for the most part.”

Foxglove.

The word slipped past his lips so casually, but for me, it hit like a rock to the chest.

My mind snagged on it, breath catching halfway up my throat. The whole world seemed to narrow in, the rushing wind and the endless sky fading into a dull, echoing silence.

“What the fuck… Foxglove?”

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice too raw, too revealing. I hadn’t meant to say anything—hadn’t meant to let him see even a sliver of confusion or hurt—but it was like the thin control I had left finally cracked under the altitude and the closeness.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant, as if it should have made perfect sense. “Yeah. Foxglove.”

I blinked at him, my chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with fear this time.

It wasn’t just a nickname. At least to me it wasn’t it meant more to me.

It felt personal. Too personal. Like he had looked right through me and decided to label what he found.

“Why the fuck did you call me that?” I snapped, sharper than I intended. I could feel something clawing at the inside of my throat—something that wanted to demand, Why do you even care enough to give me a name, why that name out of everything you could have picked?—but I bit it back at the last second, teeth grinding together in frustration.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t smirk. He just answered, jumping into the small gap where my breath had stalled.

“Because those are the kind of petals you leave behind when you teleport,” he said simply, like he was explaining something obvious to a child. “And the flower itself… it seemed fitting for you. Poisonous. Pretty, but toxic. Just like your personality.”

He said it so plainly. No bite, no anger. Just fact.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world to know that about me, to name it and pin it to me so easily.

And somehow, that simple honesty cut deeper than any insult could have.

Because there was no way for him to know that someone else used to call me that too.

No way for him to have learned about the sharp, unwelcome pain that nickname dragged out of me.

So I did the only thing I could—I shoved the sting down deep into my chest and ignored it.

I couldn’t let Sun Wukong know anything about me.

Not the real parts. Not the parts that hurt.

That’s why I rolled my eyes and said, “I have an actual name. I told you before. Just use that, dude.” His eyes widened, and his head snapped around to stare at me like I’d just thrown something at him.

I keep forgetting that I must be the only person who talks to him so casually. Every time I do it, he whips his head around so fast he looks like he’s going to break his neck. “Yeah, that may be,” he said, recovering quickly, “but Foxglove also fits you really well. And besides, it’s not like you’ve used my name yet either.” He pointed at me as if that settled the argument.

The wind blew gently around us as we soared higher, the cloud gliding steadily toward our destination. I could finally make out the faint shape of the harbor on the horizon.

Relief started to trickle into my chest, loosening the tight, tangled knot that had been building there since we took off.

I sighed, meeting his eyes with a bored, half-lidded look. “You want me to use your name? Really?”

He smiled at me, all teeth, and nodded his head enthusiastically, almost like a kid asking for a prize he knew he probably didn’t deserve.

I shrugged, turning my head away from him, watching the water glint silver in the moonlight. “I’m still going to be rude, sarcastic, petty, and everything under the sun. Calling you by your name won’t change that, Wukong.”

The moment his name passed my lips, I felt his tail tighten ever so slightly around my waist. Barely noticeable, but it was there—like he was reacting without meaning to.

I glanced back at him just in time to see him laugh. A real laugh, full and easy, like it had caught even him off guard. It made me blink, because seeing him like that—unguarded, happy—wasn’t something I expected.

He looked younger when he laughed.

More real.

“That’s all I can ask of you, Foxglove,” he said between chuckles, and then, just like that, the cloud came to a smooth, sudden stop.

I leaned over slightly, peering past the edge of the cloud and spotting the familiar shape of a rooftop below us.

Finally.

Time for me to leave.

Wukong floated the cloud just low enough that I could hop off without much trouble. I stood carefully, feeling the weight of the ocean air cling to my skin, the rooftop warm beneath my feet from soaking up the day’s sunlight.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he produced a folded piece of paper and held it out toward me.

I raised an eyebrow, reaching out to snatch it from him. It was a check—already signed, already filled out with an amount that made my stomach tighten unpleasantly.

Payment for services rendered.

A reminder of exactly what I was to him.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, Foxglove,” he said, voice light, like this whole thing didn’t weigh anything at all.

I forced a smirk, tucking the check into my jacket without looking at it again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wukong.”

But as I turned away, stepping onto the rooftop fully and putting my back to him, a strange uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my chest.

It wasn’t sadness.

It wasn’t regret.

It was something quieter. Something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to.

So I buried it deep, packing it down with every step I took away from him.

Because if I stopped for even a second to think about it, I might look back. And that wasn’t allowed. Not for me. Not anymore.

I made it to the ground floor of the building he had dropped me off at before finally giving in and glancing up toward the sky. Wukong was already long gone, streaking off toward his mountain without even a backward glance. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding — a soft, weary sigh.

Good.

Now that he was gone, I could finally let my guard down, even just a little. I dragged my eyes back down to my phone, flicking the dark screen with my thumb.

Dead.

Perfect.

Now I had no idea what time it was, and I couldn’t even call one of the bull clones to come pick me up. Still… it could be worse. At least I wasn’t curled up in a half-broken heap anymore. Well… less broken, anyway. I still felt like absolute shit — shaky, hollow, brittle around the edges. I needed real food, clean water, a solid night’s sleep… hell, maybe a whole week of it.

But at least I was standing on my own two feet again, and that had to count for something. I can handle this, I told myself, squaring my shoulders against the night breeze.

With that stubborn thought anchoring me, I started walking, every intention set on getting back to the Bull Mansion where I could fix myself up properly. Home — or, the closest thing to it, anyway.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

I turned a sharp corner, more focused on moving than watching where I was going, and smacked straight into something — or someone — broad and solid. I stumbled back a step, nearly losing my balance again, and instinctively looked up.

Towering over me was a fish-type demon, his skin a striking shade of bright ocean blue. An unruly shock of orange hair formed a mohawk on the top of his head, matching the thick, vivid beard that curled slightly at his chin. He was massive — not just tall, but built. Thick arms corded with heavy muscle, a broad bare chest, shoulders like battering rams, prayer beads the size of my hands around his neck. He was the kind of size that could have been intimidating, if it weren’t for the almost dopey gentleness written all over his face.

Wrapped lazily around his neck was a blue cat with the same spiky, punkish aesthetic as him, blinking slow yellow eyes at me. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone would be over here at this time of night,” the giant blurted out, voice warm and flustered as he hurried to explain.

“I wasn’t paying enough attention while I was walking — I was talking to Mo, you see.”As he rambled, I found myself squinting, trying to place him. Something about him was familiar. I knew I’d seen this dude before — but where?

And then it clicked. MK’s group. He was one of the noodle boy’s weird little gang. The shield. The gentle tank they always relied on in fights. What the hell is this guy doing all the way out here? Nope. Nope. Didn’t matter.

I needed to cut this conversation short fast, before he got a good look at me and realized exactly who he had bumped into. “Hey, hey, dude, it’s fine,” I said quickly, throwing a casual shrug to soften the edges. “I wasn’t paying much attention either — it’s on both of us.”

The tension drained out of his massive frame immediately, like air leaking from a balloon. His heavy shoulders slumped a little with visible relief. “Oh, great! That’s so good to hear! I’m Sandy, by the way!” he said brightly, beaming down at me like we were already old friends. “And again, I’m really, really sorry for running into you!” He raised both his enormous hands and pressed his palms together in a sheepish, prayer-like gesture.

I was already working on a polite brush-off — some excuse, some quick out — when my body betrayed me. A sudden wave of dizziness crashed into me, stealing the strength from my legs. I stumbled forward, nearly falling, the world tilting sickeningly around me.

“Oh my — are you okay?” Sandy’s voice was full of real concern as he instinctively reached a hand out toward me.

My instincts exploded faster than conscious thought. I jerked back violently, every muscle going rigid. My hair stood on end, ears flattening tight against my skull. A low growl rumbled in my chest as my lips peeled back, baring sharp fangs at the approaching hand. My nails prickled and lengthened into claws, ready without even meaning to be.

My mind screamed at me to stand down, to stop, but my body wasn’t listening. It was moving on old, bone-deep survival habits. Don’t touch me. Don’t grab me. Don’t hurt me.

Sandy froze mid-step, holding perfectly still. His wide honey brown eyes scanned me slowly, not with fear, but with… caution. Careful. Thoughtful. Like he was silently piecing together what kind of animal he was dealing with.

Then, to my surprise, he smiled again — gentle, easy.

No fear. No judgment.

“Hey,” he said softly, as if talking to a frightened cat instead of a pissed-off demon. “How about we head over to my cat shelter for some tea? It could be my apology for bumping into you.” He tilted his head slightly, offering the kind of warmth that didn’t demand anything back.

Like the decision was mine — like I wasn’t cornered. I forced myself to breathe. Long, deep drags of air, in through my nose, out through my mouth. My muscles ached from how tight I was clenching them. You’re fine. He’s not a threat. Calm the hell down.

And honestly… brutal honesty… I could use somewhere to sit down. Just for a little bit. Stupid MK. Stupid clone. Stupid me for pushing myself too hard after everything. I sighed heavily, ears twitching, and gave him a small nod.

Sandy brightened instantly, motioning for me to follow as he turned and headed back toward the water. I shuffled after him, keeping a wary distance but following all the same. He started talking again — about cats, about shelters, about the moon maybe — I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too focused on just keeping my body upright.

Eventually, we reached a dock where a boat bobbed quietly on the dark water. The boat itself was an odd clash of blue and orange — bright and welcoming, even in the dimness of night. I hesitated at the edge, eyeing the boat like it might bite me. Another step into the unknown. Another step trusting a stranger. Sandy had already hopped aboard with easy, fluid strength. He turned back to me, smiling so patiently, just… waiting.

Not rushing. Not pressuring. Just waiting for me to choose.

For once, the choice was actually mine to make.

This time, I decided to just go with the flow. No use being a bitch about it — I didn’t have the energy to be one anyway. So, after a short pause, I stepped forward and followed him onto the boat.

His honey-brown eyes lit up with excitement the moment I made the decision. He smiled and led me further onto the deck, his steps light despite his massive, muscular frame. I was still on edge, though. My nerves weren’t because of him specifically — no, it was the fact that we were on the water that had my instincts spiking. But I forced myself to keep walking, following him inside.

The inside of the boat was unexpectedly cozy. He hadn’t been lying about the “shelter” part either. The living room we entered was teeming with cats — at least twenty or so — all doing their own thing. A few chased each other across the floor, some lounged lazily on window sills, and most were simply sleeping wherever they pleased: sprawled across the tops of furniture, curled up on bookshelves, even piled into boxes stacked in the corners. The scent of fur, warmth, and something faintly herbal filled the air, oddly comforting despite everything.

Sandy had to gently shoo a few cats off the couch and the chair across from it to clear space for us to sit. The blue cat that had been perched around his neck — Mo — had already hopped down the moment we stepped inside, trotting happily toward a food bowl tucked into the corner of the room.

I carefully lowered myself onto the couch, the worn cushions sinking slightly under my weight. It didn’t smell like water or mildew like I half expected; it smelled like clean wood, cats, and faint traces of tea and spices. Meanwhile, Sandy disappeared into what I could only guess was the kitchen tucked somewhere further in the boat.

“So, what kinds of tea do you like?” his voice called from the other room, casual and friendly. “I have a lot, so let me know! Or I can just make something and surprise you?”

I could hear the smile in his voice, bright and genuine.

This felt like a place I didn’t belong — like I was bringing down the mood and the whole atmosphere just by sitting here.

Still, the words stumbled out of my mouth anyway.

“Oh, uh… I don’t really mind. Anything’s fine with me,” I called back, shifting awkwardly on the couch.

God, if Lady Iron were here, she’d already be scolding me for my complete lack of etiquette. I couldn’t help but shake my head a little at the thought, pushing it away before it could fester. There was no need to dredge up those old habits right now. Not here.

A few minutes later, Sandy returned, carefully balancing a tray loaded with a full tea set. He set it down on the coffee table between us with surprising grace for someone his size, humming a soft, cheerful tune under his breath. Without asking, he took it upon himself to serve us, moving with a practiced ease that suggested he did this kind of thing often.

When he finished pouring, I tapped two fingers lightly against the edge of the table — a small gesture of thanks I vaguely remembered being the polite thing to do when someone poured your tea for you. A little fragment of good manners from lessons I tried to forget.

I waited until he took his own cup and drank first. I counted a handful of heartbeats, watching closely for any reaction — a tightening of the throat, a sudden shift, anything that would tell me the tea was drugged or worse.

When nothing happened, I finally lifted my own cup and took a cautious sip.

The taste was immediate — spicy and warm, with a subtle earthiness underneath and a natural sweetness that curled around the edges. It woke me up a little, grounding me more firmly into my own skin.

If my memory served me right, it was a ginger tea.

The warmth spread down my throat into my chest, making it a little easier to breathe, a little easier to think. I took another, deeper drink before setting the cup back down on the table between us with a quiet clink.

Across from me, Sandy watched with a patient, hopeful sort of light sparkling in his honey-brown eyes. He didn’t speak, but he was clearly waiting for me to say something — anything.

I decided to humor him.

“It’s a very nice tea,” I said, letting the warmth bleed into my voice a little. “Ginger, right?”

His face lit up with a warm, proud smile as he gave a nod, clearly pleased that I recognized it. I picked the cup back up, and looked down into the light amber hue of the gently steaming tea.

I leaned back into the couch a little, the tea warming my hands through the delicate ceramic cup. I could already feel my muscles starting to unclench, just a little — the jittery tension bleeding off like steam in the air.

Sandy gave a small, pleased hum, clearly delighted by the simple fact that I liked the tea. He leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on his knees, the posture casual and open. The boat creaked faintly around us with the gentle movement of the water, but it wasn’t jarring — it almost felt like the world was rocking me to sleep.

“You know,” he said, voice picking up with a bit of excitement, “ginger tea’s great for a lot of things! Good for nausea, boosts circulation, gets rid of dizziness, helps settle the stomach… it’s even supposed to strengthen your immune system if you drink it enough.”

He chuckled a little, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I kinda nerd out about teas. Sorry if it’s boring.”

There was an earnestness in him that didn’t seem capable of being fake — a simple, honest excitement over something so… harmless.

I shrugged slightly, not trusting my voice yet, but motioned for him to go on.

Sandy took that as encouragement and brightened even further.

“There’s a tea for everything if you know where to look,” he said, shifting into a more comfortable seat across from me. “Chamomile’s good for calming anxiety and helping you sleep — though it’s pretty sweet, so not everyone’s into it. Peppermint can ease headaches and muscle pain. Lavender helps when you’re stressed, and green tea’s packed with antioxidants, boosts your energy… even hibiscus tea can lower blood pressure.”

He ticked off each one on his fingers as he spoke, like he had an invisible list he was working through.

I watched him quietly, fingers curled around my cup, the rising steam softening the world between us.

“And if you blend them right,” he continued, “you can target specific things. Like, I made a tea once with valerian root and chamomile for a bunch of rescued kittens who were really anxious after a storm. Worked like a charm! They were all knocked out in, like, ten minutes.”

He laughed at the memory, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the small living room like a low, pleasant drumbeat.

Despite myself, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch.

He drugged a bunch of cats with tea?

That was… honestly, a little impressive.

Sandy caught the half-smile, and his own grin widened. As if he’s able to read my mind he said.

“Not drugged! Just… gently encouraged to take a nap,” he said, eyes sparkling with humor.

I shook my head a little, still fighting the full smile threatening to break through.

Stupid. This place is stupidly cozy. I shouldn’t be here.

“There’s even teas that are supposed to help with pain,” Sandy went on, oblivious to the internal war I was waging. “Like turmeric tea. Really earthy flavor — kinda weird if you’re not used to it — but it helps with inflammation, arthritis, stuff like that. And lemon balm is great for nerves, even insomnia if you have it bad enough.”

He paused to take another sip from his own cup, his expression turning a little thoughtful.

“You seem like someone who could use a tea for relaxing,” he said, not unkindly. Just an observation.

I stiffened automatically, a flash of defensiveness rising up before I could stop it.

My ears flicked back against my hairline. My tail, tucked safely behind me, twitched once in warning.

Sandy must have caught it because he held up his free hand, palm out.

“Not judging,” he said quickly. “Just… you seem like you’re carrying a lot. Most people do these days.”

For a long second, I didn’t answer.

Just let the rocking of the boat, the warmth of the tea, the quiet purring of cats scattered around the room fill the space between us.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the aftermath of everything that had happened earlier, but…

I found I didn’t have the energy to keep my guard fully up anymore.

I set the cup down carefully on the tray between us. “Yeah… maybe I am,” I muttered, not really meaning to say it out loud.

Sandy smiled softly — not triumphant, not smug.

Just understanding.

“Well,” he said, leaning back and looking ridiculously comfortable in the armchair, “you’re in good company. Most of the cats around here have had it rough, too. That’s why they stay. Healing’s slow work… but a good nap, a hot cup of tea… it’s a start.”

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t get up and leave either.

The boat creaked again as it rocked slightly against the dock. One of the cats — a big, fluffy orange tabby — jumped up onto the couch beside me, curling against my hip without a single care in the world. I froze for a moment… then, cautiously, let it happen.

Maybe just for tonight… I could pretend, just a little, that I was allowed to be somewhere safe.

The cat pressed a little harder against my side, its soft purring vibrating through the cushion and into my ribs.

I stared down at it, watching the way it blinked slowly at me, utterly trusting.

And for a second — a stupid, dangerous second — I wanted to believe I could stay here.

That I could just sit quietly in this boat full of sleepy cats and warm tea, with someone who didn’t expect anything from me, didn’t know anything about me.

The guilt hit immediately afterward.

Hard and cold.

You can’t afford to pretend, the thought snapped at me. You know better. You know exactly what happens when you get comfortable.

I gripped the edge of my tea cup a little too tightly, breathing slow through my nose.

Still…

An hour or two wouldn’t kill me.

It couldn’t hurt just to pretend for a little while longer, right?

Just until my legs didn’t feel like jelly and my hands didn’t shake if I looked too closely.

I shifted slightly, letting the orange cat settle more comfortably against me.

“An hour or two can’t hurt,” I muttered under my breath, almost like I was asking permission from the universe.

Sandy caught it, somehow, and grinned in that easy, warm way of his.

“That’s the spirit,” he said, and without any fanfare, launched into a full-blown explanation about tea blends for joint pain versus nerve tension.

The next hour passed in a blur of surprisingly easy conversation.

Sandy had a knack for talking — not at you, but with you — pulling little bits of reaction from me without pushing too hard.

He told me about the time Mo had gotten into a box of catnip and led a full-scale feline rebellion aboard the ship.

About the rare pink lotus tea he had once traded three barrels of river fish to get from a wandering merchant.

About how he was trying to grow his own herbs on the back deck even though half the cats kept digging them up.

I found myself answering here and there — short comments at first, then little jokes, tiny flashes of sarcasm that made him laugh.

He told dumb jokes about the different types of teas (“When you spill tea on your shirt it’s a calami-tea. ”) and made ridiculous impressions of the cats’ personalities.

It wasn’t deep conversation.

It wasn’t prying, or heavy, or sharp.

It was… easy.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself relax — not completely, but enough to breathe.

By the time I finally stood, the tea was long gone, the cats were stretched out snoring, and the stars outside the window were beginning to tilt higher into the black velvet sky.

Sandy stood up too, smiling that same gentle, patient smile.

He didn’t try to make me stay.

He didn’t ask any questions.

“Thanks for the company,” he said simply, as if I’d done him the favor.

I nodded once, short and sharp, trying not to fidget under the strange, heavy feeling blooming in my chest.

“I’ll… see you around,” I muttered, already stepping toward the door before the stupid warmth inside me could root any deeper.

Sandy just gave a little wave, as casual and easy as ever, before turning back to the task of tucking a blanket over a kitten that had fallen asleep in a basket.

I stepped off the boat onto the dock, feeling the solid wood under my boots.

The night air hit me — cool and smelling faintly of salt — and I shivered once, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

The guilt returned immediately, clawing up the back of my throat.

I shouldn’t feel lighter.

I shouldn’t feel… better.

But I did.

Even if it was wrong.

Even if it was dangerous.

Just one night. I tried to convince myself. It’s not like it means anything.

I turned the corner into a shadowed alley, hidden from the lights of the harbor.

The moment I was sure no one could see me, I closed my eyes, gathering what little magic I had clawed back into myself.

The familiar snap of displacement tugged at my gut, and in the blink of an eye, I was gone — teleporting straight back to my room at the Bull Mansion.

I landed in the center of my bedroom, the familiar clutter of books, weapons, and half-finished projects around me.

The comforting smell of iron and old paper.

I stood there for a moment in the quiet, staring at nothing.

The fake warmth of the tea still lingered in my hands.

And despite everything, despite every warning bell screaming in my head…

I didn’t regret it.

Not yet.

By the time I peeled off my jacket and kicked my boots into the corner, the exhaustion had sunk deep into my bones.

I moved on autopilot, shuffling over to the small desk tucked against the far wall. My charger was still tangled around the legs of the lamp. I bent down, plugged my dead phone in, and dropped it onto the desk with a dull thud.

The screen stayed black.

Too drained even to flash a low battery warning.

Figures.

I rubbed my hands over my face, pressing hard against my eyes.

The traces of warmth from the tea and the lingering feeling of the boat’s gentle rocking were already starting to fade, replaced by the cold, heavy reality waiting for me tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

When I’d have to face Lady Iron.

And the rest of the Bull Family.

The thought made my stomach knot.

It had been days since the fight.

Days since I’d thrown up walls between myself and them, too proud, too angry, too bruised to do anything else.

And now, like it or not, the clock had run out. I couldn’t avoid them anymore.

They’re going to expect something from me.

An apology, maybe.

An explanation.

A reason to why I had stayed away afterward like a coward licking her wounds.

I didn’t know if I had it in me to give them anything at all.

I crawled into bed without bothering to change clothes, dragging the covers up around me with a rough, tired motion.

The mattress felt too big tonight.

The room too quiet.

Even the hum of my phone trying to charge sounded sharp in the stillness.

I rolled onto my side, facing the wall, letting the darkness wrap around me like a second, heavier blanket.

An hour or two can’t hurt, I had told myself earlier.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe it had helped.

But it didn’t change what was waiting for me at sunrise.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, sleep came quickly — heavy, dreamless, and unkind.

Notes:

So this was a little over 11,000. Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts and feelings :)

#Tragedy has targets #sun wukong x macaque x reader #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #lego monkie kid #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #lmk #writing #lmk sandy

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chibifox88 · 27 days ago

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Chapter 4 Sneak Peak

He smiled the moment he saw me. “Oh good—you’re awake!”

I gaped at Sun Wukong, my mind blank for a moment—then like a truck crashing into me, it all came rushing back. Where I was. Why I was here.

And what I had done.

Heat rushed to my face, hot and ugly, as the memory hit: I’d fallen asleep. I’d actually slept on the ride here.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

How could I have let my guard down like that? With him? Of all people? He could’ve killed me in a hundred different ways, and I wouldn’t have even known until it was too late.

I know the contract says he can’t kill me. I know that. But that’s not the point. It’s the principle. It’s the humiliation.

I hadn’t even noticed myself slipping into unconsciousness. I hadn’t sensed the danger. No twitch of instinct, no internal alarm. Nothing. Just… black.

That wasn’t just stupid—it was dangerous. Weak. I was supposed to be better than that. I am better than that.

Letting me stare at him while I tried to scrape my pride off the floor.

I wanted to punch something. Instead, I forced my expression to lock down. Cold. Neutral. Unshaken.

I threw the walls back up, higher than before. Reinforced. Reinforced with steel and spite.

He can’t see me like that again. Ever.

I shoved the panic, the shame, the sick twist of anxiety all back into the box I kept buried deep. Slammed the lid down and sealed it tight.

Then, as flatly as I could manage, I asked, “How long was I asleep?”

I needed the facts. I needed control back, even if it was only over the clock.

He hummed, thoughtful, as he scratched his chin.

“Oh, I’d say around a day and a half?” He turned to glance behind him, then up at the sky. “Yeah, that sounds right. Dusk’s in about an hour or two, so maybe a little more than half.”

He looked back at me and shrugged, casual. Effortlessly unbothered.

My stomach dropped. I stared at him, the words echoing inside my skull.

A day and a half?

Almost two entire days. Gone. Lost. Just… erased.

This wasn’t a nap. This was a red flag.

And now I had to go back to my day job like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t just let my greatest threat cradle me in his arms for days.

I forced my jaw to close and clenched my teeth until my head ached.

“Do you have some kind of washroom?” I asked, eyes locked anywhere but his.

“Oh yeah! Here, this little guy’ll show you the way!” he said, turning to gesture behind him.

I stared at it for a heartbeat too long.

Then, slowly, I took its hand.

It tugged gently, pulling me off the bench and toward the exit. I moved automatically, ghost-like, doing my best not to look at Wukong as I passed him.

The walk to the washroom felt surreal. Like I wasn’t really inside my body. My skin felt too tight. My heart too loud. My mind too empty.

When we got there, I blinked. It looked… normal. Human. Just a bathroom.

I handled what I needed to, then stood at the sink, gripping the edge like it might disappear if I let go.

I washed my hands, then leaned over to look into the water’s surface. My reflection stared back at me like it belonged to someone else.

Dark bags carved deep trenches under my eyes. My skin was pale, my mouth tight, my shoulders hunched. I looked like someone who’d barely escaped something monstrous.

Because I had.

But worse—I’d let it hold me.

I sighed, low and bitter, then splashed water on my face. I scrubbed at my skin like it might wipe away the fatigue, the weakness, the shame coiled around my bones.

Just one hour. That’s all I needed.

Explain what happened. Get my payment. Leave.

That’s it. Should be easy.

It wasn’t easy.

Hope you enjoyed this sneak peak. I am done writing the meat and potatoes of the chapter I just need to fully edit and grammar check it. This past month has been crazy for me as well. So it might take longer for me to edit the chapter but hopefully I’ll get it out in about a handful of weeks.

-Chibi

#Tragedy has Targets #Sneak Peak #writing #Sun Wukong #some day we will get Macaque

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chibifox88 · 27 days ago

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Chapter 4 Sneak Peak

He smiled the moment he saw me. “Oh good—you’re awake!”

I gaped at Sun Wukong, my mind blank for a moment—then like a truck crashing into me, it all came rushing back. Where I was. Why I was here.

And what I had done.

Heat rushed to my face, hot and ugly, as the memory hit: I’d fallen asleep. I’d actually slept on the ride here.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

How could I have let my guard down like that? With him? Of all people? He could’ve killed me in a hundred different ways, and I wouldn’t have even known until it was too late.

I know the contract says he can’t kill me. I know that. But that’s not the point. It’s the principle. It’s the humiliation.

I hadn’t even noticed myself slipping into unconsciousness. I hadn’t sensed the danger. No twitch of instinct, no internal alarm. Nothing. Just… black.

That wasn’t just stupid—it was dangerous. Weak. I was supposed to be better than that. I am better than that.

Letting me stare at him while I tried to scrape my pride off the floor.

I wanted to punch something. Instead, I forced my expression to lock down. Cold. Neutral. Unshaken.

I threw the walls back up, higher than before. Reinforced. Reinforced with steel and spite.

He can’t see me like that again. Ever.

I shoved the panic, the shame, the sick twist of anxiety all back into the box I kept buried deep. Slammed the lid down and sealed it tight.

Then, as flatly as I could manage, I asked, “How long was I asleep?”

I needed the facts. I needed control back, even if it was only over the clock.

He hummed, thoughtful, as he scratched his chin.

“Oh, I’d say around a day and a half?” He turned to glance behind him, then up at the sky. “Yeah, that sounds right. Dusk’s in about an hour or two, so maybe a little more than half.”

He looked back at me and shrugged, casual. Effortlessly unbothered.

My stomach dropped. I stared at him, the words echoing inside my skull.

A day and a half?

Almost two entire days. Gone. Lost. Just… erased.

This wasn’t a nap. This was a red flag.

And now I had to go back to my day job like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t just let my greatest threat cradle me in his arms for days.

I forced my jaw to close and clenched my teeth until my head ached.

“Do you have some kind of washroom?” I asked, eyes locked anywhere but his.

“Oh yeah! Here, this little guy’ll show you the way!” he said, turning to gesture behind him.

I stared at it for a heartbeat too long.

Then, slowly, I took its hand.

It tugged gently, pulling me off the bench and toward the exit. I moved automatically, ghost-like, doing my best not to look at Wukong as I passed him.

The walk to the washroom felt surreal. Like I wasn’t really inside my body. My skin felt too tight. My heart too loud. My mind too empty.

When we got there, I blinked. It looked… normal. Human. Just a bathroom.

I handled what I needed to, then stood at the sink, gripping the edge like it might disappear if I let go.

I washed my hands, then leaned over to look into the water’s surface. My reflection stared back at me like it belonged to someone else.

Dark bags carved deep trenches under my eyes. My skin was pale, my mouth tight, my shoulders hunched. I looked like someone who’d barely escaped something monstrous.

Because I had.

But worse—I’d let it hold me.

I sighed, low and bitter, then splashed water on my face. I scrubbed at my skin like it might wipe away the fatigue, the weakness, the shame coiled around my bones.

Just one hour. That’s all I needed.

Explain what happened. Get my payment. Leave.

That’s it. Should be easy.

It wasn’t easy.

-Chibi

#Tragedy has Targets #Sneak Peak #writing #Sun Wukong #some day we will get Macaque

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chibifox88 · 1 month ago

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Yessss 😂 I can see Red Son’s and them getting into a big argument over if it was her shirt or his first and PIF having to break up the fight….again

Question

Would any of you think it’s be cute or funny if reader is prone to steal Red Son’s clothes? It seems very sibling coded to me. 😂

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chibifox88 · 1 month ago

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Question

Would any of you think it’s be cute or funny if reader is prone to steal Red Son’s clothes? It seems very sibling coded to me. 😂

#Tragedy has Targets #not writing #lego monkie kid #red son #i think it’d be cute

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chibifox88 · 1 month ago

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So chapter 4…

You want?

#Tragedy has Targets #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #poll #not writing #lego monkie kid

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Ok I have service. And internet at my hotel at least. But I will be given a place to live hopefully soon. I’ll know more come Monday for me.

I am like super not stressed right now. * I say as I am shaking like a Chihuahua*

But I’m excited to be here in Korea rn and looking forward to trying all the food and stuff. If any of you have been here please give me places to try and visit. Or if you know of any good coffee shops as well.

Alright folks, here’s the deal—I’m about to vanish off the face of the earth (probably) for at least a couple of weeks, maybe longer. Work is sending me overseas for a whole year. Yep. A. Year. I’m excited, terrified, and currently screaming internally because I’m going solo on this adventure.

So! I was planning to wait a little longer, but surprise! I’m dropping Chapter 3 now and leaving you all with a very adorable little cliffhanger. Don’t worry—it won’t rip your hearts out… probably. No promises.

Not sure how the internet situation will be where I’m headed, and overseas data is expensive as heck, so we’ll see how things go. Wish me luck—and enjoy the chapter while I disappear into the great unknown!

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 3- Work Drags

Summary:

Feeling kinda down, might as well get something done.

The silence enveloped me differently than it had back there—heavier, more final. As I looked down at my hands, the dried blood and the marks on my palms were still visible, a lingering reminder of everything that had happened. I remained still at first, sitting in the chair she’d teleported with me, my hands resting in my lap. The crescent-shaped cuts throbbed softly now that the adrenaline had worn off. The room was still, quiet in that suffocating way that always follows a storm, as if the silence itself was listening, waiting for the aftershocks.

I exhaled shakily, my exterior calm, but inside, I felt like I was falling apart. My eyes drifted to the corner of the room where the shadows curled deepest, my warding sigils flickering faintly on the walls, reacting to the residual magic from the teleport. They were still intact, still providing a sense of safety—for now. But how long would that last? Leaning forward in the chair, I braced my arms against my knees, letting my head fall into my hands. I stayed like that for a while, my breath shallow, my heartbeat louder than I wanted it to be. Then, without warning, my throat clenched, and something tight and unfamiliar twisted in my chest. It wasn’t rage or grief—just exhaustion, the kind that seeps deep into your bones like rot.

They would come for me again someday—the white coats. They always came back, no matter how many years passed or how well I hid. Sooner or later, one of them would figure out where I was and try to drag me back. Back to the tubes and steel restraints, back to being an experiment and not a person. And when that day came, this “family” would be collateral. They didn’t know it—not really, not yet—but I did. No matter how much power I gained, how many contracts I signed, or how many monsters I outwitted, I could never shake the feeling that I was living on borrowed time. And when the collectors came, they wouldn’t care who got in the way. Princess Iron Fan, Red Son, even the kid—maybe even the Monkey King himself would fall into the crossfire. None of them would be spared just because they thought I was theirs.

This family, this thing I never asked for, this strange web I’d become entangled in—it would be destroyed the second the wrong people found out where I was again. So what was the point? What was the point in being angry, sad, or hopeful? There was no future for me. Not a real one. Not like the ones they had. I’d known that since the beginning. I’d told myself I didn’t care.

Maybe that had been true once. But now, sitting alone in this room that smelled like incense and gunpowder and everything I’d tried to build for myself, I didn’t know what I felt anymore. Tired? Yes. Hollow? Maybe. But underneath all of that, buried somewhere deep, was something worse—a kind of grief that hadn’t happened yet, the kind you can see coming from a mile away but can’t stop.

I sat back slowly, pressing the heel of my palm against one eye. It ached. Everything did. I wasn’t going to cry. Not for this. I’d cried enough years ago, behind glass walls and silence spells, and it hadn’t changed a thing. So I stayed quiet, letting the silence have me for a while, letting it wrap around me like smoke. Because for now, I was safe. And I needed to believe that mattered. Even if the next time someone came to take me, there’d be nothing left to protect. Maybe I’d destroy it all before they could. Maybe I’d end up alone again—because of my own actions, my own attitude. Be the reason more people die trying to protect me.

I shook my head sharply. No. I couldn’t think like that. Not now. I needed to stop looking back. The past wasn’t going to help me. It never had. And right now, I had work to do.

I had an assassination job lined up for Breezeblock—a clean kill, quick and quiet, followed by a meet-up to deliver proof. It wouldn't take long, and honestly, I needed the distraction. The thrill of the hunt was oddly calming. There was something about stalking a target from a distance that brought focus and calculation. The power of knowing I could end a life with a flick of magic or a well-placed shot was satisfying, a part of the demon-cat side of me that always relished the hunt.

Perhaps I was becoming unstable again, my two natures pulling in different directions, claws scraping against my soul. The old tension was creeping back, the one I tried not to name: demon, human, half—never fully either, yet never just the two. But I shoved the thought aside. I didn’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. I refused to spiral into the mess that being an unstable half-breed brought: the chakra realignments, the meds, the meditative hell sessions with ancient scripts and silver needles, and that sterile, clinical pressure to be normal. I hated all of it. It reminded me too much of the past I was still running from—the white coats, the restraints, the endless tests.

Finally, I stood up from the chair, ignoring the quiet ache in my legs, and walked over to the desk. My fingers found the right drawer automatically, tugging it open to reveal a worn black folder. I flipped it open and scanned the pages again, although I already knew their contents: a picture of the target, movement patterns, last known location, confirmed vulnerabilities. This was another magical contract, one with Breezeblock—one of the slimiest gang leaders in the city's underground network. Our deal was simple: one job a month, minimum. I could take more if I wanted, and he’d happily dump as many as I could handle. The lazy bastard never liked doing anything himself. If a name hit his desk and it didn’t immediately make him look good, it got passed to me.

Lucky me.

At least he paid well.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders once, then shut the folder and let my magic rise beneath my skin—warm and steady, sharp at the edges. Focusing on the coordinates listed on the last page, the world twisted in the space of a breath, magic grabbing hold of me like a windstorm. Pink petals filled my vision as always, and just like that, I vanished. The city reformed around me in a shimmer of displaced air.

I landed without a sound on the rooftop of a weathered office building overlooking the meet-up point. Petals gently flowing down to the roof. The sky above was streaked with smog and neon haze. The streets below were mostly clear—emptied from the previous fight near the weather station, the kind that scared off civilians and kept even nosy gangs away.

Exactly the way I liked it.

High vantage point. Open sight lines. No one looking up.

I crouched low, moving to the edge of the roof, the wind pushing at the loose ends of my coat. My eyes scanned the far side of the block, narrowing at the alley lit faintly by flickering signage.

That was the spot. Target was due any minute.

I reached up to my necklace and unclasped it, fingers grazing the small coffin charm hanging against my collarbone. As soon as it was free, I let it rest in my palm and channeled a slow pulse of magic into it.

It pulsed back—faintly glowing a soft, cold grey.

The metal trembled in my hand, and I extended my arm outward as it began to grow—folding out of itself like some ancient, shifting relic. Enchantments flared to life along its sides in intricate lines, and it expanded until it stood nearly as tall as me.

Heavy. Dense. I am barely able to carry the case.

I gripped the handle near the side and gave a grunt under my breath as I pulled it down to rest on the ground.. It was a strain—always was—but I’d trained for this. Reinforced strength spells wrapped around my shoulders and arms as I slid it to the ground with a practiced thud.

Inside, it held every type of firearm I’d ever designed or customized. Pistols, shotguns, crossbows, and rifles—each suspended in a magically stabilized stasis, categorized by range, velocity, and elemental type. Tonight, I needed only one.

The long-range sniper rifle: matte black with silver filigree, enhanced with kinetic and wind-channeling runes. Its core was forged from demon bone and alchemical steel—silent, sleek, and built to tear flesh from the inside out.

I pulled it free with reverence. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was an extension of me. As I assembled it piece by piece—barrel, scope, stabilizer—the familiar rhythm brought a low hum of calm into my chest. Not peace. But focus. Focus was better than peace anyway.

I stretched out flat on the rooftop and leveled the rifle against the ledge. My fingers twisted the scope until the targeting rune flared to life, lining up through layers of distance and walls and magic.

There he was.

Target acquired.

A demon lieutenant for one of Breezeblock’s rivals. Muscle-bound and smug, with fire-etched tattoos on red skin and a charm woven around his throat. He stepped out of a black car into the mouth of the alleyway, flanked by two guards. Laughing. Talking. Unaware.

He thought he was safe. But even at this distance—over three miles out—he wasn’t out of my reach. I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and whispered a few trigger words. The scope adjusted itself to account for wind drag and magical resistance.

I could see through his body.

Could see his heart beating.

I locked onto it.

Steadied my breath.

Let the world fade.

This wasn’t emotion.

This wasn’t personal.

This was work.

I pulled the trigger.

The shot was near silent—just a low crack of air snapping apart. But when the spell-augmented bullet hit him, the impact was vicious.

His chest exploded in a fountain of dark, arterial blood, spraying the alley wall behind him like a butcher’s canvas. The bullet tore through his ribs and heart, fragmenting on impact. Bone, blood, and shreds of meat painted the pavement. One of his guards was splattered with the aftermath—jaw slack as he stared in horror.

The demon collapsed mid-step, his body twitching on the ground, one arm flailing weakly before it stilled. His mouth moved once more, blood gurgling over his lips before his head lolled to the side and hit the concrete with a wet crack.

The guards screamed—one bolting, the other staying behind, trying to summon something protective with a shaking hand. Too late. The job was already done. I stayed still for another few seconds, breathing in slow through my nose. The scent didn’t reach me—but in my mind, I could feel the iron in the air. Could taste the copper.

The distant sound of chaos rose as people started noticing the body. But I was already gone from their story. All I needed was to grab proof of the kill before leaving this place.

I pulled back from the scope and sat up, disassembling the rifle with quiet precision. Each piece clicked into place and was returned to its slot inside the coffin. Once it was fully stored, I pressed both palms against the lid and whispered the compression phrase.

The coffin shrank down with a soft whine of bending space, returning to its small charm form. I clipped it back onto my necklace with a soft click and stood. The air around me was colder now. I didn’t feel better. Not exactly. But I felt less. And sometimes, that was enough.

At least tonight, I’d bled something other than myself. Well for the most part if you don’t count my palms.

The world faded into my soft pink petals again as I went to grab proof then head to the meeting point with Breezeblock. I hated the guy, at least I won’t have to deal with him for much longer. Though the guild will probably demand me to get into another contract before too long when they realize that I don’t have one active again.

The meeting point was a grimy alley behind a boarded-up pawn shop, littered with shattered bottles and spell-charred graffiti. The shadows were long and crooked, the light from the nearest streetlamp flickering like it was on its last breath.

Typical Breezeblock choice—private, forgettable, and just sleazy enough to make a statement.

He was already there—leaning against a stack of broken crates like they were part of the set for an exclusive underground fashion shoot, one foot crossed over the other, completely untouched by the grime and rot of the alley. Breezeblock didn’t just stand—he curated his presence. Every inch of him looked designed, deliberate.

He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his suit perfectly. His skin, a deep, polished brown, seemed to absorb and soften the harsh light above, making him stand out like a carved statue in a room full of shadows. Not a wrinkle on him, not a hair out of place. His features were sharp, confident—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes dark and unreadable, with that permanent look of someone who already knew how the next ten minutes were going to go. And who’d already decided how you’d fit into them.

His dreadlocks fell to just past his shoulders, thick and well-kept, each one trimmed to the exact same length. Gold hoops glinted from a few, and fine strands of golden wire—or maybe it was twine, enchanted or otherwise—wrapped around the rest in elegant spirals. They were evenly spaced, symmetrical, meticulously arranged. That kind of grooming didn’t happen by accident. It was the mark of a man who didn’t tolerate disorder—not from his hair, and definitely not from people.

His suit was charcoal pinstripe, tight in all the right places, clearly tailored and expensive in the way that whispers rather than shouts. The lapels were sharp, the sleeves ended precisely at the wrist to reveal a sleek watch—rose gold, thin, probably worth more than a car. His shirt was black, buttoned to the top with no tie, and just above the collar rested a gold chain, delicate but impossible to miss. It caught the alley light with a subtle gleam, a quiet signal that even in the shadows, this man glittered.

His hands were gloved in soft black leather—worn but cared for—fingers steepled casually as he watched the scene unfold, like a king observing a play he already knew the ending to. There was no tension in his body, just the coiled grace of someone always ready to strike—if only to remind everyone that he could.

And then there was the smile.

It didn’t reach his eyes. It curled slow and deliberate at the corner of his mouth, sharp enough to cut glass and twice as dangerous. Not kind, not warm—performative. The kind of smile that made you feel like you were standing on a trapdoor and he was the only one holding the lever.

Breezeblock didn’t just scream money. He defined it. He wore control like a second skin, and carried himself like the world owed him its silence. He held a cigar between two fingers, letting it smolder lazily as he watched me approach like he was expecting a runway strut.

“Neko,” he drawled, eyes raking over me with that too-familiar smirk. “Mmm, early as always. You must be real eager to see me. I’d say I’m flattered, but I know you just can’t stay away.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t flinch.

Just reached into my coat and pulled out the blood-stained cloth, still damp, still warm. I tossed it without ceremony at his feet. It landed with a wet slap across his shiny dress shoes.

Proof of the kill.

He made a face, crouched to pick it up between two gloved fingers, and whistled low.

“Well damn,” he chuckled, turning it over. “Got him right in the heart as always. You sure you ain’t got a scope wired into your soul or something?”

He stood up, brushing his pants off like the blood offended him.

“I’ve hired a lot of killers, but none of them put on a show like you. You’re… refined. Clean. Efficient. Deadly. Kinda like a cat in heat with a gun—dangerous, sleek, and always purring for work.”

I tilted my head slightly, face unreadable. He called me Neko again—my alias in the underground. And he always said it like it was a pet name. Like it belonged to him.

“Honestly,” he went on, tossing the bloody cloth into a nearby trash bin, “When the guild told me I was getting a new assassin, I expected some grizzled old war demon. Not some tight-lipped pretty girl with a sniper fetish and no patience for pleasantries.”

He looked me up and down again, slow and deliberate.

“And yet here you are. Still the finest damn killer in my pocket.”

My silence was sharp enough to cut through the alley’s tension. I stepped forward, voice low and cold. “Contract’s almost up. You should start preparing.” The smile on his face twitched.

“…What?” He muttered.

“You’ve got three jobs left,” I said, watching him. “Then I’m done.”

He blinked like he hadn’t heard me right. Then he gave a short, breathless laugh.

“Neko, come on now,” he said, stepping away from the crates, his tone all mock hurt. “You’re not really saying you’re gonna walk out on this arrangement, are you? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“You didn’t do anything,” I said flatly. “You handed me names and money. I handed you corpses. That’s not a bond. That’s a business transaction.”

He let out a longer laugh this time, though it sounded more forced.

“Baby girl, you don’t just end contracts with men like me. You renew. You renegotiate. Hell, I’ll even sweeten the deal. I know you in this for the money, and I can make it real worth your while.”

His voice dipped a little lower, oozing charm that might have worked on someone with less self-respect.

“You could have more. Better jobs. A real place in my circle. No more working in the shadows—you could be my top asset. My personal executioner.” He gave me that sharp smile again.

I looked at him with ice in my eyes. “You think you have a leash around my neck,” I said. “But you don’t. And if you try to tighten your grip, I’ll remind you exactly why I was worth hiring in the first place.”

Something flickered in his expression. He straightened his coat, smoothed a hand down his chest, regaining what little composure he could fake.

“Alright,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Fine. I’ll send it to you next month.”

I nodded once and turned to leave.

“Hey,” he called after me, the mask cracking just a bit, “just remember who made you famous, Neko.”

I didn’t look back. Because I already knew the truth. He didn’t make me anything. But if he kept pushing—

I’d be the one to unmake him.

When I got back to my room in the early hours of the morning, everything felt still—too still. The air in the mansion had that dense, post-battle quiet to it, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. I closed the door behind me with a soft click and dropped my keys on the nearest flat surface. Then I saw it.

A plastic bag, plain and crinkled, was sitting on my dresser.

I didn’t recognize it at first. No logos, no note. It was the kind of bag you’d get from a corner store, something you wouldn’t think twice about. But something about it felt… deliberate. Placed.

I walked over and peered inside—and I didn’t even need to check the contents to know who had left it. None other than Lady Iron.

I think she actually feels bad for blowing up at me.

Inside the bag was a box of hair dye. Not my usual shade, of course. Not even close. It was black. The same shade as her hair. Alongside it sat a can of Dr. Pepper—warm, like it had been sitting there for hours.

I stared at the items for a beat longer than I probably should have. The dye wasn’t a gift. Not really. It was a statement. A quiet, passive-aggressive one. She’d gotten me something I needed, sure, but not the way I needed it. Not my color. Her color.

It felt less like an act of kindness and more like a subtle reminder. A silent message: you’re mine. Not in the sweet, maternal way—Lady Iron didn’t do that. But in the possessive, controlling way that said don’t forget where your loyalties lie.

I scoffed under my breath and opened my desk drawer—the one where I kept my assassination paperwork—and tossed the dye inside without ceremony. The roots might be showing, but I wasn’t about to walk around looking like her. Not tonight. Not out of some half-apology.

Let her see me at breakfast. Let her stare.

I’d show up with my hair exactly how I left it—faded, untamed, mine.

Then I remembered: I didn’t have to show up at all.

She’d given me the week off. Technically to rest, though I was pretty sure it was also to avoid further conflict. I wasn’t going to waste it on forced family breakfasts. Let her sit at that table and stew when I didn’t show.

Still, I should probably stop by Red’s room. Let him know I wasn’t planning to follow him around like usual. Not that he’d get far. He was still recovering—from both the physical beatdown and the embarrassment of how publicly it had happened. Poor guy was probably sleeping off the shame in his weighted blanket cocoon.

I checked the time on my phone.

3:14 a.m.

Too early to be up. Too late to call this “last night.” Too restless to pretend I could sleep.

So I grabbed the lukewarm Dr. Pepper—because apparently, I was the kind of person who drinks soda at 3 a.m. now—and headed out into the corridor. I figured if I was going to be awake, I might as well head toward Red’s room. Maybe he had some gadget tucked away that could chill the drink. The guy had machines that did everything except brush his teeth for him.

The walk to his wing of the mansion was long. The halls were dim, quiet, lit only by the occasional flickering wall lantern. Most of the staff were asleep. The clones were off-duty. And the whole place had that strange, echoing stillness you only got in old buildings after midnight—like the mansion remembered every conversation it had ever heard and was holding them all in its walls.

I was halfway there, turning the corner near the east corridor, when I froze mid-step.

He was standing there.

The Demon Bull King.

Massive, unmoving, dressed in a long velvet night robe embroidered with faded golden thread. He stood like a statue—shoulders squared, arms at his sides, back perfectly straight. His horns caught what little light there was, casting long, curved shadows on the marble floor.

He wasn’t looking at me.

He was staring at a painting on the wall.

I followed his gaze and felt my chest tighten a little.

It was a portrait I’d passed dozens of times without much thought. One of those sentimental ones that blended into the decor.

It showed the family, years ago. Red was just a baby, curled in his mother’s arms. Lady Iron was smiling—gently, like she wasn’t the sharp force she is now. And DBK? He looked… calm. Proud. There was warmth in his face, in his eyes. A quiet, gentle pride I had never seen on the real version of him.

Looking at it now, I felt a pang in my chest.

That family didn’t exist anymore. Not really.

Centuries of war, betrayal, heartbreak, and bloodshed had carved them into what they were now—wounded, furious, powerful… and alone.

Then his head turned.

Slowly.

His gaze leveled on me, and I was immediately hit with the weight of it. Not just his physical size—though that alone was enough to make anyone pause—but the raw presence he carried. Like staring down a mountain that might fall on you if you breathed wrong.

He looked at me for a moment longer, and then, finally, he spoke.

“Feline…” His voice was low, roughened from age and fire. But softer than I’d ever heard it. “You smell of blood.”

The words weren’t accusatory. Not hostile. Just… observant. Heavy.

My grip tightened slightly on the warm soda can in my hand.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

I hadn’t bothered to shower or change my clothes after tonight’s little outing. My earlier “nighttime activity” still clung to me—on my skin, my clothes, and, apparently, in the air around me. Demon Bull King’s eyes swept over me slowly, like he was cataloguing every detail.

Was he… trying to make conversation? Just wanted someone to chat with?

I had no idea. But there was no reason to be a bitch right now, so I kept my tone neutral.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug, “I had another job outside the family tonight. One of my assassination contracts. They needed proof of the kill, so I guess the smell’s still in my clothes.”

I wasn’t particularly surprised he could pick up on it. Demons had incredible senses of smell—way beyond anything human or animal. They could scent blood, magic, even emotion, sometimes. I, unfortunately, didn’t have that blessing. That sense stayed frustratingly human for me. While he could probably smell the blood… and the alleys I’d walked through… all I got was the faint metallic dryness clinging to my coat.

He gave a small nod, thoughtful. “Do you take on many jobs outside of the family?”

His eyes drifted away from me again, settling back on the painting—still studying it like he might be trying to remember what it felt like to smile like that again.

“At this point? Not many,” I answered honestly, stepping a little closer as I spoke. “The contract I made with Lady Iron only allows outside work if it’s sealed with a magical contract. And those aren’t exactly common these days. Not many demons are keen on the idea of dying if they flake on the terms. Plus the side effects also put most off as well.”

Now I was standing in front of him. A few feet away. Close enough to see the flicker of memory in his expression as he stared at the portrait.

“I see…” The words left him in a slow breath.

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

What was I supposed to do? Walk past him? Wait for him to leave? Was this a test? A trap? Or just a weird, awkward middle-of-the-night hallway moment?

I was still trying to decide when his voice broke through again—deeper, quieter this time.

“My love told me what happened between you two today.”

My body tensed instantly. He turned his gaze back to me, steady and neutral. I looked away. Couldn’t meet it. Not right now.

Of all people, he had every reason to be furious with me. For accepting a contract with Wukong. For aligning—however reluctantly—with the very enemy who’d broken his family apart.

But what choice had I really had?

No one else was there. And even if I had tried to summon them, I doubt I would’ve lasted long enough for anyone to reach me. Sun Wukong had made his intentions very clear.

His stare pressed against me like steel. Silent judgment. Weighty.

“Sun Wukong is our sworn enemy,” he said, his voice as heavy as the history behind it. “And yet you’ve made a contract with him.”

My jaw tightened. I nodded once, sharp and silent, not trusting myself to speak.

He studied me for a long moment—then finally spoke again.

“You are a smart girl, Feline. Knowing your limits… knowing which battles are worth fighting and which will leave you dead in the street—that’s something young demons rarely understand.” His voice didn’t rise, didn’t harden. It stayed steady. Almost… reflective.

“At your age or even younger at my sons, instincts make you feel unstoppable. Like you’re invincible. Like no one can touch you. But the truth is, everyone can lose. Everyone can bleed. And the vast majority? They die.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with,” he continued, “but you wouldn’t have stood a chance against Sun Wukong. If he had truly meant to kill you, you’d have been dead before you even drew those guns of yours.”

I swallowed.

He wasn’t wrong.

“You made the right call,” he said finally. “And I expect you to use that contract to our family’s advantage.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an expectation.

My eyes widened at that. I hadn’t expected… that.

Not support.

Not praise.

I looked at him fully now. Really looked.

And what I saw wasn’t the towering warlord or the furious monster I’d seen in battle.

He looked tired.

Not just physically—bone deep tired. Like someone who hadn’t rested in decades. Maybe because it was 3 a.m. and he was wandering the mansion halls instead of sleeping. Or maybe because the past refused to stop following him.

Either way… it caught me off guard.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I had to fight.

I just stood there, staring back.

Unsure of what to say.

The silence between us lingered, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It had changed. Something about it felt heavier, sure, but not in a threatening way. It was reflective. Settled. As if the mansion itself was holding still for this moment, waiting.

Demon Bull King still hadn’t looked at me. His attention remained fixed on the painting hanging in front of him—the one from a time when the family had still smiled, when Red was just a baby, and nothing had fractured between them yet. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just watched him from a few steps away, unsure if I should speak or let him finish whatever storm was moving through him.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet—low and weighted like it was being drawn from somewhere deep and old.

“When I was younger,” he began, “I believed that power would be enough. That if I was strong enough… loud enough… feared enough… nothing could ever be taken from me.”

He didn’t elaborate beyond that. He didn’t have to. The name didn’t leave his lips, but it didn’t need to. The history between him and Wukong was already thick in the room. You could feel it in the way he paused after the sentence, in the shift of his posture—just the barest slump of the shoulders. A memory too tired to be angry anymore. At least for tonight.

“I was wrong,” he said simply, and that was the end of it.

Then, slowly, he turned to face me again. His eyes were steady now, not hard, not glowing with celestial rage. They were… tired. Not weak, but old. Weathered. Like someone who had been fighting too long and seen too much, but still stood anyway.

“You didn’t run,” he said, and there was something strange in the way he said it. Not pride exactly, but something close. “You didn’t let him break you. You didn’t beg, or fold, or throw someone else in front of you to save your own skin. You found a way out—one that kept you alive and gave us something we can actually use.”

He stepped forward, just slightly. Not to intimidate, but to make sure I heard him, felt the weight of it.

“I want you to understand something, Feline. What you did at the weather station… was the right choice. Not just because it kept you breathing, but because it showed you could think bigger than yourself.”

My grip tightened around the warm can of soda, fingertips pressing into the metal. The hallway felt too still all of a sudden. Not threatening—just quiet in that way that made every emotion feel too loud inside your own head.

“You’re not just a weapon,” he continued. “You’re more than that. That’s why my wife brought you in. Why she’s kept you. And why I haven’t sent you away.”

It wasn’t exactly praise. But from him, it was close. Maybe the closest I’d ever get.

I stared at him, unsure what to say. I wasn’t used to hearing things like that. Not from anyone. And definitely not from the towering, fire-blooded patriarch of the Bull Family. My throat felt tight, though I didn’t let it show. I just nodded—once. Small. Measured.

He gave a slight incline of his head in return. Then, without another word, he turned away from me and walked down the hall, his footsteps slow and heavy, but without hesitation.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

The moment didn’t need anything else.

And I didn’t move right away. I stood there, frozen in the soft glow of the hallway light, staring at the painting on the wall—the one where they all still looked like they loved each other. The one where nothing had gone wrong yet.

I looked down at the can in my hand for a second. I hadn’t expected to run into Bull King tonight—especially not for him to side with me on the whole contract situation. Honestly, I thought he’d be even more furious than Lady Iron. So yeah, it was still a bit shocking, trying to wrap my head around how he actually feels about it.

But now, of course, I’ve got another thing to deal with: figuring out how to make this contract useful to the Bull Family. Just one more responsibility tossed onto the growing pile. I guess it’s better he thinks I made the deal to benefit them somehow, but truthfully, I have no clue what I could even get out of that monkey that would serve their interests.

I sighed and shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. They could wait. Right now, I wanted to drink this soda—but I wanted it cold. Which meant heading to Red’s lab to see what sort of ridiculous tech he had that could chill a drink in seconds. I turned down the hallway and kept walking, forcing all the chaos in my head to the back burner for now. It could bubble there quietly until later.

When I finally reached Red’s lab, I glanced at the door across from it—his room. The door was shut and sealed tight. No light under the frame. He must’ve been asleep.

I turned back to the lab door and placed my hand against it, pushing a small pulse of magic into the enchantment seal. The mechanism clicked, and the door slid open slowly and smoothly—no creaking hinges, no noise at all.

But when the door opened fully, I blinked.

All the lights were on.

Not unusual, but still—usually only half the room glowed like this.

And sitting at the main desk, in front of a glowing screen, was none other than Red Son himself. He looked up as I stepped inside.

He was bandaged—strips wrapped around his arms and torso, with another bandage crossing his right cheek. His red hair was messy, like he hadn’t bothered to style it, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

He leaned back in his chair, locking eyes with me.

I pressed my lips into a thin line as I walked in. “Shouldn’t you be in bed recovering?” I asked flatly, the door clicking shut behind me.

He rolled his eyes dramatically as I passed him and made my way toward the wall cabinet where he usually kept finished gadgets. If I was lucky, one of them could cool a drink in under ten seconds.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, voice sharp with frustration. “I need to come up with something else to help Father gain more power. I don’t have time to waste.”

I rolled my eyes right back at him while rifling through the cabinet. His self-imposed pressure never let up—even when he was half-crippled and running on fumes.

“What are you looking for, Shiro?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Without turning to face him, I lifted the can off to the side so he could see it. “You’ve got to have something in here that can cool this down in seconds. So I’m looking for that.”

We fell into silence. I could hear him thinking behind me.

“The instant-cool’s in the cabinet in the back,” he said eventually. “Fourth shelf, second from the right.”

Still facing away from him, I nodded and went to retrieve it. Sure enough, I found a bizarre little contraption that vaguely resembled a coffee maker—except instead of a pot, there was a small compartment with a hinged door built into the front.

I brought it over and set it down on one of the many cluttered worktables near his computer. The thing looked like it had been cannibalized from three different appliances.

I placed the can into the compartment and was about to close the door when Red suddenly appeared at my side and shoved me out of the way.

“Let me do it,” he said, already flipping switches. “You’ll break it like you always do when you touch anything I make.”

I rolled my eyes again. “You know, one of these days you’re going to say something nice to me and your throat’s going to catch fire from the shock.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, just kept fiddling with the settings like the can of soda was an experiment that needed fine-tuning.

Typical Red.

Red tapped a few more buttons on the gadget like it was the most complex task in the world. The machine hummed quietly, cooling the soda with an overdramatic burst of cold vapor like it was showing off.

I watched him with barely-contained amusement.

“You know,” I started, leaning casually against the table, “for someone who claims to have no time to waste, you sure have the energy to babysit a soda can.”

Red scoffed without looking at me. “It’s called ensuring proper usage. You’d just jam the can in sideways and fry the mechanism.”

I grinned. “What can I say? I live dangerously.”

He rolled his eyes, just as the machine dinged softly, the light on the front turning blue. He opened the compartment and carefully retrieved the now perfectly chilled soda like it was a prize he’d forged himself.

With a dramatic flourish, he handed it to me.

I accepted it with the kind of reverence that was only half-fake. “Wow. Truly, you’re a man of many talents. Inventor. Campfire. Professional soda technician.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his still-bandaged chest.

I took a long sip from the can, letting the silence stretch just enough to make it uncomfortable.

Then I said, casually, “Still can’t believe you got your ass handed to you by the noodle boy.”

Red’s entire posture stiffened. “I did not—”

“Oh, no, you absolutely did.” I waved a hand at his bandages. “I told you he was stronger than he looked. You all said I was being dramatic. And then—bam! One celestial whooping later and you’re in here nursing your pride and your bruises.”

Red looked like he wanted to combust on the spot. “It was a temporary setback. He caught me off-guard!”

“Sure,” I said, drawing out the word. “Because he was hiding all that flashy golden power under his apron, right?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m already working on something to counter him next time.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe start by not underestimating people who beat your face into a wall.”

He made a strangled noise and turned back toward his desk in protest, fiddling with a circuit board that definitely didn’t need immediate attention.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

“You don’t,” I said sweetly, sipping again.

A few more seconds passed. Red didn’t look at me when he spoke next, but I caught the shift in his tone—just enough to signal a new topic.

“I heard… you and Mother got into a fight.”

My brows lifted, but I didn’t answer right away.

He kept pretending to tinker, but I could see the side-eye he was trying not to give me.

“She didn’t say much,” he added, voice casual—but not. “Just that it got… heated.”

I leaned my hip against the edge of the table, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

“It did,” I said simply.

Red finally looked at me. “You going to tell me what it was about, or do I have to guess?”

I tilted the soda slightly in my hand, watching the condensation slide down the side.

“You wouldn’t get it,” I said with a smirk. “It’s above your clearance level.”

His eyes narrowed. “Shiro—”

“What?” I interrupted, grinning. “Don’t give me that look. You just got beat up by a delivery boy. Maybe sit this interrogation out, champ.”

He growled something unintelligible under his breath and turned back to his workstation.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. I was just messing with him because it was fun, but in reality, there was no reason to keep this from him. He’d find out eventually—probably pester his mother until she cracked and screamed it at him during one of their usual arguments.

And if I’m being honest, he was probably the one who told her to get me the hair dye in the first place. To help her apologize to me. She was still the one who chose that color though—black, her color. That part felt deliberate. Like a silent reminder that I was hers. Or maybe I was just overthinking the whole dye thing. Whatever.

I looked away from Red and grabbed one of the many rolling chairs scattered around the lab. With zero grace, I flopped into it dramatically—of course bringing the soda with me. It sloshed slightly with the motion, splashing against the rim, but I didn’t care. I was already halfway through the can.

Still, I started talking.

“While you were busy getting your ass handed to you by the noodle boy,” I said casually, “I was in a verbal brawl with the Monkey King.”

Behind me, I heard a sharp snap—whatever tool or component Red had been holding was now in pieces. The air around him shifted, heating up fast. His untamed hair flared into open flame.

“What?!” he shouted. I didn’t have to look to know he’d snapped his head around to glare at me.

But I kept my back turned to him, taking a sip of the soda like this was just another Tuesday. “Yeah. For some reason, he wanted me dead.”

Not a complete lie. I just didn’t mention the part where I’d shot at him for fun. That could stay my little secret.

“So,” I continued, “we ended up making a contract. It kept me alive, but the terms are that I can’t kill the noodle boy or his friends. And if I’m nearby, I can’t let anyone else kill him either.”

Silence.

All I could hear was the faint whirring of gears and the subtle crackle of flame radiating from Red’s hair. The room felt like it was waiting to explode.

Then he finally broke the quiet—with exactly the kind of berating rant I’d been expecting.

“How stupid can you be, Shiro?! He is this family’s sworn enemy! No wonder Mother was so angry with you. They hate everything that Sun Wukong stands for! And you—you just went and signed a contract with him! You tied yourself to him and us at the same time! We want nothing to do with him, and here you are bringing his name—his influence—into our home! What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?!”

I spun the chair around sharply to face him. My irritation flared just as hot as his.

“Of course I was thinking!” I snapped, my voice raised but not quite a yell—just hovering right under the edge of it. “I was thinking that I didn’t want to die!”

He stared at me, face twisted in disbelief, but I kept going.

“I was only there because of you, Red! I saw the Monkey King’s movements because I was making sure no one but the noodle boy got into that tower! I warned you that he was watching the kid, but you didn’t even acknowledge it! And I paid the price for that!”

My fists clenched tightly in my lap almost crushing the can.

“So yeah, I’m sorry for dragging his name into this house. I’m sorry for the contract. But I won’t apologize for wanting to live—and finding a way to do it while you were busy getting knocked around in a fight that didn’t even matter.”

We stared at each other.

Neither of us said anything for several minutes.

The tension stretched out long and sharp, but neither of us flinched. I finally looked away, down at the soda in my hand, and took another drink.

I hadn’t meant to blow up at him. Not really. But they were both refusing to understand the situation I had been in. Whether I’d caused it or not, I was still the one who had to survive it. If it had been anyone else threatening me, I would’ve just taken the shot and walked away.

But you can’t kill something immortal.

Both Red and Lady Iron had every right to be upset with me. I knew that. I was, after all, the magically contracted bodyguard for Red Son—the prince of the Bull Family—bound by blood and spell to Princess Iron Fan herself. She’s the one who allowed me to take on jobs outside the family in the first place. But it’s not like I’m working with the Monkey King to undermine them.

Even my contract with him doesn’t give him any real power over me. He didn’t even write in a clause that lets him give me orders. All I have to do is spend an hour with him once a week. That’s it. And I’m already working on how to stretch that out to once a month. I just haven’t figured out how to yet.

They’re blowing this so far out of proportion—at least, it feels that way to me. Maybe it’s because Lord Ox just got unsealed, and now all these old, unresolved feelings are boiling up to the surface. And I just happen to be the closest, easiest target to project all of that onto.

Which is unfair. But again, how am I supposed to complain? I’m just a contracted employee. Even though sometimes they change their minds and try to treat me like I am family. Sometimes they even say it out loud—and sometimes it even feels real. But at the end of the day, I have to remind myself that I’m not. I can’t let them be my family. Not really.

I took another sip of my soda, mostly just to give myself an excuse to look away from Red. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw him drag a hand down his face and let out a deep breath. The flames in his hair were beginning to settle—still glowing at the tips, but not crackling anymore.

“Look,” Red said finally, his voice quieter. “Shiro… I didn’t mean to say that.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands, slowly curling them into fists. “You are smart. And you were right. I probably wouldn’t have ended up in that mess if I’d listened to you at lunch. I wouldn’t have… humiliated myself in front of my father again.”

His tone cracked slightly on that last part, and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease—just a little.

I’d always known Red struggled with his emotions. He was bad at handling them, worse at expressing them, and when he didn’t know what to do with the storm inside him, he usually let it spill onto whoever was standing closest. This wasn’t the first time we’d done something reckless together—both of us getting in over our heads, both of us blowing up in the aftermath. He’d yell at me, then himself, then go silent until he could start fixing something with a wrench instead of words.

I glanced around the lab, taking it all in—the cluttered tables, the scattered components, the tools thrown carelessly into trays. I looked at the bags under his eyes, the strain in his voice. How long had he been sitting here, trying to piece together another miracle to win back his father’s pride?

I sighed, then muttered, “Yeah, yeah. You really need to stop and learn how to deal with your own emotions before snapping at someone just because you’re mad at yourself.”

I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly, then looked him up and down. “We’ll find something to help you out, Red. We’ve got time. You don’t need to rush. Besides, the more time you put into something, the better it’ll be—and the less likely it is to blow up in your face.”

He glanced up at me. Our eyes met. I gave him a small, genuine smile.

He immediately looked away, cheeks turning a bit pink. All the fire in his hair fizzled out.

“I don’t need your input, Shiro,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

My smile shifted into a smirk—sharp and unrepentant.

“Oh, but you do, sweet Red. They say cats have a sixth sense.”

I was definitely wearing a full-on shit-eating grin now. He shot me the driest look I’d seen all night.

“They also say your curiosity’s going to get you killed,” he muttered.

He was definitely trying to get the last word.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got nine lives,” I replied, raising my soda in a mock toast.

Red scowled at me, but the flush on his cheeks gave him away. He wasn’t really mad anymore—he just didn’t like losing ground in an argument. Especially not to me.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re clever,” he muttered, looking back at his workstation. “Half your ideas sound like they were formed mid-fall off a building.”

I snorted. “And yet half of those ideas saved your life. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Barely,” he said under his breath, but I saw the faint curve at the corner of his mouth.

I took another sip of soda, resting my feet on the edge of one of his tables. “You’re just jealous my instincts work better than your blueprints.”

“You’re an instinctual disaster,” he shot back.

“And you’re one breakdown away from naming a toaster after your dad.”

He scoffed, spinning a small gear between his fingers. “At least I’m doing something productive.”

“Please. Half the stuff in this lab makes noise and smoke but only does one thing—and usually that thing is explode.”

He rolled his eyes. “Only once.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Red. You launched yourself through a wall.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Okay. Twice.”

I laughed—actually laughed—and for a moment, the tension that had been clinging to the walls since I walked in finally faded. It felt easy again, natural. Like we hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes shouting at each other about divine politics and near-death experiences.

We sat like that for a little while longer—me sipping my soda, Red tinkering with some gadget he clearly wasn’t focused on anymore. The quiet wasn’t awkward now. It was familiar.

Eventually, I stretched, finishing the last sip of the now-cold drink, and pushed myself up from the rolling chair.

“Well,” I said, brushing invisible crumbs off my pants, “as fun as this emotionally charged moment has been, I think I’ll go crash before someone else decides to lecture me.”

Red didn’t look up from the tool in his hand. “You mean before you break something and I get blamed for it?”

I smirked on my way to the door. “Exactly.”

He glanced at me then, just for a second. His spine was straighter than before, the hunch of pressure and shame he had when I walked in was noticeably lighter. His eyes were clearer too—not weighed down by guilt or frustration, just tired in the normal Red Son way.

“Shiro,” he called just as I reached the doorway.

I paused, glancing back over my shoulder.

“…Thanks,” he said, voice low but sincere. “For everything.”

I gave him a half-smile. “Get some sleep, Red. The world-ending projects will still be here in the morning.”

And with that, I slipped out of the lab and into the quiet hallway, leaving him in the soft, steady glow of his lab lights—still surrounded by wires and half-sketched plans, but now sitting just a little taller in his chair.

When I finally made it back into my room and the door clicked shut behind me, I slapped a hand against my forehead. Great. Red had been right there—literally right in front of me—and I’d completely forgotten to tell him I wasn’t going to be working this week. I let out a heavy sigh, dragging my palm down my face. Whatever. I had a phone. I’d just text him later and explain it… again.

But right now, all I could think about was taking a shower—getting the blood off me, the night off me, the entire day off me. I grabbed what I needed without much thought and headed straight for the bathroom. I paused in front of the mirror and stared at myself. The white roots of my hair were showing again, ghosting through the dye, reminding me of what I was underneath it all. My hair was still wind-mussed from earlier, and caught in it were a few small, pink petals—leftover from the teleports.

I reached up and plucked them out one by one, watching them fall into the bathroom trash with a soft, barely-there sound. My gaze drifted to the shower. I stared at it for a long time, my breath slowing, body suddenly heavier. I still hated getting wet. I hated water—despised it. It was always the starting that was the hardest part. Every single time.

My feet felt rooted to the floor. Taking a shower should be easy, right? A routine task—wash your body, wash your hair, rinse off the day. But it wasn’t. It never was. Not when every drop of water felt like being submerged in something I couldn’t fight. Like I was back there. I grabbed my wrist, trying to steady the tremble that had started to creep into my fingers. I stood there for what must have been hours, mentally wrestling myself down from the ledge of my own hesitation. Eventually, finally, I forced myself in.

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took. A frantic scrub-down, hair half-washed, a mad dash to get it over with. And even then, by the time I stepped out, my skin felt raw and my teeth were clenched tight enough to ache. I dried off fast, barely glancing in the mirror. The water had done its job—physically—but all I could feel was failure for how hard it had been. Again. Why was it always so hard? It was just a shower. Less than twenty minutes, and I still felt like I’d run a gauntlet through hell.

But it was over now.

And it was already 7 a.m.

I was so fucking glad I didn’t have to work this week. It meant I could crawl under the covers and rot in peace—sleep for fourteen hours straight if I wanted to. Or just lay there and disappear into nothing. Lately, every time I woke up, it felt like my brain had lost another piece of itself. The pull to just stay in bed, to vanish, was stronger than ever.

My phone started ringing, and I forced myself to walk over to the dresser I’d left it on. Just my alarm. I usually would’ve already been awake by now, but today I was done. Whatever mess I’d made of my sleep schedule could be Future Me’s problem.

I tossed the phone onto the nightstand plugging it in, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. The moment my head hit the pillow, I thought I’d pass out instantly.

I didn’t.

I laid there. For two fucking hours. Eyes shut. Body still. My mind doing everything it could to stay empty—pushing every creeping thought, every whisper of anxiety and regret, right back out into the void. But no matter how quiet I made my head, sleep refused to come. My body was exhausted, but my mind was wide awake. I could feel the weight of every breath, the ache in my spine from the night before, the buzzing, invisible pressure of being alive when I didn’t want to feel anything at all.

Still, I was stubborn. I stayed in bed, determined to wait it out. I told myself I’d sleep if it took all day.

That lasted another half hour.

Eventually, I gave up and grabbed my phone. Doomscrolling was better than nothing. I thumbed through app after app, across social media feeds I didn’t care about, watching videos I couldn’t remember five seconds later. It wasn’t about seeing anything—it was about not thinking. Not feeling. I just needed the noise.

That’s how I spent my time. Laying there in the dark, the soft glow of my phone screen the only proof I existed. I didn’t sleep. Didn’t move except to use the restroom or grab whatever drink the bull clones quietly brought me and left on the table. I didn’t notice how much time had passed—until I did.

When I finally glanced at the date on the digital clock beside my bed, I blinked in disbelief. Four days. Four days had gone by.

I sat up fast, feeling my spine crack from the sudden motion. My phone was dead. I blinked at it, furious—I thought I’d left it charging. But then I checked the plug. Dislodged. Of course. Because of course it was.

Four whole days.

Four fucking days of nothing.

No sleep. No real food. Just scrolling, laying still, and existing in a half-conscious state of dissociation. I stared at the ceiling, plugging the phone back in and rolling onto my back with a groan. My joints ached from lack of movement, muscles stiff from staying curled in the same position for far too long.

I knew I should get up. Move. Stretch. Eat.

Instead, I lay there another two hours.

It wasn’t until my phone chimed—fully charged again—that the sound cut through the haze enough to remind me I was still here.

Still awake.

Still tired.

Still… me.

When I looked at my phone, I didn’t expect anything meaningful—maybe some leftover notifications, a missed text from a clone, or another reminder from Lady Iron about meal schedules I didn’t care to attend. But instead, there it was: a message from an unknown number.

I slid it open without much thought, and the contents instantly told me who it was. None other than the Monkey King had finally decided to reach out. Took him long enough. Maybe he had to get a phone first? I hadn’t even considered that he might not have one, which felt stupid now, given how ancient he is. Still, in this day and age, even immortal simian gods needed a smartphone.

Sun Wukong: Meet me at the harbor tomorrow around dusk.

The harbor. That was… an odd choice, honestly. Weirdly public. But I didn’t get to pick the place, did I? I blinked down at the message. Tomorrow around dusk, huh? I’d need to check it out ahead of time. It had been a while since I’d been near the harbor, and I needed to scope the place—figure out where I could teleport to, what areas were the most open, and most importantly, how easy it’d be to escape if things went sideways.

With a groan, I forced myself to sit up and drag myself out of bed. I got dressed on autopilot, didn’t bother eating—just the thought of going down to the kitchen, cooking, and dealing with clone traffic made me want to crawl back under the blankets and rot. So I skipped all that and walked straight out of the Bull Family mansion with nothing but myself and a vague plan to scout the harbor.

Walking through the city was… strange. No one really paid me any mind, not even a second glance. I guess they’d forgotten I was tied to the Bull Family. Or maybe they just never knew, never really saw me. Either way, it was better for me. If people realized who I worked for, I’d get nothing but glares and whispers, and I was not in the mood. I could already feel the urge to punch someone creeping up the back of my spine just thinking about it.

The sun was just starting to dip when I passed through the nightlife district, and that’s when everything went to hell. A sudden surge of people swept through the street, pushing me along like I was just another piece of driftwood caught in a tide. I tried to resist, but the momentum carried me—right through the open doors of a building pulsing with music and noise. Arcade lights flashed, games beeped and buzzed, and people flew—literally flew—through the air around me. Before I could even process where I was, someone bumped into me hard from behind, sending me stumbling further in, right onto a glowing platform on the floor that launched me straight into the air.

I was weightless. Spinning. Completely and utterly off-balance as I turned over myself midair like some cursed piece of laundry in a dryer. I flailed, trying to stabilize, trying to grab something, someone—anything I could use as an anchor to stop the endless, nausea-inducing spin. And then, to my absolute horror, I saw them.

MK and the dragon girl.

Also airborne. Also flying in lazy, looping spirals through the air like this was just another Tuesday.

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face mid-rotation. Of course they were here. It was just my kind of cursed luck.

Before I could even attempt to course correct, the doors to the place slammed shut. A mechanical hiss echoed across the room, followed by heavy thuds as two enormous bouncers took up position beside the exit. Trapped. That’s when MK—or who I thought was MK—suddenly took control of the music. He stood at the DJ booth wearing a ridiculous spotted fur coat draped over his shoulders and a pair of cheap pink plastic glasses—the kind with slatted lenses that made seeing through them impossible. I hated him more with every beat of the bassline. I could see that this MK was a clone the longer I looked at it.

I sighed. Guess I’m going to have to kill a few randos to get out of here.

I reached for my guns instinctively, fingers moving to my holsters beneath my coat. Except… there was nothing there. My heart dropped. I patted around again, frantic now. Still nothing. No holsters. No guns. No ammo.

I forgot to put them on.

I forgot to put on my weapons before I left the mansion.

This is fine. Everything is fucking fine. I’d just teleport back, grab them, and leave this hellhole than go to the harbor. Easy.

Except… as I tried to summon the magic—felt it rush through my veins, pink petals ready to flare—it just… didn’t happen. No light, no shift in space, no sensation of being pulled through a portal. Nothing.

My heart dropped again. I twisted midair to look around the arcade and that’s when I saw it: a glowing digital sign high above the door.

“There is an anti-teleportation seal active in this establishment.”

Well fuck me sideways.

I could’ve summoned my coffin case and built one of my backup weapons, sure—but that would’ve been extreme. Plus also, I’d risk losing anything I pulled out as I was spinning head over heels. I still thought, maybe, I could wait it out. Blend in. Stay out of MK’s line of sight, avoid the dragon girl, and keep my head down until the event is over.

It was not over quickly.

That entire night was hell. I couldn’t control myself in the air no matter how many times I tried. I was constantly spinning. Every time I managed to get close to the floor or to another person, someone else would slam into me and send me pinwheeling across the room again. I swear, I was seconds from throwing up the entire time.

Worse, MK—clone or not—wouldn’t stop the party. The music kept going. The lights stayed on. It had been fifteen hours. It was mid-morning the next day. Fifteen fucking hours of spinning in circles with a killer headache, zero sleep in five days, and absolutely no food. I would have killed that kid if I wasn’t magically bound not to. Red Son be damned.

The anger in my chest had started as a slow burn and was now an inferno threatening to explode. I didn’t know how much longer I could take it.

Another seven hours passed before something finally changed.

The real MK showed up.

Apparently, the pink-glasses MK had convinced all the other clones to join him in taking over the arcade for some bizarre music-fueled rebellion. And now MK was fighting… himself.

It was honestly hard to keep track. I was still spinning. Have you tried following a supernatural identity crisis while flying in midair for twenty-four straight hours? I wouldn’t recommend it.

Eventually, through some golden-glow anime bullshit, MK managed to defeat his clone and shut the whole thing down. The anti-gravity system cut off instantly, and I dropped like a sack of bricks, slamming into the floor in an undignified heap of tangled limbs and rage.

I stayed there longer than I should have, not moving, not blinking, just letting the cold tile floor cool my burning face. Then my phone chimed. I groaned, dragging it out of my pocket.

I sighed, staring at the message on my phone as I slowly dragged myself to my feet. The screen glared back at me with those simple words:

Sun Wukong: Already there.

Of course he was.

I groaned quietly, rubbing my face with both hands. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t go home and grab my pistols—the spinning had scrambled my focus so badly I couldn’t even summon anything properly. My mind was foggy, my stomach was queasy, and my magic felt like it was buried beneath six feet of wet cement. Trying to draw my gear out of the coffin case would be a disaster right now.

And I couldn’t just turn around and walk all the way back to the mansion. That would take too long and he was already waiting. So really, the only option left was to suck it up and go. Show up like the world’s saddest gremlin and pray I didn’t collapse on the walk over.

With a deep, shaky breath, I forced myself to shove every negative feeling back down where it belonged. I pocketed my phone, squared my shoulders, and began the slow trek toward the harbor.

On the way, I grabbed a bottle of water from a vendor. It was overpriced, lukewarm, and definitely not filtered, but I didn’t care. I chugged half of it right there on the sidewalk, hoping it would at least dull the pounding in my skull. It didn’t. Still, I kept walking.

It took way longer to get there than I’d expected. About thirty minutes just to reach the harbor gates, and then another fifteen to actually find him. Of course, he wasn’t near the public area or anywhere normal. No, he was off near the back—between two massive freight containers, tucked in the far corner where no one else wandered. Typical. Cryptic bastard.

“Finally found you,” I muttered as I stepped into view, deciding it was better to pretend I’d just gotten lost rather than admit I was so wrecked I could barely function. He turned to look at me—and the wince on his face when he got a good look said everything. He didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes swept over me—my pale face, bloodshot eyes, rumpled clothes, the way I probably looked like I hadn’t slept in years—and he physically cringed.

To his credit, he tried to recover. He leaned his back against the nearest metal crate, attempting a casual pose, but it only made him look more awkward.

“You… uh, look like you’ve had better days,” he said, half-laughing, half-wincing.

I narrowed my eyes at him. My jaw clenched, fighting the urge to snap or throw up—or maybe both. “All thanks to your stupid successor,” I gritted out, each word a blade.

That shut him up. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. He looked like he had three different things he wanted to say but didn’t know which one would get him killed faster.

“Okay, uh, let’s not talk about that right now,” he said quickly, clapping his hands together and throwing on that too-wide grin of his. “We’re not at our actual meeting place. I just came to pick you up and take you there.”

He gave me what he clearly thought was a charming, cheeky smile. My glare only deepened.

“You only get an hour of my time,” I reminded him flatly.

He nodded quickly, still smiling. “Yup! Totally fair. But that hour starts when we get to the meeting spot. This is just, you know… transportation.”

I hated him so much in that moment.

“Where the hell do you want to meet that we couldn’t have just met there, dude?” I bit out, the word dragging sarcasm behind it like a blade. His eyes widened slightly—apparently no one had ever called him dude before. I wasn’t in the mood to be reverent. Or nice. Or sane.

“Well, Flower Fruit Mountain, of course!” he said, recovering quickly. That stupid grin reappeared. He was trying to be friendly. Polite. Maybe even considerate. Too bad I was in no shape to play nice.

His home. He was taking me to his home. I had expected a neutral location, a safe house, a stupid café even—not the heart of his territory. My brain flicked through the possibilities. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. If he was really taking me to the mountain, I’d get a chance to see it. Study his defenses. Note the wards and protective seals. That kind of info was valuable. When I make it out, I could tell Bull King everything.

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. How are we supposed to get there? I can’t teleport right now.”

I wasn’t lying. My magic was still a wreck. The energy in my limbs was sluggish, and every attempt I’d made earlier had failed miserably. I couldn’t even summon a basic construct if I tried.

Wukong just smiled down at me like he’d been waiting for me to ask that question. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, voice way too chipper. “I’ve got you covered. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to get past my wards anyway.” He gestured off to the side. “But if you look this way—ta-da!”

I turned my head—and sure enough, peeking around the corner like some smug, floating sheep was his cloud.

I stared at it.

Then back at him.

Then at the cloud again.

“You can’t be serious,” I said flatly.

He just gave me a closed-eye smile and practically skipped over to it, patting the thing like it was a beloved pet. Then, with practiced ease, he jumped up onto it and turned to face me, still grinning.

“Come on! He’s fluffy and soft and super friendly! Here, I’ll even help you get on!”

He held out a hand to me like this was the most normal thing in the world—completely oblivious to the fact that everything in me was screaming not to get on that cloud, not to trust him, not to go anywhere right now.

And yet, I stood there, staring at his outstretched hand, wondering just how bad this was about to get.

I stared at the hand he offered me like it might bite. Or worse—like he might bite. The idea of getting on a cloud with the Monkey King himself, after everything I’d just been through, was not high on my list of smart decisions. I didn’t trust him. Not entirely. Not even close. But at this point, what choice did I really have?

Still, I didn’t take his hand.

I walked past it, scowling as I climbed onto the cloud myself.

It was… soft. Annoyingly so. Like stepping onto warm, springy moss that somehow supported your weight without sinking too far. My knees wobbled a bit as the thing dipped under me, and I instinctively reached for balance.

Wukong’s hand was suddenly on my arm, steadying me without comment.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, settling onto the cloud behind me with casual ease. “You act like I’m about to toss you into the ocean.”

“Still undecided on that,” I muttered.

The wind kissed my face as we lifted off the ground, the city below shrinking into a blurry maze of rooftops and fading neon. The shift in altitude sent a wave of nausea through me. I didn’t show it. Barely flinched. I’d survived worse.

“Better hold on,” Wukong said from behind, far too cheerfully.

“I swear, if you say one smug thing while I’m trying not to vomit—”

“No smug. Just concerned,” he said, and before I could snap back, something coiled gently around my waist.

I looked down.

His tail.

My first instinct was to slap it away. But my arms were too tired. My brain already too fogged. It wasn’t tight, just secure—like a belt made of living muscle and warm fur, keeping me anchored. I didn’t like it. I didn’t hate it either.

“I fall off, I haunt you,” I muttered.

“Deal,” he said. “Could use the company.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… surprisingly peaceful. The cloud drifted through a patch of cool mist, sunlight spilling over the horizon ahead of us in gold and pink streaks. I could hear the wind, the soft pulse of the cloud under us, and—barely—the sound of Wukong’s breathing.

“I thought you’d be more annoying,” I said after a minute.

“I’m pacing myself,” he replied, amusement in his voice. “Didn’t want to startle you.”

“You think I’m that fragile?”

“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder and a discount rave, so yeah. A little.”

I huffed through my nose, but there was no real bite behind it. “I blame your idiot successor.” He rolled his eyes at my back.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show,” he said casually.

I didn’t reply right away. Truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to come. But this was the first meeting, and I didn’t have anything better to do… so I came.

“I didn’t want to come,” I admitted without thinking. “But we were supposed to stay at the harbor, and I thought that was fine—then you and your dumb cloud ruined that plan.”

He gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my majestic ride!”

“Majestic, my ass,” I muttered with a shrug. “It feels like sitting on warm cotton candy.”

“Delicious and supportive,” he said smoothly. “That’s the brand.”

I gave a short snort and turned my gaze outward, toward the horizon. The sky was fully golden now, the light hazy and gentle against the water. The rhythm of the cloud’s motion, the warmth at my back, the breeze on my skin—all of it blended together in a strange lull. For the first time in days, my body wasn’t screaming. My brain wasn’t racing. The ache in my chest hadn’t gone away, but it was quieter now. Farther.

Another quiet stretch passed. The cloud rose higher, and the temperature dropped slightly. I shifted again, adjusting to the subtle sway. Without thinking, my hand found the edge of his sleeve and gripped it—not hard. Just enough to keep myself balanced.

I told myself it was practical.

I was too tired to lie to myself any further than that.

His body was warm at my back—solid, steady, not moving more than necessary. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He wasn’t even talking. Just letting the wind and distance carry us. For a brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the sky. Technically we were.

And that was when it started happening.

It began with a blink that lasted too long. My head dipped forward before I snapped it back up. I shifted, adjusting my grip, willing my focus to return. I wasn’t going to fall asleep. I wasn’t. Not on his cloud. Not with my back turned to him. Not like this.

Another blink. This one slower.

The wind felt colder on my face. The light dimmed. My body swayed with the rhythm of the cloud. My muscles loosened, my eyes burned.

I tried to straighten again. I really did.

But then my head tilted to the side—barely. It found his shoulder. I didn’t mean to rest there. I didn’t plan to. But I didn’t pull away either. I couldn’t find the strength to lift my head.

My hand slipped lower on his sleeve, fingers going slack. The tension I’d been holding in my jaw, my neck, my chest—it all slowly unraveled.

I told myself I’d just close my eyes for a second. Just one.

But there was no second.

There was only the hum of wind, the warmth of him, the silence he didn’t break—and the way my body, traitorous and aching, finally gave in.

I didn’t fall asleep gracefully. It happened mid-thought. Mid-breath. Like falling off a cliff in slow motion, weightless and inevitable.

And this time… I couldn’t fight it.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you think. :D

If you see any mistakes please let me know I don’t have a beta. So I’m trying to make sure this all comes out correctly and flows well by myself lol.

#Tragedy has Targets #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque #lego monkie king #monkey king #lmk

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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#Tragedy has Targets #not writing #update y’all

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Pls stop sending me asks for donation

¡I'm gonna go very clear, NO that doesn't mean I don't care, yes it makes me suffer just as much as you to see all these poor souls being placed in such horrible conditions, but due to the fact that I am aware that some anonymous uses these potential "call for help" as scams and spams I do not trust most of them so I will kindly ask for u to stop sending them to me or even wait for me to respond bc I won't!

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Oh my god. This was so good to read. Like it’s so well written and put together and the emotions and actions make so much sense. I love this fam fic with all my heart. If you haven’t read this yet pleaseeeeeee give it a read. The story is more gender neutral reader than a female one but that’s also a part of the fun everyone can enjoy this one! :D

Trouble Is a Friend - Chapter 37: Acerbic - Wukong/Reader, Macaque/Reader, Macaque/Wukong/Reader, Macaque/Wukong - LEGO Monkie Kid [Archive of Our Own]

Bitter feelings, bitter memories. Bitter, bitter, bitter…

Chapter 37 of my fic Trouble Is a Friend is now up! Click on the link above to read the most recent chapter!

New reader? Start here!

If you’d like to support me, consider buying me a coffee!

Rating: Mature (for violence and language) Characters: Reader, Original Characters, Tang (Monkie Kid), Qi Xiaotian | MK, Zhu Bajie | Pigsy (Monkie Kid), Red Son (Monkie Kid), Tieshan Gongzhu | Princess Iron Fan, Demon Bull King (Monkie Kid), Long Xiaojiao | Mei, Sun Wukong | Monkey King, Liu Er Mihou | Six-eared Macaque, Spider Queen (Monkie Kid), Nezha (Monkie Kid), Erlang Shen (Monkie Kid) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader-Insert, Reader is gender neutral, Reader wears suits and dresses because clothing has no gender, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Polyamory, What love triangle? They have two hands your honor, Emotional Baggage, Magic, Clairvoyance, Not Canon Compliant, I’ve seen canon and have elected to ignore almost all of it, Rated For Violence, I’m not kidding when I say this is a slow burn, We’re turning on the crock pot and letting this cook for the next week, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, //slaps roof of car This fic can fit SO MUCH TRAUMA IN IT, it’s about the hurt… it’s about the comfort AFTER the hurt…

Fic Summary: “Hold on, firecracker. Have you heard this one yet?” You see a gentle sunrise of gold and red as Wukong’s eyes meet yours. His face softened, his other hand touching your arm, his thumb lightly tracing one of the scars. His voice was firm yet soft, grounding yet light as he spoke, “You’re safe.”

…

Oh.

He keeps going, “You’re safe here. You’re safe with Uncle. With MK. With Tang. With all of them. All these years being alone in the dark without a candle to light your way? I can see in the dark, and MK can too now! I’m sure Uncle’s got a match somewhere and all you gotta do is provide the candle.”

He scoots closer, taking both your hands now and keeping your gaze. “You. Are. Safe. Even if shit hits the fan, you will not be alone to pick up all these broken pieces anymore. I’m here. We all are.”

○○○

After years of running from your past and hiding your scars, you find relief in several wandering destinies that are intertwined with your own. And in return, you help two particularly stubborn stone monkeys find their own healing.

#lmk fanfiction #lmk x reader #sun wukong lmk #macaque lmk #sun wukong x macaque x reader #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #please read this #it’s amazing #this work inspired me to write my own fanfic #one of the most well written fanfics I’ve read #love the trauma #and the slow burn is slow burning and maybe got put out on one end?#poor Wukong #deserved though

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Sneak Peak of Chapter 3

I checked the time on my phone.

3:14 a.m.

Too early to be up. Too late to call this “last night.” Too restless to pretend I could sleep.

I was halfway there, turning the corner near the east corridor, when I froze mid-step.

He was standing there.

The Demon Bull King.

He wasn’t looking at me.

He was staring at a painting on the wall.

I followed his gaze and felt my chest tighten a little.

It was a portrait I’d passed dozens of times without much thought. One of those sentimental ones that blended into the decor.

Looking at it now, I felt a pang in my chest.

That family didn’t exist anymore. Not really.

Centuries of war, betrayal, heartbreak, and bloodshed had carved them into what they were now—wounded, furious, powerful… and alone.

Then his head turned.

Slowly.

He looked at me for a moment longer, and then, finally, he spoke.

“Feline…” His voice was low, roughened from age and fire. But softer than I’d ever heard it. “You smell of blood.”

The words weren’t accusatory. Not hostile. Just… observant. Heavy.

My grip tightened slightly on the warm soda can in my hand.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Was he… trying to make conversation? Just wanted someone to chat with?

I had no idea. But there was no reason to be a bitch right now, so I kept my tone neutral.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug, “I had another job outside the family tonight. One of my assassination contracts. They needed proof of the kill, so I guess the smell’s still in my clothes.”

He gave a small nod, thoughtful. “Do you take on many jobs outside of the family?”

His eyes drifted away from me again, settling back on the painting—still studying it like he might be trying to remember what it felt like to smile like that again.

Now I was standing in front of him. A few feet away. Close enough to see the flicker of memory in his expression as he stared at the portrait.

“I see…” The words left him in a slow breath.

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

What was I supposed to do? Walk past him? Wait for him to leave? Was this a test? A trap? Or just a weird, awkward middle-of-the-night hallway moment?

Ooof is this the first time Shiro's talked to Lord Ox one on one? Yes, yes it is. What do you all think will happen next? Is it going to be wholesome or will I throw more trauma at you?

No you guys aren't allowed to have a brake from trauma it's what makes you sassy- :D

-Chibi

#Tragedy has Targets #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque #monkey king #demon bull king #demon bull family #sneak peak #teaser #lmk macaque #lego monkie king

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Since the sneak peek for Chapter 3 won the poll, I’m thinking of making it a thing—after each new chapter drops, I’ll throw up a poll to see if you want a little teaser for the next one!

Maybe not every chapter just ones that end with more of a cliffhanger vibe.

Sneak Peak?

So I'm writing chapter three now. I should be posting it in a week or so if life lets me. So I was wondering if anyone would be interested in a sneak peak on the next chapter? And if so would you like me to do it with all my upcoming ones?

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Sneak Peak?

#sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #Tragedy has Targets #not writing #lego monkie kid #lego monkie king #six eared macaque

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

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Tragedy has Targets Chapter 2

That's your Plan?

Let me know what you though of it! I struggled finding a good place to end this and I was already over 14,000 words. The first draft of this before I found the good braking point was around 17,000. So hopefully this isn't to long. I hope you all enjoyed reading this and I am already well on my way to done with chapter 3!

-Chibi

It had been a couple of months since Lord Ox had been unsealed, and to say it had been annoying would be an understatement. I still couldn't wrap my head around why Lady Iron had fallen in love with the demon in the first place. After years of dealing with Red Son’s temper tantrums, I thought I was prepared for anything. But the Demon Bull King? He was a whole other level of chaos.

In just this month alone, he had destroyed about ten different rooms in the mansion. Not to mention the damage he’d done to the Foundry. Red and the clones were working overtime to make repairs, but they just couldn’t keep up with the Bull King's reckless destruction.

I was getting sick of it, but it wasn’t my place to say anything. Even if I wanted to. Red Son was too wrapped up in his desire to impress his father to speak up. He let the Bull King run wild, hoping for even a moment of acknowledgment. If the demon said something nice to Red, he’d combust with excitement—maybe even literally.

Lady Iron wasn’t much help either. She was so blissfully distracted by her husband’s return that she was completely ignoring the havoc he was wreaking. Sure, the Demon Bull King had been sealed away for a LONG time, but did that really give him the right to destroy all of our things?

Am I being a hypocrite right now? Probably, considering I had been fine with him wreaking havoc in the city months ago. Surprisingly, the city had rebuilt and recovered fairly quickly from the destruction he caused. Good for them, I guess.

But now, I found myself sitting at the dining table with the Bull family for lunch. Ever since Lord Ox had returned, Princess Iron Fan had insisted on family meals, which meant Red Son and I could no longer eat in his lab.

As I sat there, I wished I could be in my own room or even Red’s lab, enjoying a quiet meal instead of being right next to Red, who was going on and on about his latest plan to gain power for his father.

Meanwhile, the Demon Bull King was rambling at the same time about how that stupid monkey had ruined everything and how he was going to get his revenge—it was only a matter of time.

Well, they certainly were father and son; both could talk for hours without caring what the other was saying. At least it made it a little easier for me, since I wasn’t expected to engage with the Bull King. Red Son, on the other hand, believed I was hanging on his every word. To be honest, I wasn’t paying attention most of the time to what he talks about.

But this time, I was listening. When Red announced today’s plan, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, which made both Red and the Bull King stop mid-sentence. I turned to Red and asked, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to take over the weather station? What on earth made you think that?” I rolled my eyes, glancing back at my plate of… perhaps steak? It was some kind of meat that Bull King had caught and ordered the bull clones to cook, so I wasn't entirely sure what it was.

Red’s hair blazed with anger as he reacted to my doubt. “Of course it’s a good idea, Shiro! If we could harness the power of natural disasters, we’d be unstoppable! How could it be a bad idea?” He slammed his hand down on the table, making the silverware rattle.

I shrugged, taking a bite of the mystery meat, chewing as I met his gaze. After swallowing, I gave him my driest look. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the weather center has a ton of foot traffic, and you’d be found out instantly? Or maybe your armor can only convert matter into energy and not a fucking tornado? Or, hear me out, that delivery boy will show up again and kick your ass since he declared himself the city’s hero.”

Red Son literally blew up into a ball of fire at my words. “How dare you! How dare you say that? That vermin—no, he’s even below a rat that garbage—can take me on and win!” He screamed at me, the heat from his flames almost burning me. I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my cool.

“That ‘garbage’ literally DID take you on and win,” I shot back. “Plus, he has the Monkey King’s powers, so even if you fought him, you wouldn’t be able to do much damage. What do you expect? That he got weaker over the last couple of months? You know better than anyone since you’ve had a bull clone stalking him. He’s been training with… someone. Most likely the Monkey King, if not someone at that level of power.” I scooted my chair further away from his, as he was still erupting in flames. My words had already pissed him off, and every time I spoke after that only seemed to stoke the fire further. He hated it when I threw his failures in his face, even if that was one of the things his mother wanted me to do.

It’s so amusing to be one of the few who can throw his failures back at him and deal with his fiery outbursts because of it, I thought sarcastically.

Red opened his mouth to yell at me again, but his father slammed his hand down on the table. The force of the slam made everything on the table fly into the air for a moment, but it had the desired effect: it stopped Red Son’s fire and silenced him. I looked up at Lord Ox, who was now giving us both a hard look, studying us. I couldn’t tell what he was trying to find, but both Red Son and I didn’t say anything; we didn’t look away from the Bull King. He wanted our attention, and now he had it.

His gaze settled on me. “Feline, what makes you believe my son would be bested by that little thief again?” My eyebrow twitched. What did he just call me? That was worse than “kitten.” At least Lady Iron called me that for a reason—one I didn’t like, but still a reason. I was more than just a cat.

But I couldn’t verbally lash out at the Demon Bull King, so I had to rely on logic and my own stubbornness. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I focused on Lord Ox again. “Lord Ox, Red is strong; I’m not saying he isn’t. But so is the noodle boy. He’s being trained on how to use his powers, and from where I’m sitting, Red isn’t treating him as a threat. You can be cocky,” I glanced at Red, giving him a dry look, “but you can’t underestimate your opponent, even if he’s new to fighting and magic.”

I looked back at Bull King and continued, “The boy is unfortunately a prodigy. Even if you dismiss it as a fluke, he still brought you to your knees, Lord Ox. So we shouldn’t make plans that are so flashy if we can help it right now. Especially since the Monkey King is keeping a close eye on the boy and his fights. If anything happens that Sun Wukong doesn’t like, he will step in. I know Red Son’s strengths well, but I’m positive he wouldn’t be able to stand against the Monkey King in a full-on fight.” The Demon Bull King’s hands curled into fists as he let out a huff of smoke. I didn’t even know he could do that, but I could tell he was trying to hold back his anger.

I then looked across the table at Lady Iron, hoping she could make sense of this whole situation. She rolled her eyes and turned to her husband. “Oh, my love, don’t be so dramatic. We’ve nothing but time. You will bring the world to its knees.” Then she shifted her gaze to Red Son and me. “As for you two, do what you wish, my son.”

My eyes widened at her words. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. If he goes out there, he’s just asking to become a laughingstock again.” I started, but Red snapped his head toward me, his hair igniting once more. However, Lady Iron continued, unfazed by my protest. “I understand your concerns, and since you’ve voiced your strong disagreement with his plan, I will allow you to step back while he pursues it. If that nuisance of a child and his friends come to challenge Red Son, do not intervene. Let my son prove he can handle them on his own. If he fails, he will have no one to blame but himself. However, you must remain nearby in case anyone else shows up to threaten Red Son. Then it will be your responsibility to protect him.” She concluded, her gaze shifting between Red Son and me, her expression resolute.

Red was giving me a shit-eating grin, clearly enjoying the chaos. I shrugged back at him. “Fine by me, but when you get your ass kicked again, you can’t complain about me being late for a whole three months.” I met Red’s cocky grin with one of my own. His expression became strained as he struggled to keep his anger in check. “And when I prove that taking over the weather center is the best plan, you have to give me your dessert for five whole months.” My eyebrow twitched. He was being a petty little brat, but I could play that game too.

I opened my mouth to reply, but a loud screeching sound came from beside me as Bull King stood up. He looked at Red Son and me with a serious expression. “Well, at the end of this, we will know who was right: my son or you, girl.”

I guess he didn’t like me much, but I truly didn’t care what he thought. As the tension in the room thickened, I glanced between Red and his father. There was a charged silence as we awaited the next move, each of us bracing for the unfolding drama. I could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me, on Red Son.

“Just remember,” I finally said, my voice steady, “underestimating your opponent could cost you. And I’ll be right there to remind you of that when it does.” I shot Red a challenging look, knowing full well that this was far from over.

The atmosphere shifted slightly; a newfound determination flickered in Red’s eyes. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then Lord Ox stepped in, his presence dominating the room. “Enough of this bickering. Feline, I expect you to keep an eye on things while maintaining your distance.”

I nodded once. He stalked out of the dining room, leaving the rest of us in silence. Princess Iron Fan was next to leave, gliding gracefully from the room. Sometimes I wondered how she did that. Maybe it was because she was a celestial, and it just came naturally to them. As a half-cat demon, I sometimes wished I had inherited the grace that cats were known for. Instead, I ended up with their clumsiness.

Now it was just Red and me. I turned to him and said, “You know you’re going to fail, right?” His hair flickered with flames as he glared back at me. “So you’ve told me. You don’t have to keep saying it, Shiro.” He was right; I didn’t, but I was going to continue anyway.

I stood up from the table. “I’m going to get ready for your useless mission. I’ll meet you at the gate in about an hour.” I started toward the door, barely catching him muttering under his breath that it meant I’d be late as always. But I ignored him this time.

As I walked through the looming halls, flanked by intricately carved pillars, the faint smell of incense lingered in the air. I slowed to a stop, pausing in front of one of the many paintings covered by a sheet during our time away from the mansion. The bull clones hadn’t gotten to this side yet, so much of the cleaning and unpacking had been neglected. Of course, that made sense. After all, when we returned to this country, Lady Iron was quick to make plans to free Bull King. We hadn’t even been living here for two months yet.

The Bull Family had been on the run for what felt like an eternity, their lives shattered by relentless pursuit. Without Bull King there to provide protection, Princess Iron Fan was left to bear the immense weight of their situation alone. The day he was sealed away marked the beginning of her despair. She stood in the ruins of their once-glorious life, grappling with the haunting reality that heaven had turned its back on her.

With a half-breed child nestled against her hip—a child whom the world deemed unworthy—she felt the icy grip of fate tight around her heart. The whispers of condemnation echoed in her mind, a constant reminder that there were those who wanted her son dead. To them, he was an abomination, a living testament to a union that defied divine will. The world outside was unforgiving, and she realized with a heavy heart that she had no choice but to flee, to create a new identity far from the shadows and scorn that followed her.

But that was before I came into the picture. I was…

As I reflected on her plight and my own past, I shook my head, trying to dispel the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. The past was a tangled web of sorrow and tragedy, and I needed to focus on the present. Just then, my phone vibrated softly in my pocket, breaking the spell of my thoughts. I reached for it, feeling the familiar weight of it in my hand, and pulled it out to read the message that had just come through.

Breezeblock: Neko, you still need to complete this month's job.

I rolled my eyes. Right—another task to check off the ever-growing list. One of my magical contracts was flaring for attention again, demanding I give it some of my time. Princess Iron Fan had never been opposed to me taking on side jobs. In fact, she encouraged it, so long as I kept Red and the rest of the family as my top priority. As long as the blood I spilled didn’t interfere with Bull Family affairs, she never blinked at my extracurriculars. The pay was decent, and frankly, I’d been bored the day I took this particular one. It had been one of those moments where distraction felt like necessity, and before I knew it, I had agreed. Plus the guild had already been on my case, anyway, warning me that my quota was overdue and that they were assigning me to Breezeblock whether I liked it or not. Another “permanent client,” as they liked to phrase it. I didn’t exactly get a say. At least I can choose when to end the jobs though.

The name they knew me by in that world—Neko—still made me cringe some days. It had started as a joke by a certain shadowy jerk, but somewhere along the way it stuck. Now it clung to me like shadow magic, whispered through grimy back alley corners and smoke-stained bars. Everyone had a story about Neko. The assassin who could kill with one bullet from miles away. The professional ghost. The demon who would take any job, no matter how dirty, as long as the price was right. And, of course, the favorite: that I never missed. That once I locked onto a target, their life was already over. Even I played into it sometimes. There was power in a reputation, even a messy, violent one.

I won’t pretend I wasn’t proud of my aim. I’d been forced to train obsessively for it, bled and burned through magic to hone my shots to the point of obsession. Everyone I’d worked with—my handlers, my clients, even my enemies—knew I had a damn supernatural shot. But even so, the myth was just that: a myth. The truth was quieter. I’d missed before, especially in crosswinds or during arcane interference. I always calculated to the best of my ability, mapped it out down to the millisecond, but I wasn’t a god. Sometimes variables slipped through. And even the best sniper in the world had to blink. I did my best, and usually, that was more than enough. But the legend didn’t leave room for mistakes. The underground liked its monsters polished and perfect. They liked to forget they were hiring a person underneath the scope.

Lately, though, I’d been getting the sinking feeling that “enough” wasn’t going to cut it much longer. The weight in the air had shifted. Magic was thickening, sharpening. More powerful demons were creeping out of whatever cracks they’d hidden in during the last decades, and I could feel it—pressing in from the edges of the city. The easy days were over. I knew it, even if Breezeblock didn’t. The kinds of enemies rising now weren’t the kind you picked off with a bullet and a clever curse. They were the kind that made you wish you’d never taken the job.

Still, the current contract was manageable. Tedious, maybe, but nothing challenging. I glanced at my phone, double-checked the details, and tucked it back into my pocket. I could get it done in an hour, two at most. It wouldn’t take long—especially not for someone like me. I’d wait until Red finished getting his ass kicked at the weather station and slip away once the air was quiet again. Of course also making sure he gets back to the mansion safely as well. I started walking down the hallway again, heading in the direction of my room.

When I got to my room, I quickly put on my holster belt, strapped on extra ammo clips, and slid my hand pistols into their holsters. But I also wanted to annoy Red, knowing he wouldn’t leave without me. So I plopped down on my bed and started scrolling on my phone. There were so many posts online about that delivery boy, all calling him a hero or their savior. Which, I guess, was true; he did stop Bull King. The more shocking part to me was how no one—literally NO ONE—had even noticed the Monkey King on the mech. How? How did everyone but me miss that stupid monkey?

Maybe it was because of my eyes. Perhaps he had a glamour on, and I saw through it. That could also explain why he seemed surprised when he felt me staring at him. Plus, there was the fact that I had shot at him. But he definitely deserved it; he had sent a kid to fight a massive demon. It was pure luck that the kid won, along with his natural fighting ability.

I sighed and lay back on the bed, one arm draped over my face to shut out the light. My phone sat abandoned beside me, screen still glowing faintly before it dimmed to black. My eyes ached—not from strain, but from existing. A dull pressure, always present. Not pain exactly. Just a constant reminder that they were still there, still working, even when I wanted nothing more than to shut the world out.

They called it “true sight.” The white coats used to speak about it like it was some kind of divine achievement. They whispered about it behind glass and glowing screens, poked and prodded and catalogued it like it was theirs to study, not mine to survive. I don’t talk about my eyes outside of the Bull Family. Not to clients. Not even in the underground, where people love to speculate. Let them think it’s just skill. A rare talent. A sniper’s eye.

They don’t know what it really is.

They don’t know what I lost to get it.

True sight. Sounds poetic, doesn’t it?

Like a gift.

But it wasn’t.

It was a curse—forced onto me, carved into my body, stitched into the marrow of my bones by people who never once asked what it would cost me. Didn’t care either. It lets me see too much. Not just distances. Not just heat trails or magical interference. I see weakness. Lies. The things people try to bury. I can watch a person’s aura fracture mid-conversation. I can read a battlefield before a single blade is drawn. I can calculate shots through steel, smoke, and enchantment like they’re nothing.

People would kill for eyes like mine.

But they don’t know what it’s like to live with them.

Useful? Sure.

Powerful? Undeniably.

But I’ve never felt farther from human than I do when I look through someone and realize I can’t stop myself from doing it. The white coats made sure of that.

I sat up slowly, running a hand down my face. The thoughts were circling again, heavier than usual. I shook my head, trying to force the spiral away. Gods, what was wrong with me today? I couldn’t stop thinking about things best left buried. And it was dragging me under.

Maybe it was something small setting me off today. Like the fact I hadn’t re-dyed my hair yet. The roots were probably fully showing by now—uneven, too pale. I tried not to think about what that meant. Why the color underneath was always white now. It wasn’t natural. It never had been. My hair hadn’t started that way. It had been stripped, drained, changed in that lab, like everything else they’d touched. I could almost feel it again—the moment it started to lose its color, like even my body was rejecting what they were doing to me. I caught myself thinking about it and forced the thought away.

I hadn’t had time to fix it. Not with everything going on. Missions, guild demands, Red’s constant drama, and whatever the hell the noodle boy was doing lately. Maybe after my next job, I’d slip into town. Fix the color. Remind myself who I am—who I chose to be, not what they tried to build out of me.

First though, I needed to meet up with Red.

I glanced at the clock. Over an hour late. I almost smiled. Let him wait. I didn’t feel bad. Honestly… he deserved it.

By the time I reached the gate, Red was literally steaming. I couldn’t help but giggle as I walked closer to him, his fiery temper practically radiating off him. He whipped around, his eyes glowing red, and started yelling again. “You’re two hours late! We should have left hours ago! Why are you always late to everything I ask you to show up for?!”

As he yelled, his hair shifted from smoking to flaming, a clear sign of his anger. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to answer him. Instead, I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jacket and stepped through the gate, moving past him.

“Where are you going?!” he called after me, his voice laced with frustration. I paused and turned my head over my shoulder, giving him a deadpan look. “To the weather tower, like you want.” With that, I turned back to the road ahead and started walking again.

It took him and the clones a few moments to catch up, but they eventually did. Red sprinted ahead, likely believing that as a ‘prince,’ he had to be in front. Technically, he was right, but I wasn’t too concerned about that.

As we walked out of the Bull Family’s territory and into the city proper, I couldn’t ignore the glares from the citizens we passed. Their hostility hung in the air, thick and palpable. Red, however, seemed oblivious, either not noticing or simply choosing to ignore them. He even had the audacity to stop at a cheese tea stall, demanding two drinks for free, as if he were above it all.

When he returned, he handed me one of the drinks with a casual flick of his wrist. “Here.”

I accepted it with a short, “Thanks.” He could be nice when he wanted, but most of the time, he chose to be an angry brat. I couldn’t hold myself above him too much, though; I could be a brat as well.

But at least when I acted out, I wasn’t wasting everyone’s time. I couldn’t help but wonder: how many people would he annoy today with this stunt? How many might get hurt because of it? In the end, I didn’t truly care; it was just inconvenient for me.

I killed for money, after all. The job I was taking on after this was an assassination job. So, in my mind, less loss of life meant nothing. But it annoyed me when those losses impeded my current work and impacted how much I’d have to handle in the future.

I thought back to the chaos caused by the Demon Bull King, who had taken so many lives during his first attempt to seize the city. Of course, the citizens hated this family. I didn’t blame them. But that just meant more people would want to take out Red for revenge. They always assumed Red Son couldn’t fight or was helpless. He could fight; PIF just had me around so that if he didn’t feel like killing, I could. Or if he was distracted by something and didn’t notice the attacker, though those events were rare. He usually just didn’t feel like dealing with them himself.

We finally arrived at the base of the tower. I looked up at the looming structure, feeling its weight in the air. Crossing my arms over my chest, I turned to Red and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?” I met his brown eyes, frowning in concern.

He rolled his eyes at me, brushing off my question. Without a word, he walked through the doors, leaving me standing outside. I sighed, watching him disappear into the building. This was going to take a while, so I might as well find a place to sit while he did his thing.

I strolled over to a nearby restaurant with open seating under a canopy and settled into one of the chairs. Just as I sank into the seat, dark clouds rolled in, and rain began to pour.

I glared up at the tower, knowing he had chosen this moment to irritate me. He was fully aware of how much I disliked being wet. Just another reason he was a brat. I sighed, resigned to my fate, and took a sip of the cheese tea he had gotten me.

As a broadcast started, announcing his intention to take over the weather station, I stared at the TV across the street, my mouth wide open in disbelief. It’s official—he’s a complete idiot. Why in the heavens above would he do that? At least give yourself ten minutes to get settled!

Maybe this wouldn’t take as long as I originally thought. After all, that group of so-called heroes was bound to show up soon, and I couldn't help but wonder how this chaotic day would unfold.

And just as I finished thinking that, a green dragon-shaped blur came racing by. It shot up the tower, and I could swear I heard someone yelling, "Let's kick his butt!" I slapped a hand to my forehead. How on earth did we end up here? He was going to get his ass kicked by two barely adults and three actual adults. I watched as a green dragon aura flashed around the top of the weather tower.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was watching me. I looked around, setting my tea down on the table ahead of me, pretending I hadn’t noticed whatever it was while I searched. My gaze landed on the top of a nearby building, and there it was.

That weird ginger-brown bird—red and blue feathers clashing like some kind of gaudy fashion disaster, with two mismatched tails twitching in rhythm—was perched across the street, three buildings down. Right where I said he’d be. Exactly where I warned them he’d be.

The Monkey King.

In full surveillance mode.

Staring directly at me.

And not in the casual, oh-I-just-happened-to-glance-your-way kind of stare. No, this was the full “I know what you did and I’m debating how fast I can end you” type of stare.

Charming.

I didn’t let my eyes linger on him, but the pressure didn’t go away. If anything, it got worse. That sensation of being watched with intent—with a predator’s patience. He hadn’t moved yet. Which, honestly, just made it worse.

So I did what any sensible person would do in the face of a potentially homicidal immortal: I pretended I hadn’t seen him. I kept scrolling through my phone like I didn’t know I was under surveillance from a divine nightmare disguised as an overgrown pigeon.

Classic me.

And look, I knew why he was pissed. The whole “I shot at him” thing. Minor detail. Could’ve happened to anyone. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I happened to be in a mood and holding a gun. But apparently immortals hold grudges. Who knew?

I rolled my eyes at myself and felt the faint twitch of annoyance behind them. Because, of course, I wouldn’t even be in this mess if the Bull Family had actually listened to me when I warned them that the Monkey King wasn’t just watching from a distance anymore. No, they brushed it off. Red brushed it off, acting like I was being paranoid. Iron Fan didn’t say anything, just gave me that “noted” look and moved on.

And now look where we are.

Me. Under celestial lockdown. Three buildings away from a magical nuke disguised as a bird. All because someone couldn’t be bothered to believe me.

All of this, just because I had to show him what he missed, what could have happened.I felt the weight of Wukong’s gaze still locked on me and resisted the urge to flip him off. Bad idea. Great emotional release. Still a bad idea.

And the worst part? I couldn’t even do anything. I couldn’t kill him. He was immortal, for one. For two—he was Wukong. You don’t kill Wukong. You hope he’s bored enough to let you live.

I could teleport, sure. That’d buy me a few seconds, maybe even a solid minute if I got creative with the distance. But we both knew he’d find me again. The man once outran Heaven. My evasion skills weren’t going to cut it against that.

Leverage. I had a little. Not much. But a little.

His protégé’s friends. I wouldn’t hurt them—not really. But I could grab them. Use them as hostages, human shields, bargaining chips. I didn’t like the idea. Not one bit. But I wasn’t above it. Not if it meant getting him to back off, even for a moment.

I sighed internally.

Gods, I hated it when my own actions came back to bite me in the ass. But what I hated more was having to deal with the fallout alone, because the people I worked for decided I was being “dramatic.”

Yeah. Paranoia’s a lot less funny when it turns out to be right.

Now here I was, trying to act casual while Wukong stared me down like I’d already lost.

And maybe I had.

But I’d be damned if I let him see me sweat.

As I was lost in thought, a body came flying from the tower, crashing down to the street across from me and creating a massive crater. To my surprise, it was surprisingly deep. I was impressed.

But then, Sun Wukong swooped down into the crater, glowing a bright golden color as he transformed from the bird into his true form. He jumped onto a cloud that seemed to appear out of nowhere and began munching on… were those peach chips? Where the hell did those come from? Were they in the cloud? He then spoke, “How you doing there, bud?”

The noodle boy shot up from his crumpled position in the middle of the crater, stars in his eyes as he found a second wind. He practically screamed in excitement, “Monkey King! Great! Now that you're here, we can fly up there and smash that—”

Sun Wukong’s gaze fell fully on the boy as he put his peach chips back into the cloud, shaking his head at the noodle boy. “No, no, no, no, no. In case you forgot, I'm retired. You're supposed to be taking care of the bad guys. Besides, you're invincible! Right?” The Monkey King tilted his head to the side, eyeing the boy with a mischievous smirk, as if he were throwing something back in the kid's face.

The boy looked down at the ground, wringing his hands together. He spoke mainly at the pavement, glancing up at the Monkey King. “Well, yeah, I mean, I am invincible, but, you know, every time I try to do anything, I just gunk everything up. Something's wrong.” He threw his hands up in frustration. Sun Wukong stared at him for a moment before launching himself at the kid, climbing onto his shoulder. The boy stumbled, yelling, “Hey, what are you doing?!”

Sun Wukong began to search through the boy's hair, seeming to look for something. After a few seconds, he leaned closer to the boy's head, a worried look crossing his face. “Oh yeah, you're right. Oh, this is bad. Something's really wrong,” the Monkey King stated.

The boy gasped and started to flail around like a fish out of water, yelling, “What is it? What's wrong?!” He began to go pale.

The Monkey King then grabbed a bug from the boy's hair and ate it, jumping off him and out of the crater. His back to the kid, he tossed an insult over his shoulder. “It's you, dummy.” It might have been childish, but wow, he was really playing with this kid's feelings.

The boy tilted his head to the side, stunned by the Monkey King's words. A simple response fell from his lips: “What?”

Sun Wukong nodded to himself, still not facing the kid. “In order to have full control of your powers, you need self-confidence.” He then placed one of his hands on his hip.

The boy crawled out of the crater and stood next to the Monkey King, stating, “I got self-confidence!” He threw his hands in the air and leaned in close to the King.

The Monkey King turned his head away from the boy, raising his tail and pushing him away so forcefully that he lost his balance and fell to the ground. As he did, Sun Wukong stated, “No, you're just loud. The only way to get self-confidence is—”

The boy interrupted him, sparkles in his eyes as he stood up again. “Fake it 'til I make it?” he asked innocently.

The Monkey King’s head snapped to the noodle boy. “No! Practice! You think I took shortcuts? No. It took me centuries of training and fighting and just beating up demons. Just so many demons.” He looked away from the kid as if searching for the right words. “A-anyway, nothing worth anything comes for free.” He raised his fist to his mouth and coughed lightly into it, still avoiding the boy’s gaze.

The noodle boy looked down at the pavement, struggling to find his own words. After a few seconds, he finally looked up at the Monkey King. “But what about my friends? The city? They're all counting on me.” His eyes started to water. I looked away for a moment, grabbing my tea. Damn this kid; he had a soft heart. It was annoying, reminding me of someone I wished to forget.

I turned back to the scene as the Monkey King groaned. “Fine. If it'll stop your whining, I know a way to limit your powers so you can learn to control them. But…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his head, still not looking at the kid.

“But what?” the boy asked, stars back in his eyes. The Monkey King turned to face him again, a strained expression on his face. “You won't be invincible anymore.”

That made me pause. If the kid wasn’t invincible anymore, it meant I could take him out. I could hold the kid over the King’s head! I could eliminate the boy way faster than the Monkey King could stop me. The boy’s friends probably didn’t mean much to Wukong, but that kid did. A cruel smirk pulled at my lips as I heard the boy say, “Alright, let's do it.” Maybe I can get out of this alive after all.

The Monkey King nodded at him. “All right. No turning back.” Before the boy could change his mind, the Monkey King put his hands together. They began to glow gold, and a seal appeared in front of him. I recognized that seal; it was an old one. I had only seen it in books so ancient they were falling apart.

He then shoved his hands forward into the boy’s chest, sending him flying back into the crater. When the golden light dimmed, Sun Wukong walked over to the kid, scratching his cheek as he asked, “Feeling alright, bud?”

The boy looked up at the King with a smile on his face and replied, “Yeah!”

Sun Wukong smiled at the boy and gave him two thumbs up. “That’s the spirit, MK! Now go up there and rescue your friends.” He placed both hands on his hips, his grin widening.

So, the noodle boy's name was MK, huh? I noted it, but it didn’t matter much; I’d need to use him as leverage against the King. Slowly, I moved my hand down to the holster on my hip, trying not to draw his attention. If I could just reach my handgun, I might be able to get the King to back off a little.

But before I could even begin to draw the gun, the Monkey King gleamed gold again, transforming back into that bird. He grabbed the back of the kid's collar and took off into the sky. Well, that sucks. He must have sensed my intentions.

Now I needed to figure out my next move. I put my elbow on the table and rested my head on my fist, letting out a sigh as I closed my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts.

I didn’t have anything on the Monkey King down here. Maybe I could use the civilians? No, they all seemed to have cleared out from this area. What else could I do to get out of this? To cling to what life I had left. Red would be fine. I didn’t believe Sun Wukong actually considered him or the rest of the Bull Family a threat to MK.

As I contemplated my options, my sleeve fell back slightly, revealing the top of one of my magical contract seals. I sat up fully and examined the seal, my mind racing. Maybe, if I played my cards right, I could convince the Monkey King to enter into a contract with me instead of eliminating me.

I could offer to spare the kid, even if ordered to kill him. I knew the Bull Family wouldn’t bother ordering me to take out that kid anyway since Red wanted to be the one to kick his ass and regain his self-respect. But Sun Wukong didn’t know that. He thought I was itching to kill the kid. But what would I ask for in return?

It had to seem like I genuinely wanted something. Was there anything I desired from that monkey? I hadn’t ever really wanted much in my life or needed much. I guess what I truly needed was money. Hmm, maybe I could play the desperate card. My other hand gripped the sleeve of my jacket, pulling it back up over the seal.

As I finished that thought, the wind picked up, tossing my hair around my face. I pushed it out of my eyes and turned my head to meet the golden glare of the Monkey King. The tension crackled between us; I kept my spine straight and my face neutral, determined not to show any sign of nervousness. I had my half baked plan. I’ll just have to wing in on getting it there.

I grabbed my tea again, taking a sip as we stared at each other. The air felt thick, almost electric, as I raised an eyebrow at him, slowly assessing his posture. He stood with his arms crossed, his spine rigid, as if he expected me to try and run away. I turned back to look across the table from me and calmly gestured to the seat opposite me. “What can I do for you?”

He stared at me for a few seconds longer, then nodded, uncrossing his arms and heading toward the chair I had indicated. I hid my surprise; I had fully expected him to remain standing, looming over me like a thunderstorm.

He slipped into the chair, still leveling me with that unyielding glare. I watched his body language, noting the silence as he continued to scrutinize me. The tension built between us, each of us waiting for the other to break the silence. It couldn’t be me; I had cards to play, and speaking first would make me seem desperate. I needed to appear calm, collected, and confident, as if I could take out the kid even with him present.

I glanced back at the weather tower, seeing the kid fighting Red Son at the top. It looked like Red was getting his ass handed to him. Turning my gaze back to the Monkey King, I took another sip of my tea, steadying myself for what was to come.

Finally, he placed his arms on the table and clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. “So, who are you?” There was no warmth in his tone, unlike the one he had used with the kid. He truly saw me as a threat. Maybe I should feel honored, but to be honest, it sucked. I didn’t want to be on any list this powerhouse had, no matter what that list was.

I kept my face neutral, knowing the role I needed to play.

I had to push any and all emotions down.

It was fine; I was used to it, just like I had to be when I was young.

I was not afraid, nor nervous, nor worried.

Everything was fine, and I had it all under control.

I met his gaze, raising a brow. “You know it’s rude not to introduce yourself first if you’re asking for someone’s name,” I said, my voice steady. I broke eye contact and looked at the iced tea in my hand, swirling the ice around to create a small whirlpool that faded as quickly as it had formed.

He hummed for a moment. “I know you know who I am, but fine, if you want to play this game, I’ll play. I am The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the one and only Sun Wukong!” His voice rose at the end, taking on a playful tone, almost as if he were trying to impress me.

I nodded slowly, looking back at him with a bored expression. “Ah, I see,” I stated dryly. He couldn’t get under my skin. I needed to get under his first, to take him off balance just a little. I took another drink of my tea, maintaining that same dry look.

“Well?” he prompted, raising one of his brows. I looked him up and down again, taking my time. “Well, what?” I retorted, meeting his gaze once more.

I saw one of his brows twitch as he struggled to stay calm. “Well, who are you? What do you want with MK?” His glare was molten hot. If looks could kill, I’d be dead ages ago.

“Oh, yeah, that.” I leaned back in my seat, resting one arm over the back of it. His eyes tracked that arm, as if expecting it to reach for one of my weapons. Good; I was at least pushing him to the edge. Just a bit more pressure, and perhaps this might work. I looked back to the tower, ensuring Red was still up there, along with the noodle boy and his friends.

Turning my gaze back to the Monkey King, I let my head tilt to the side. “I’m nobody special. Just a hired gun for a half-breed prince.” I shrugged, finishing my statement. His mouth formed a thin line, and his stare grew harsher, if that was even possible.

He gave me a closed-eye smile, but it had too many teeth to be friendly. “What’s your name, girl? I won’t ask again,” he stated. Okay, good—he was getting pissy. A smile of my own began to form on my lips, letting him believe I was just another cocky fool like the rest of the Bull Family.

“Oh! Is that what you were asking?” I raised my free hand to my mouth, feigning surprise. “Sorry, mister, not many actually want my name. Of course I’ll tell you!” I gave him a fake smile, one I knew he could see through, just so he understood I was messing with him. But he remained silent, waiting for me to reveal my name.

Finally, I gave him my name with a shrug, adding, “But I also go by many other things—Neko, Shiro, Bitch, Whore, Gun, Assassin, Weapon. So pick any of those, and I’ll more than likely answer to it.” He nodded slowly, still assessing me, gauging whether the wariness he felt was warranted.

The tension in the air thickened, and I could almost feel the weight of each unspoken word hanging between us. I was taking a dangerous gamble, but I had to project confidence, even as my heart raced. If I could keep him off balance, perhaps I could turn this situation to my advantage.

He nodded again, then asked, “What do you want with the kid?” His hard stare felt like a weight pressing down on me. Okay, this was going as well as it could. I just had to keep this up. So I shrugged, took a drink of my tea, and glanced across the street at the crater in the middle of the road, making him sit there and wait.

Finally, I spoke. “The noodle boy? Personally, I could care less about him. My employer, on the other hand, is a different story.” I looked back at Sun Wukong, noting how the knuckles of his clasped hands were turning white. His tail began to sway in irritation, but he wrapped it around the bottom of the chair to keep it still. I could see the way his hair stood on end a little. Okay, maybe I was pushing too hard. But at this point, I couldn’t back down.

“So, your ‘employers’—what do they want with MK?” He was trying so hard to maintain his composure, to not just kill me right there. I could see it in his eyes. Maybe that’s why I didn’t make him wait this time; I replied nonchalantly.

“Oh, that? I don’t know. Whatever they ask of me, I’ll do. I’m not really in a position to question why or when.” I grabbed my iced tea again and took a sip, letting my statement settle over Sun Wukong.

“So,” he asked, voice low and almost deceptively soft, “if they asked you to kill him… would you?”

As if he didn’t already know the answer.

I didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Just gave him a slow, deliberate nod. The truth didn’t need dressing up.

His eyes stayed locked on mine for a long moment before he finally looked down, exhaling through his nose like he was counting the seconds it would take to not obliterate me on the spot. Three breaths. Steady. Intentional. Not to calm himself—but to center whatever came next.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said, voice flat, calm, final. “But I will.”

There was no edge to it. No heat. Just certainty.

“You’re a threat to my successor. Maybe the biggest one he’s ever faced. And I don’t even know what you’re fully capable of yet.”

He leaned forward, voice quiet but pointed, like every word was chosen for maximum precision.

“You think you’re clever. Dangerous. And maybe you are. But I’ve ended armies. Outwitted gods. Buried monsters so old their names were forgotten before this world had a name. If I decide you’re not worth the gamble—if you push me—I will erase you. Entirely.”

He didn’t blink.

“You’ll be gone. No body. No soul. No trace. Just silence where you used to be.”

Then, with no effort, he unclasped his hands and dug his fingers into the edge of the metal table between us. The steel screamed under the pressure, folding in on itself like it had never been solid to begin with.

I sighed—not loudly, but enough to show I wasn’t impressed. Or at least, that I was pretending not to be.

I breathed out slowly, tilting my head just enough to look unimpressed. “That’s a very poetic death threat,” I said, tone light but steady. “You practice that one?”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. Of course not.

“I’m just trying to save you the trouble of thinking you’d have options,” he said calmly.

Cute.

“Look,” I said, tilting my head lazily, “as much as I’d love to avoid being crushed into a metaphysical pulp, it’s not that simple.”

He didn’t answer, but the air around him shifted slightly—waiting.

I kept my tone even, casual, like we were talking about the weather. “I’m under contract. Magical. Binding. I do what I’m told—as long as it doesn’t interfere with another standing contract.”

His brows pulled together—just faintly. Not confusion. Just… recalculation.

I kept going, nice and easy. “Which means unless someone else has a standing contract with me before the order is given, I follow the Bull Family’s commands. It’s not personal—it’s magical law. And breaking one?” I gave a small shrug. “Let’s just say it’s a fast track to a painful death… if you’re lucky.”

That made him pause. Not visibly. But I felt it. He sat back, gaze still sharp, but narrowed now. Focused. The gears behind his eyes were turning.

He mulled over my words for a moment, looking down at the table where he had bent the metal, then back up at me. “You said you’d have to do what they told you to do, as long as it doesn’t interfere with another contract, correct?”

It took all my willpower to keep my expression bored and neutral, but I nodded. “Yup.” I popped the “p.” “They don’t mind me taking on extra work, as long as I prioritize Red Son and the Bull Family’s jobs. Of course, they included a clause in our contract stating that any work I get outside of the family has to be magically sealed.” I took a drink of my tea again, finishing it off. “Not many underworld jobs nowadays want to make a contract with someone, so it’s been a pain in the ass.” I rolled my eyes and placed the empty cup on the table between us.

He watched me intently, the gears turning in his brain. “So, you can only make magical contracts right now because of your current one with the Bull Family?” I nodded. I wasn’t lying; that was a condition in PIF’s and my contract. She didn’t want me to take on more jobs but also knew I’d get rusty if I didn’t use my skills often. So, she made it a pain in the ass to get more jobs. Of course, that wasn’t the only stipulation in our contract, but it was the most annoying part.

“Okay.” He looked down at his hands again, taking a deep breath, seeming to come to terms with what he was going to propose. “How about you and I make a magical contract then?”

My mouth fell open, and my eyes widened. I pushed any joy or excitement deep down. He had taken the bait; I just needed to keep this act up to reel him in. It wasn’t over yet.

“You, the Sun Wukong, want to make a magical contract with me? The girl who shot at you a couple of months ago?” I asked, letting a hint of disbelief seep into my voice. He nodded at me. So I straightened up, leaning back toward the table and bringing my arms to rest on its surface. Of course, I had to take this seriously; I would have to uphold this, and he held most of the power in this contract. I just hoped he wouldn’t see that, or that he was too upset or distracted by my earlier attitude to think it through.

“Okay, you have my full attention, Monkey King. What is it you’re proposing for this contract?”

He met my gaze, eyes sharp and unwavering, and began outlining his conditions.

“You will not kill MK, Mei, Tang, Pigsy, or Sandy—even if you’re ordered to by anyone. And if you’re around MK and someone he can’t handle tries to hurt him, you’ll step in and take care of the threat, however MK says to deal with it.”

Simple. Direct. No hesitation in his voice.

I leaned back slightly, arms folded. Okay. Not as bad as I’d been bracing for. Not great either, but nothing that caught me off guard. Honestly, I’d been expecting something a little more… dramatic. Maybe some over-the-top vow about honor or loyalty, considering who I was dealing with. But this? I could work with this.

Now it was my turn.

I sat forward, fingers drumming lightly on the table as I considered how to phrase what I wanted. The key here was detail—leave a single word vague and this guy would find a loophole big enough to drive a mountain through.

“Fair enough,” I began. “What I want from you is five thousand dollars a week. Plus that you're not allowed to kill me, or let me die if you’re around.”

I said it plainly, like I was asking for a glass of water. Just let it sit there in the air.

His reaction was immediate. He leaned back hard, eyes going wide as if I’d just asked for the moon.

“Five thousand?! A week? What do you think I am—made of money?”

I gave him a casual shrug, already prepared for that response. “Well, then how about I choose between the money or one of your many ancient artifacts? I could sell those for a pretty penny myself.”

There. That should keep things flexible. Either way, I win.

He blinked at me, clearly stunned. And honestly, it felt a little satisfying seeing him caught off guard for once. Sun Wukong, flustered. Not something you see every day.

Of course, it didn’t take him long to recover.

“Why?!” he asked, voice sharp with genuine confusion.

I leaned in a little, letting my tone settle into something steadier. Calm. Professional.

“That kid is the humans’ hero,” I said. “Demons hate him. Especially the Bull Family. Taking this contract with you?” I gestured vaguely toward the sky, where some distant explosion cracked the clouds. “It’s going to cost me. A lot. Jobs, trust, potential alliances. That’s a big hit to my paycheck. So I’ve got to make that money back somehow.”

He was still staring at me.

“And the artifacts? They’ve got value—magical, monetary, both. I could use that to buy safety if things go south. Or firepower, if it comes to that.” I held his gaze. “I’m not dumb enough to take this job without a backup plan.”

His expression softened. Not relaxed, exactly, but less confrontational.

And then—he pouted.

He pouted.

I stared. No, really stared. Seeing Sun Wukong pout was… something. Creepy. And weirdly unsettling. Like watching a lion sulk after losing a game of chess. I pushed the thought away before it got any weirder.

“Okay,” he said at last, dragging out the word like it hurt. “If I have to pay you five thousand a week or let you take something from my collection, then you also have to come to my home once a week to check in on what the kid had been doing while I wasn’t there and report what he’s doing.”

I froze. For a heartbeat, I just blinked at him.

Go to his place? Once a week?

“What?”

I had to physically stop myself from recoiling. Nope. Absolutely not.

“I can’t do once a week,” I said quickly, trying to keep my voice even. “The Bull Family’s work comes first. I’ve got obligations. Other jobs outside the family, too.”

Hopefully that’d make him back off. I didn’t even know how I’d get to wherever the hell he lived—much less feel comfortable dropping in on him every week.

But of course, the monkey wouldn’t make it easy.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm…”

No. No “hmm.” I didn’t like that sound.

Then he brightened. “How about this: you’ll come once every week if you’re able to, and you’ll need a legitimate reason if you can’t. But you’ll have to show up at least once a month. The rest, we can figure out case-by-case.”

He looked far too pleased with that compromise.

And technically… he hadn’t really changed the number of visits. Just added a minimum number of visits a month. Still, I could deal with that. Once a month? I could suffer through that much. As long as I kept myself busy the rest of the time, I wouldn’t have to think too much about it.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But the visits last an hour. Max. Unless I decide to stay longer. And—once there’s no longer a threat to the noodle boy and his friends from me—I can end the contract at any time.”

That part was important. No way I was getting tied to this thing longer than I had to.

He raised a brow at that. “Why would you want a clause that lets you break the contract at any time?”

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes right out of my head.

“Because if I’ve already decided I’m not going to take any jobs that target them, then why the hell would I keep a magical leash tied to my wrist?” I met his gaze, letting my voice drop just enough to make the point clear. “I don’t do long-term unless there’s a reason.”

He studied me for a long moment, then gave a small nod.

“Fair enough.”

The moment the words left his mouth, something shifted in the air. A staff shot from the top of the tower like a comet, flying high into the sky Red at the top of it—only to be struck by lightning.

I winced.

Yeah. Red Son was definitely going to be feeling that later.

I turned my attention back to Sun Wukong. “Looks like I need to go deal with Red and get him home. So, do you have anything else to add, or are we good?”

He locked eyes with me. There was something searching in his expression—something I couldn’t quite read. But then he nodded and held out his hand.

“I accept the terms of this contract.”

I reached out and clasped his hand. My voice echoed his. “I accept the terms of this contract.”

As soon as the words were spoken, I felt it—the buzz of magic crawling up my arm, spreading warmth through my shoulder until it turned searing hot, then faded just as fast.

Contract sealed.

I stood from the warped table, grabbed the empty cup, and dropped a card in its place. The tracker in my pocket blinked to life as I activated it, scanning for Red’s location.

Turning back to the Monkey King, I gave him one last glance.

“My number’s on the card. Text me the when and where for our meetings.”

Then I raised a hand and waved lazily.

“Till we meet again.”

And before he could say anything else, I vanished in a swirl of pink petals—leaving behind a stunned Monkey King and the faintest trace of magic in the air.

The world snapped back into focus as the last of the pink petals scattered on the breeze. I landed lightly on a quiet side street, far from the noise and chaos of the fight I’d just walked away from.

Dusk soaked the city in gold and gray. The light stretched long across the pavement, casting everything in shadow.

I checked the usual spots—corners, rooftops, alleys—out of habit more than need.

Clear.

Only then did I let myself lean back against the brick wall behind me. It scraped against my jacket, grounding me, and I finally let go of the breath I’d been holding since before the teleport.

The silence pressed in, thick and still. For a moment, I just stood there, letting it settle. Letting it soak through the noise still rattling in my bones.

There it was—that flicker of feeling, slow and deep and a little too heavy to be called triumph. Not joy. Not pride. Just… the quiet knowledge that I made it out.

I survived. Take that, the consequences of my actions!

A tired smile tugged at my lips, more reflex than emotion. I tipped my head back and looked up at the sky. Purple clouds smeared across the fading light, like bruises on the horizon.

I got out alive.

Unharmed.

Unhunted.

And bound to Sun Wukong by a contract he proposed.

It should’ve felt like more of a win. But maybe I’ve just been running too long to celebrate anything properly anymore.

Still… it wasn’t nothing.

The terms weren’t perfect, but they were better than I’d hoped for. I can’t kill the kid or his friends, and if I’m present, I can’t let him die. But harm? That was never ruled out.

He was in such a rush to be done with it, he didn’t even think to tighten the wording.

Not that I manipulated him into it, exactly. I just let him reach the conclusion I wanted. I kept things vague. Let him assume. Let him get frustrated enough to offer what I needed without realizing what he was giving up.

It wasn’t clever. It was just survival.

He added the check-in clause. He insisted I visit. He thought it would be a way to “keep me in line.” I agreed. Nodded. Acted like it was a leash around my throat. Let him think it was his idea to hold the chain.

Five grand a week. A magical contract. One meeting a month.

It sounds simple. Clean. Like I’m being paid to play nice. But nothing is ever that easy.

The check-ins will be another kind of cage—just a quieter one. But I’ve lived in worse. And if it means access to Wukong’s knowledge, his relics, his wards… then maybe it’s worth it.

I need that edge. My body won’t keep up forever. The way things are going, I might not always be able to outrun what’s coming.

And I remember what Demon Bull King said—called Wukong a hoarder. Dismissively, almost. But it stuck.

If he’s holding onto ancient tools, lost spells, protections no one else remembers how to use, then I need to learn everything I can.

Because when the white coats come again—and they will come—I want options. Not just fists and flight.

So yeah, this was a win. Not clean. Not easy. Not without its cost. But still a win.

I just have to keep away from the kid. Avoid the emotional tangle of his little crew. Show up for the check-ins, keep my head down, and stay useful.

Why Wukong wants to see me at all, I don’t know.

Maybe he wants to keep an eye on the Bull Family. Maybe he’s testing me, seeing if I’m a threat. Maybe he’s just curious.

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t really matter.

I looked down at the tracker in my hand and sighed.

Red’s still out there. I need to make sure he got home—or get him there myself. After that, I’ve got other work to take care of. And then… Breezeblock. He’ll want to hear it from me.

That it’s done. That I held up my end.

The world dissolved again into the swirl of soft pink petals as I teleported to Red’s location, the weight of everything I’d survived still clinging to my skin.

As the world gradually came back into view, petals gently floated to the ground around me. My eyes followed their descent, settling on none other than Red Son sprawled on the pavement, his eyes unfocused and spinning. It was clear now—I had been right. He hadn’t managed to make it back home.

Surveying the area, I saw the remnants of bull clones scattered around him. That explained why he hadn’t moved since I last saw his location before leaving Sun Wukong. Red was unconscious, and the bull clones had been shattered by the lightning strike.

I let out a soft sigh, my gaze lingering on Red. I had tried to warn him. Kneeling beside him, I gently poked his cheek. “You alive there, Red?” I asked softly. He responded with a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. So, he was alive, but not fully present in this world.

I nodded to myself, contemplating the situation. Then, carefully, I wrapped my arms around him, lifting him slowly to his feet. His weight was heavy against me, and I let out a grunt as I steadied us both. Locking my knees, I concentrated on channeling my magic, feeling it flow through my veins like a warm current.

I closed my eyes, picturing the infirmary within the Bull Mansion. Teleporting alone is straightforward, but doing so with another person is a challenge. It requires skill and focus, especially over long distances. Even the most talented can only manage to transport five or six people at a time without breaking the journey into segments.

When I opened my eyes again, we were in the infirmary. Soft pink petals drifted to the floor around us. The bull clones stationed there spun around at our sudden appearance, initially taking defensive stances. Recognizing me, they relaxed, swiftly moving to assist when they saw who was leaning heavily against me.

Gratefully, I relinquished Red to their care. I watched as they gently placed him on a table and began the treatment process. I knew he would be fine in the end. His pride might be bruised, and he would carry a few physical bruises for a couple of weeks, but he would recover.

Satisfied, I turned and left the room, my thoughts shifting to my next task. I headed towards Lady Iron’s chamber, mindful of the other part of our contract. The seal was starting to heat up since I was so close to her.

When I reached her door, I knocked, certain of her presence inside. A soft yet commanding voice responded, “Enter, Kitten,” from beyond the massive door. It was built to accommodate the Demon Bull King, so like most doors in this mansion, it was grand and imposing. I placed my hand on the cold stone, channeling my magic through it, and the door responded by slowly swinging open.

Red Son, a genius in magical engineering, had designed technology that allowed doors to open with a touch of magic—one of his more practical inventions. As the door creaked open, I took a moment to take in the room's opulence.

To the left, a grand bed was perfectly centered against the wall, its plush coverings luxurious and inviting. Nearby, two braziers filled with glowing red coals cast a warm, flickering light, carefully positioned to provide warmth without risk to the bed. To the right, a small step led down to a cozy sitting area. A plush couch faced a sleek coffee table, and a large TV stood a few feet from the wall, perfectly aligned with the couch. Behind the TV, a formidable battle ax was mounted—a relic from Lord Ox’s younger days, no doubt.

Directly ahead, a vanity was cluttered with an array of brushes, makeup, and hairpins. The small bench in front of it was just enough for one person. Sitting there was Princess Iron Fan, her reflection meeting my gaze through the mirror. I noted the absence of the Bull King, a small relief in the back of my mind.

Approaching her, I watched the graceful way she brushed her hair, each stroke deliberate and precise. Perhaps she was preparing to redo the intricate bull horn hairstyle she often wore. It was always immaculate, likely because she constantly maintained it.

Meeting her deep brown eyes in the mirror, I said, “So, I assume you know why I’m here.” She broke eye contact, placing the brush down with a soft clink, and raised a hand. A sudden gust of wind materialized, and when it settled, another chair appeared beside the vanity, facing her.

Taking the cue, I settled into the chair she summoned, watching her hands as they deftly parted her hair with a comb. “Yes, it seems you were busy making a contract while my son was humiliated,” she remarked, her voice calm but edged with disappointment.

“Well, I did say he’d lose if he fought that kid,” I replied, my tone light yet firm. She cast a brief glare my way, and I shrugged in response, maintaining my composure. She sighed softly, rolling her eyes, then returned her focus to her hair, each movement poised and deliberate.

“So, what is it this time?” she asked, her interest piqued as her fingers skillfully twisted her hair into place. I paused, knowing the terms of our agreement. Part of my contract with Princess Iron Fan allowed me to take on other jobs, provided they were magical contracts, and required me to inform her about them. If a contract included secrecy, I had to disclose as much as I could without violating those terms.

She wanted to be aware of my activities when not directly serving them. It was a bit of a nuisance, but manageable, and I didn’t have to inform other clients unless they inquired. The Monkey King hadn’t requested confidentiality, despite knowing my affiliations, an oversight on his part.

I shrugged and began, “He wanted me not to harm the boy and his friends, and to check in at least once a month.” She paused mid-brush, one eyebrow arching in curiosity.

“I’m surprised you can tell me anything; they usually negotiate better deals with you,” Lady Iron mused, her voice a blend of admiration and intrigue. I nodded, offering another casual shrug.

“Well, I annoyed him enough to distract him from asking, and I believe he hadn’t made a contract in a long time.” A knowing chuckle escaped her lips, familiar with my tactics from firsthand experience. She understood that I often managed to subtly guide others into outcomes I desired. Whether they realized it or not, I usually emerged victorious in a way.

“So… who was the fool this time?” Her voice was smooth as velvet—and twice as suffocating. “One of the Fanboys friend’s you took pity on again? Honestly, you need thicker skin when it comes to the lesser creatures crawling around us. You tied your own hands with that deal—even if my son would never actually let you kill his prey.”

I met her brown eyes.

“Oh, none other than Sun Wukong offered me the contract first.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, she sputtered and started coughing, dropping the section of hair she’d been about to pin into a bull’s horn. It made her look a little disheveled as she leaned back on the bench, slapping a hand to her chest to try and force the air back into her lungs.

“SUN WUKONG?!”

Her eyes flared with pale yellow energy—dim and sharp, like sunlight filtered through ice. It didn’t warm. It pierced.

“You made a contract with him? With the monster who destroyed my family? Who turned us into fugitives and shattered everything we built?!”

“Why in the heavens above would you even entertain a contract with that monkey? Did you lose your mind?!”

She slammed one of her delicate hands down onto her vanity, hard enough to rattle the objects on it. A piece of hair fell in her face as she shouted at me, unpinned and forgotten. I looked away, gaze dropping to the floor.

Then she stood from her seat and began to walk toward me—slowly, deliberately. It forced my eyes back up to meet hers.

I said nothing.

I couldn’t. My voice wouldn’t work—not without cracking. And I wasn’t going to let her know how much her words were getting to me. How fast my heart was racing now.

Not because of Wukong. Not anymore.

Because of her.

The shame curled hot and low in my gut. The guilt sat like lead in my chest. And worse—worse than all of it—I knew she was right. Maybe not about the betrayal, not completely, but the weight of it? The way it looked? The way it felt?

Yeah. That part was real.

“He sealed my husband,” she hissed. “Left my son fatherless. He made me run, Kitten. Hide. Beg. I gave up everything just to keep our name breathing.”

Every word struck like a lash.

And gods, I wished I could argue.

I wished I could say she was wrong. That it hadn’t been that bad. That it hadn’t left scars.

But I’d seen them. Not all of them were physical. She stepped closer, every word digging deeper.

“And then I brought you in. Off the streets. Half-dead. And I made you part of this family. I gave you food. Power. Belonging. And you—you—turn around and sign a magical contract with him?”

I swallowed hard.

My fingers had curled into fists at my sides, nails biting so deep into my palms I could feel the warm sting of blood welling beneath them. But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

I needed the pain. Needed something to ground me. Because if I didn’t hold on, I might fall apart right here. I wanted to curl in on myself as she yelled. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear entirely.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t meet her eyes anymore—but she hadn’t been there. Hadn’t sat across from him. Hadn’t stood face-to-face with someone who made it clear you wouldn’t survive a wrong answer. Someone you couldn’t defeat.

I know my limits. I’m not a brawler.

I’m powerful—stronger than most. But Wukong? He’s something else. A close-range fighter with better control over his magic, centuries more experience, and immortality on his side.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I’m a long- to mid-range fighter. I win my battles by thinking ahead, by hiding in the shadows, gathering information, striking before the enemy even knows I’m there. My magic helps me—but it can’t carry me through a drawn-out brawl. Not with him. I’d never outlast Sun Wukong in a head-on fight.

So I made the contract. Because I had to.

But even now, standing in front of her fury, I kept my spine straight. My face unreadable. My body still.

My fists still clenched so tight I was sure the blood was pooling down my palms.

I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me crack. Even if I already was.

Because the truth was… I hated this. Not the decision—I stood by that. I’d survived. I was alive. I’d made it out with something. That wasn’t nothing.

But this?

This silence between us. This disgust in her eyes. This bitter, hollow disappointment behind every word. That’s what gutted me. She was the closest thing I had to—

I clenched my jaw before the thought could finish.

Don’t go there.

Don’t call it family if you’re going to destroy it to save yourself.

But I didn’t mean to destroy anything this time.

I’d been cornered. Cornered and face to face with him, and I did what I had to do to keep breathing. That should’ve counted for something. Should’ve mattered.

Shouldn’t it?

Shouldn’t it matter that I didn’t cave? That I didn’t beg or grovel or break? That I manipulated a legend into giving me an out?

But I knew better than to say any of that to her. She wouldn’t hear it. She’d only hear the name. She’d only see the signature burned into the figurative parchment. The physical proof of the contact on my shoulder in the form of a seal.

And all it would mean to her is that I was his, not hers. Even if that wasn’t true. Even if I hadn’t moved an inch from the moment she made me one of her own. I didn’t betray her. I protected myself.

I did what she taught me to do. But none of that would matter now. Not while her eyes still burned with that pale yellow fury. Not while I still hadn’t found the courage to say the words that kept choking me:

“I didn’t want to make you ashamed of me.”

Because I knew I had. Because I could see it on her face. And gods help me… I didn’t know how to fix it. Even when in a logical world I did nothing wrong.

She didn’t even know the rest of our contract terms.

That I have to go to his place once a month. That I’m required to spend at least an hour with him. If she did know… she’d probably explode the same way Red Son does when things don’t go his way. Maybe worse. And the sad part was that I had to tell her, even if I didn't want to.

Her and my contract demands that I tell her about any and all magical contracts I enter outside the Bull Family the moment I’m near her. In return, she gave me a place to stay. Food. Protection. Stability.

If I ever touched the seal etched on my hip, she’d know where I was. She’d feel it instantly—that I was overwhelmed, that I couldn’t handle what was happening. That I needed her.

I never used it. Maybe that’s part of why she’s so angry. Besides the obvious—the fact the contract is with their sworn enemy, the one who tore her life apart—there’s this deeper, quieter hurt underneath it. The part she’s not saying. It’s the fact I didn’t call for her.

But… why would she be angry about that?

I told them he was still watching the kid. I’d told them days before that he hadn’t let up. That he was just waiting. I gave them everything I knew, every piece of truth I could safely share. What I hadn’t expected was for him to come to me. To sit across from me in the middle of a clean, silent street and make it clear—leave the kid or I’ll kill you myself.

And still… I got out alive.

I made a deal with a being who could’ve ended me with a flick of his wrist. I walked away with breath in my lungs and power on my terms.

But it didn’t matter. Because now she was angry. Disappointed. Ashamed of me. I could see it on her face, plain as day. No mask. No veil.

It didn’t matter how long I’d been with the Bull Family, or how loyal I’d been, or what I’d done to stay alive. All she saw was the name on the other side of that contract.

I felt my chest tighten, and my throat began to close again. The shame curled cold and sharp in my stomach. And I couldn’t say a word.

God, how pathetic of me.

The pale yellow glow had begun to fade from her eyes as the silence stretched between us. The space between her fury and my silence was heavy. Thick. Unbearable.

She sighed.

It wasn’t theatrical, not loud—but it dragged through the air like something old and tired. She ran a hand down her face, dragging her palm along her jaw before turning away and walking slowly back toward the bench.

Her movements weren’t tight anymore. Just exhausted. Like something had slipped loose inside her. She sat down heavily, her frame smaller than it had looked moments ago.

She didn’t look at me right away. Instead, she turned toward the mirror.

And stopped.

Her gaze fell on the corner of the vanity. A picture. Small. Hand-painted. The colors faded from age. The details crude, almost illegible. But I recognized it.

Red must have made it when he was a child. It looked like some version of a family—three shapes, three halos of color. Their old selves. Before the war. Before the fire. Before Heaven turned their name into a curse.

Her fingers didn’t reach for it. But she stared at it like it was something she didn’t know how to hold anymore.

Then, finally, she looked back at me. “Listen, Kitten…” she said, voice quieter now, rougher. “I…” She paused. Her lips trembled just slightly before she pressed them into a line.

“I was out of line,” she admitted. “You didn’t deserve that.” The words didn’t feel like they were for me, entirely. “You didn’t deserve to take the brunt of my anger at him. It’s not your fault he tore my family apart all those years ago.”

Her shoulders fell just a bit more, like she’d let go of something she’d been gripping too tightly for too long. But her eyes—there was a flicker there. Something that hadn’t eased. Grief. Not the screaming kind. The slow-burning one that never really dies.

“I’m aware of your limitations,” she continued. “And… after giving it some thought without being blinded by my rage, you had every right to make a contract with whomever you saw fit.”

Her voice sounded steadier now, but I could still hear the weight behind it.

You had the right.

Not you did the right thing.

“You warned us he was watching the fanboy. We didn’t take your words seriously enough. That’s on us.” I watched her glance at herself in the mirror again, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear like it was muscle memory. Like it helped keep the pieces of her mask together.

“I’m sure you kept Sun Wukong distracted so my son could have the fight he wanted,” she added. And there it was again—that hint of deflection. Of spinning it into something practical. Strategic.

I didn’t call her out on it. But I saw it. I always saw it.

She picked up her brush again and began combing through the sections of her hair that had frizzed during her outburst, each stroke deliberate. Rebuilding herself.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, forcing my fingers to finally relax. My hands were stiff. My palms stung.

I looked down. Tiny red crescents stared back up at me. Still there. Still proof of how hard I’d held on. The tightness in my chest hadn’t gone away. I doubted it would anytime soon. But I could breathe again. A little.

“I…” I started, then steadied my voice, kept it quiet and even. “Can I tell you the rest of our contract?” She nodded without looking up, keeping her hands busy as she pinned the sections of her hair back into the familiar horned coils.

I took another breath.

“Once a week, he wants me to meet with him. I have to tell him what the noodle boy’s been doing when he’s not around to watch him himself.”

She didn’t react yet. Not visibly.

“If I see the kid in danger… I can’t let it happen. And I’m expected to handle the threat in the way MK would want.”

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hand froze. Her knuckles had gone white on the brush. But she didn’t explode.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t cry.

She just stared at her own reflection like it had betrayed her. Her silence screamed in the way her words hadn’t. And I saw her—really saw her—beneath all the grace, the poise, the practiced composure.

She wasn’t just angry at me. She was angry that this still hurt. After all these years. That he could still reach into her life through me. That even now, she wasn’t free of him.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, reined herself in with impossible control.

Then, at last, she nodded.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

She set the brush down with care. “You’re free for the rest of the week. Go get some rest.”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she waved her hand in my direction.

A swirl of wind and magic gathered beneath my chair, forming a miniature cyclone that wrapped around me, lifting me off the floor and into a teleportation spell.

And just like that, I was gone. Chair and all. Dropped neatly into the center of my room.

That was one way to end a conversation. I didn’t move right away. Didn’t even blink.

The room was too quiet.

#sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #fluff #monkey king #lmk #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #lego monkie king #lego monkey kid fandom #lego monkie kid #Tragedy has Targets #your meeting Wukong first because I'm not bias definitely #this was super fun to write hard to stop #I am new to this and don't know hoe to find good places to end chapters #help #this is only episode 2 what have I done

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chibifox88 · 2 months ago

Text

Tragedy has Targets

Summery

I’m not running toward anything.

I’m just trying to stay ahead of what’s behind me. The past doesn’t knock—it breaks in.

It wears old faces, speaks in lost voices, and waits for the moment I slow down.

Now, fire walks beside shadow— two echoes of something I almost believed in.

One pulls, the other reminds. Neither lets me forget.

Some days, I wonder if I’m still real, or just the echo of someone grief refused to let go.

Even silence feels heavy now—like it’s watching.

I want to live, even if it’s just for a little while.

But fate is cruel. And tragedy—

Tragedy has targets.

And it never stops until it hits the heart.

Chapter 1- Get the Family Together

I looked down at my bare feet as the tube started to fill with the thick, goopy water. The light at the bottom was blue today. It was pretty. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t, because as soon as the liquid touched my skin, it started to burn.

It always burned.

But I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t allowed to cry. I had to be a good girl. If I cried like the little kids, then I’d be bad. The white coats didn’t like bad kids. Bad kids made them mad. I didn’t want them to be mad at me. I was one of the older ones, so I had to be the example. I had to be strong.

I clenched my fists tight—super tight—so tight my fingers hurt, but it was better than thinking about the pain creeping up my legs. I looked at the white coats outside my tube. The glass made them look funny, all big and wobbly, like when I used to play with water in a cup. The first time I was put in here, it made me giggle.

It didn’t make me giggle anymore.

Now, it just made my chest feel weird, like something heavy was sitting on it. Or maybe that was just the pain as the water got higher.

I looked down the line at the other tubes. A white coat was walking past them, stopping at each one, staring inside like he was looking for something. He was him.

The Doctor.

That’s what the other white coats called him. Just Doctor. He was the boss. He was in charge of everything. Everything they did. Everything that happened to us.

My fingers touched my collar. The one with my number on it. 1004-BR. That meant I was at the front of the line. Always first. The only one in front of me now was the last of the A’s. There used to be more B’s, but they were… gone. I didn’t know where they went. The white coats said they failed and had to go away. I used to ask what that meant, but they just got mad. I think… I think maybe it would’ve been better if I failed, too.

If I failed, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hurt. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be a good girl.

I had been looking down, but when I looked back up, he was standing right in front of my tube.

The Doctor.

I had never seen him this close before.

He looked… normal. Blonde hair, slicked back. No beard, no mustache. Tall—really tall. His face didn’t look scary, but his eyes… his eyes were.

They were blue, but so dark they almost looked black. They didn’t have anything in them. No feelings. No nothing. Just empty.

And then—then I knew.

He wasn’t human.

I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. It didn’t make sense, but my brain just knew.

I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I really didn’t. But before I could stop it, I mumbled, “…he’s not human…”

It was so quiet, I barely even heard myself.

But he did.

“What did you say, BR? Speak up properly.”

His voice was cold. Hard. Like a block of ice. Like he didn’t even care what I was going to say.

My heart squeezed. My throat felt tight. I didn’t want to answer. I had to answer. I couldn’t make him mad. I couldn’t be bad.

But the water had reached my stomach now, and it hurt so much. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to talk, but I pushed the words out as best as I could.

“You’re n-not human.”

I tried to sound brave, but my voice wobbled.

I looked away fast, hoping—praying—he wouldn’t be mad.

Nothing. No sound.

I peeked back up.

And I almost screamed.

He was smiling.

But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was wrong.

His teeth were sharp—way too sharp. If he bit me, it would hurt a lot. His dark, scary eyes watched me like he was thinking about biting me. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide behind one of the white coats and make him go away.

But I couldn’t.

The liquid was at my chin now. Soon, it would cover my whole head.

I had to remember—had to—what to do next.

When it covered me, I had to breathe it in. It would hurt. It always hurt. But if I didn’t, it would be worse. If I held my breath too long, I’d pass out, and that was even more painful.

So when the liquid finally swallowed me, I forced myself to breathe.

It burned.

It burned so much.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying not to scream.

When I opened them again, something was different.

I could see better.

Everything was clearer, like when I pressed my face against the glass to look outside. The Doctor was still watching me. Watching every little thing I did.

And he was still smiling.

The blue light at the bottom of the tube changed to green. That meant the tube was full. The white coats would know the tube was full.

The Doctor finally looked away, saying something to the others. I couldn’t hear what he said. I didn’t want to hear. I just wanted to sleep.

But I couldn’t.

I wasn’t weak enough for the water to make me sleep anymore. I was too used to it.

So I just looked down at the bottom of the tube.

Wishing—praying—to be let out.

Even though I knew I wouldn’t be.

Not for a long, long time.

I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, exhaling a deep sigh as I wiped the corners of my eyes. My fingertips came away damp. No surprise there—reliving old memories always left a bitter aftertaste. I hated thinking about the past. About what was done to me. No matter how hard I tried to move forward, those memories clawed their way back, whispering that the scars they left behind weren’t just skin deep. They lived inside me, buried but never forgotten.

I sighed again and swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my sore muscles before pushing myself up. The floor was cold against my bare feet as I padded toward the bathroom, the familiar creaks of the wooden boards beneath me grounding me in the present.

Focus on today. Don’t let the past win.

If I remembered correctly, Red Son had mentioned we had a packed schedule ahead. Something about the Demon Bull family’s grand plan to retrieve the Monkey King’s staff. Not that I particularly cared. What they did or didn’t do had nothing to do with me. I was just a contracted employee, nothing more, nothing less. As long as Lady Iron held up her end of the deal, I’d do whatever was asked of me.

I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light, squinting as my reflection came into focus in the mirror. My hair was a mess—defying gravity as if it had a mind of its own. My cat ears twitched in irritation as stray strands tickled them. I lifted a hand to push my hair back when I noticed something that made my stomach clench.

The dye was fading.

White roots peeked through, a stark contrast against the color I’d carefully applied. Another cruel reminder of what had been stolen from me. My natural hair color, gone forever. Now, my hair was ‘naturally’ white. I loathed it. Every time the roots started to show, I dyed it back, desperately clinging to the illusion of normalcy.

I tore my gaze away from the mirror, swallowing the lump in my throat. Later. I’ll deal with it later.

For now, I needed to get ready.

I hopped into the shower, keeping it quick. I hated the feeling of being drenched. The sensation of water soaking through my hair, clinging to my skin—it made my nerves itch. I scrubbed away the lingering grogginess, my mind drifting to the day ahead.

After drying off, I dressed in my usual attire: a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black cargo jeans. Practical. Not too tight, not too loose. Just right for mobility. I ran a brush through my hair, wincing as I worked out the knots from my restless sleep. My hands instinctively went to my neck, checking for the one thing I never took off.

A simple silver chain with a coffin-shaped charm.

I held it between my fingers for a moment, feeling the cool metal against my skin. The charm could be detached from the chain, and it had a tiny strap running along its length, as if it were meant to be carried on someone’s back. A strange design, but it held meaning to me. A piece of my past I wasn’t willing to let go of. Holding everything I’d ever need in it.

Shaking off the creeping thoughts, I turned my attention to my holster belt. I fastened it around my waist, securing the extra ammo clips in place. Eight in total. Enough to last in a fight if things got messy. Two empty holsters rested against my thighs. I retrieved my pistols, double-checking that both were empty and the safeties were on before slipping them into their holders.

Fully equipped, I left my room, heading to breakfast. The mansion was vast and easy to get lost in, but I had lived here long enough to memorize the layout. My boots echoed against the marble floors as I navigated the hallways, passing towering pillars and intricately carved doorways. The air smelled faintly of incense—Lady Iron’s doing, no doubt. She had a fondness for tradition.

After fifteen minutes, I reached the dining room.

Red Son and Princess Iron Fan were already seated, waiting for me.

The moment I stepped inside, Red Son’s glare locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re late, peasant,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. I swore I could almost see steam rising from him.

I hadn’t even sat down yet, and I’d already pissed him off. Great.

Rolling my eyes, I put one of my hands on my hip. “Well, Red, how about you take the room that’s a twenty-minute walk from the dining hall and see if you can show up on time?”

I smirked, fully aware that his precious lab was a thirty-minute walk from here. That’s where he spent most of his time, buried in his experiments.

His hair flared up, flickering like an open flame. Hands slammed against the table as he shot up, ready to unleash one of his infamous temper tantrums—only to be cut off by his mother.

“Why must you two pick a fight so early in the morning?” Princess Iron Fan sighed, rubbing her temples. She gestured toward one of the seats across from her. “Sit down. Both of you.”

I shrugged and, just to spite him, took the seat beside him. He grumbled under his breath, glaring at his bowl of food like it had personally wronged him. A bull bot placed a plate in front of me, moving with mechanical precision.

The robots were surprisingly efficient. I’d give Red credit for that—not that I’d ever say it out loud. His ego was inflated enough as it was.

Red continued muttering to himself, probably complaining about my lack of punctuality or proper etiquette. I didn’t care enough to listen.

Princess Iron Fan’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Today is an important day for our family. We will finally free my husband and reclaim our rightful place in this world.” Her sharp gaze swept over both of us. “You will behave and impress him when he returns, won’t you?”

Her words were mostly directed at Red, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think they didn’t apply to me.

If Demon Bull King disliked me, even with our contract, I’d be out of a job.

Not that it worried me. I knew my skills. I was the best shot in this world—undeniable, unbeatable. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable with today’s events. The idea of performing, of proving myself to someone who already assumed I was weak, left a bad taste in my mouth.

Guns weren’t toys. I hated using them unless absolutely necessary, unless I was in a petty mood that is. They were efficient, yes, but deadly. Even though I never missed, even though I knew I’d never hit anything I didn’t intend to, it didn’t mean I liked it…sometimes.

Of course, I had my own weaknesses—stamina, hand-to-hand combat, and my hearing—but I had learned to work around them. Even when they held me back, I relied on wit and sheer stubbornness to compensate.

That’s why Red and I made a good team. He handled close-range combat, while I covered medium to long-range. But that didn’t mean I indulged his childish behavior. If he messed up, I let him deal with the consequences.

“Shiro! You’re spacing out again!”

Red’s voice snapped me back to reality as he shouted directly into my ear.

I reeled back, nearly tipping over my chair. “OW! What the hell was that for!?” I shot him a glare. “And for the last time, stop calling me that stupid nickname.”

He smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, when you start calling me Red Son, then I’ll start using your proper name. But that’s beside the point—did you even hear what Mother was saying?”

I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Something about heading out around lunchtime to retrieve the staff? Making sure we’re prepared?”

I stabbed a piece of food with my fork, feigning confidence. Truthfully, I hadn’t been paying attention. My mind had been too wrapped up in that damn dream and having to impress the Demon Bull King.

Princess Iron Fan gave me a knowing look before rising from her seat with effortless grace. “Good enough. Just be focused when my husband returns, kitten.”

I stiffened at that name, clenching my jaw as she left the room.

I hated that nickname.

I pushed away my plate, my appetite gone. Without another word, I stood and left Red at the table.

I glanced at the clock.

Only a few hours left.

I needed to clear my head.

I couldn’t afford distractions when facing the Demon Bull King.

The wind howled across the construction site, carrying dust and loose debris as we stood before the ancient weapon buried deep in the earth. Even at a glance, the power it radiated was undeniable—raw, overwhelming, and untamed.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang.

A relic that had long since become the key to the Demon Bull King’s imprisonment.

I stood a few paces back, arms crossed, watching as Red Son and Princess Iron Fan took their places before it. The weight of what we were about to do hung thick in the air, tension coiling around us like an invisible force.

Behind us, the Bull Clones stood at the ready, shifting uneasily. One of them was still cradling the stumps where its arms had been—an unfortunate reminder of what happened when someone underestimated the power sealing the staff. The poor fool had tried to pull it free on its own, only to lose both limbs in the process.

Honestly? That had been the funniest thing I’d seen all week.

“Alright, peasant,” Red Son muttered, cracking his knuckles as he strode forward. “Try not to be too awestruck by the greatness you are about to witness.”

I scoffed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blow yourself up, genius.”

Red Son shot me a glare, flames flickering at his fingertips in irritation. “I would never—”

“Enough.”

Princess Iron Fan’s sharp tone cut through our usual bickering like a blade, demanding immediate silence. She stepped forward, her regal presence commanding attention. Even Red Son straightened under her gaze, his earlier cockiness momentarily subdued.

“We have prepared for this moment,” she continued, voice smooth but firm. “The time has come to break the seal and return my husband to his rightful place.”

Red Son turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. “With pleasure!”

In the blink of an eye, fire engulfed his right arm. When the flames receded, his limb had been replaced by a massive, metallic gauntlet—easily twice his size. The sheer weight of it should have made it impossible for him to lift, yet he moved as if it were weightless.

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.

I watched as he approached the staff, wrapping the oversized gauntlet around it. The moment he did, the ground trembled, and a sudden gust of wind surged through the cavern, whipping my coat around me. The very air seemed to resist our actions, as if the earth itself was trying to push us away.

Red Son braced himself, digging his heels into the ground as he began to pull. His flames burned brighter, coiling around his body in defiance of the forces trying to repel him. His entire form trembled with effort, gritted teeth bared in determination.

And then—

The staff wrenched free.

For a brief moment, victory flashed in his eyes.

Then, with an earth-shaking boom, a powerful force sent him flying backward.

He tumbled down the rocky slope, flipping head over heels before crashing in a heap at my feet.

I looked down at him, unimpressed. “That looked painful.”

Red groaned before springing up, brushing himself off with what little dignity he had left. His head snapped toward the now-empty seal, excitement in his eyes. Any second now, his father would awaken.

Except…

Nothing happened.

Red frowned, eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. “Nothing’s happening. Um, Mother… are you sure this is the right mountain?”

Princess Iron Fan let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing her temple. “Oh no, my mistake. It must be the other mountain with the other magical staff sealing away my husband.” She shot her son a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

I raised my hands in a placating gesture, wisely deciding to stay out of this one.

Then, suddenly—

A brilliant green light erupted from the ground where the staff had been.

The entire cavern trembled, a deep rumbling echoing through the walls like a monster waking from its slumber. Cracks splintered through the rocky terrain, and with an earth-shattering explosion, a colossal figure emerged from the depths below.

The Demon Bull King.

His sheer size dwarfed everyone around him, a monstrous force of power barely contained within his own form. His emerald eyes burned like twin fires as he took his first breath of freedom in what must have felt like an eternity.

I took a step back, allowing the family their reunion, though I only half-paid attention.

Red had been on edge all week over this, obsessing over making the perfect first impression. I had spent hours in his lab listening to him rehearse speeches, cycle through introductions, and debate what his father might approve of. And, of course, I had to provide feedback on all of it—despite knowing nothing about Demon Bull King beyond the stories I’d been told.

But I had listened anyway. Because despite how much I teased him, I knew Red was nervous.

Now, watching Demon Bull King’s towering form as he regarded his son, I studied his expression carefully. The way he looked at Lady Iron. The way he loomed over Red.

Something about the way he assessed his son made my tail flick in irritation.

And then, right as Red Son opened his mouth to speak—

Something—or rather, someone—crashed right on top of him.

A boy with messy brown hair, wearing a stained opened white button-up, tumbled onto the ground. The back of his shirt had a logo—Pigsy’s Noodles.

Red Son exploded—both figuratively and literally.

“YOU RUINED MY MOMENT! HOW DARE YOU, YOU PEASANT?!”

The boy winced, sitting up and holding up a plastic bag sheepishly. “Uh… did anyone order noodles?”

There was silence.

Then, Demon Bull King’s deep voice rumbled, “It seems we have an eavesdropper among us.” His massive hand clenched into a fist. “I was not expecting my first act as the new ruler of this world to be squashing something so insignificant—but it cannot be helped.”

I stiffened as the Demon Bull King raised his foot, preparing to crush the boy.

But Red Son stepped in front of him. “Father, allow me!” he declared quickly. “It would be beneath you to deal with this vermin. Let me handle him.”

Demon Bull King studied his son for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Do not fail me.”

Red Son’s face barely twitched, but I saw it.

I clenched my fists. First time seeing your son in years, and that’s how you treat him?

But I stayed silent.

Then, everything happened fast.

The boy scrambled backward, his hand landing on something in the dirt. He looked down.

Then his eyes widened.

The staff.

Before anyone could react—

He picked it up.

A pulse of golden light erupted from the weapon. My breath caught as the cavern was bathed in its glow.

That noodle delivery boy… had lifted Monkey King’s staff.

As if it weighed nothing.

His face was frozen in pure shock. “Oh. Oh no. OH NONONONONO—”

The staff—seemingly acting on its own—glowed brighter. Then, with a blast of golden energy—

The boy was launched out of the cavern.

Red Son screamed in frustration. “I’LL GET HIM!” He bolted for one of his custom vehicles and sped off.

“Do not fail me again.” The Demon Bull King called after his son.

The words made my blood boil.

The cavern fell into silence after Red Son sped off in pursuit of the noodle delivery boy and the staff. The hum of his engine echoed through the tunnels before fading into the distance, leaving only the crackling of embers from Demon Bull King’s emergence.

I remained still, hands resting at my sides, as the massive demon turned his full attention to me. His glowing green eyes bore down on me with an intensity that would have made most people—or demons, for that matter—tremble.

But I wasn’t most people.

“And who is this?” Demon Bull King rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of a war drum.

Princess Iron Fan answered smoothly, stepping forward with her usual grace. “She is our son’s personal bodyguard.”

His gaze flicked to her briefly before returning to me, expression unreadable. “A bodyguard?” He scoffed, crossing his massive arms. “For him?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

“Yes,” Lady Iron continued, unbothered by her husband’s skepticism. “She ensures Red Son stays out of trouble and disposes of unwanted pests before they become a nuisance.” She shrugged.

Demon Bull King chuckled darkly, his massive horns tilting slightly as he studied me again. “And what makes you worthy of such a position?”

I let the silence stretch for a moment before I answered, keeping my voice even. “I’m skilled in information brokering, assassination, and long-range artillery.” I reached for my hip, pulling one of my custom pistols free. With a single smooth motion, I loaded a magazine, pulled back the slide, and took aim.

Demon Bull King barely had time to blink before I fired.

The shot rang out through the cavern.

The bullet sliced through the air, grazing his cheek so close that he could feel the heat of it but not enough to draw blood. The smell of scorched stone filled the space where the bullet embedded itself into the cavern wall behind him.

I held my ground, lowering the smoking gun back into my holster as I met his gaze without flinching.

“I made sure not to wound you,” I said, voice calm but firm. “Not because I couldn’t, but because I doubt you’d take kindly to it.”

Silence.

Then—

A low rumble of laughter.

Demon Bull King touched the faint scorch mark on his cheek, a grin spreading across his face. “Hah. You’ve got nerve.” His sharp teeth glinted as his smirk widened. “Not afraid to challenge your employer to prove your worth. I like that.”

He took a step closer, looming over me. “You might just be what my useless son needs to put him in his place.”

I clenched my fists. Useless son? Really?

Princess Iron Fan finally spoke. “Go after my son. Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed retrieving the staff.”

I bowed. “As you wish.”

Then I hopped onto my motorcycle and sped off.

As I rode through the streets, I was searching for one thing—the place with the most commotion and screaming. Surprisingly, Red had a very loud scream. I know—shocking.

My search led me to the bottom of a road still under construction. Above me, I watched as Red and the noodle boy were launched off the unfinished road into the air. Before I could react, a green blur shot past me, grabbing the noodle boy and pulling him back to safety.

I sighed, already knowing what I had to do. Before Red’s car could crash into a building, I accelerated, launching my bike over it. In one swift motion, I grabbed him by the back of his collar, yanking him onto my bike.

Almost as soon as the tires of my bike hit the pavement and as thanks for saving his life, he promptly exploded into flames, screaming, “WHEN I CATCH YOU, NOODLE BOY, I’LL BLOW YOU TO SMITHEREENS!”

I slammed on the brakes, sending the flaming ball of rage flying into a nearby wall.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackling of dying embers.

Then—

“What the hell was that for, Shiro?!” Red shouted, staggering to his feet. He clutched his head, shaking off the impact like an annoyed dog.

I sighed, dusting off my jacket and swatting at the smoldering edges of my sleeves. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said flatly. “Maybe for trying to turn me into barbecue?” I signed, reaching up and taking off my helmet to see him fully.

He had the nerve to look sheepish. His gaze flickered away, jaw tightening. A mumbled “sorry” slipped out, so quiet I almost missed it. Not that he meant it. But whatever.

“You done throwing your temper tantrum yet?” I asked, arching a brow.

Another burst of fire flared up around him, bright and angry. “I AM NOT THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM, SHIRO!”

I didn’t react. Just watched as he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths. The flames flickered again, then faded.

“I’m just… strategizing my next move,” he muttered. “I need to get the staff back from that vermin.”

I studied him carefully. His voice was steady, but I could see it—the way his fingers twitched, the way his shoulders tensed. Beneath all that anger, he was panicking. He had messed up. Again. And he knew it.

He let the noodle boy escape with the staff.

There was nothing I could say to change that fact, and he knew it, too. So he did what he always did. He turned his panic into fury, directing it at me because it was easier than admitting he was spiraling.

I knew him too well for that to work on me.

“You fucked up, Red.” His head snapped up, eyes wide. Shocked. Good. At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.

I continued, my tone even. “Being pissed off doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. I may be contracted to your mother, but I’m not your personal punching bag. I know you want to impress Lord Ox. You’ll have other chances. So don’t get your damn panties in a twist.”

I didn’t wait for his response. I pulled my helmet back on and shifted the bike into position, ready to move again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at the ground. His fingers clenched into fists, then relaxed.

“…Do you really think I’ll have other opportunities to impress Father?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the spare helmet and tossed it at him.

“Until they try to kill you or kick you out, you’ve still got a chance,” I said.

He caught the helmet with ease. For a second, he just held it, turning it over in his hands. Then, slowly, he slipped it on and walked over.

He swung onto the bike behind me.

“Let’s head back to the Flaming Foundry,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “I need to make Father his armor.”

I said nothing. Just revved the engine and took off down the streets.

I drove into the cave I knew like the back of my hand. Red had a garage in the back of his lab, packed with all sorts of cars and other junk he tinkered with whenever he got bored of whatever experiment he was working on at the time.

I pulled the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine. Red hopped off the second we stopped, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the floor without a second thought. He didn’t even check if it was in anyone’s way—though I figured he wasn’t worried. A bull clone would pick it up sooner or later.

I watched his retreating figure as he muttered to himself, already lost in whatever plan he was forming in that overactive brain of his. As he passed a bull clone near the entrance to his lab, he ordered it to go inform his parents that he didn’t have the staff. The clone gave a sharp salute before taking off, disappearing down the hall.

Inside the lab, more bull clones stood at attention, their arms already filling up with various tools and materials as Red rummaged through his supplies. I had no clue what he was grabbing, and frankly, I didn’t care. He was the magical engineering genius here. Whatever he was taking, it was probably important.

I leaned against a nearby worktable, watching as he continued loading up the clones with parts. That’s when it hit me—this was going to take forever.

Welding the armor onto DBK wasn’t a quick job. It would take hours. Which meant I’d have to sit there and listen to their bickering for hours, too. Or worse—sit in complete, awkward silence. That thought alone made me want to rip my hair out.

Red Son finally turned to me, his expression alight with determination. “Shiro, this could be my moment! I can make up for losing the staff and prove to Father how much I’ve grown. Mother must have already told him about the armor, and if he agreed to it, that means he sees potential in me! But when he sees it in action—” His grin widened. “I know he’ll be proud of me.”

I met his enthusiasm with a small, forced smile and gave him a thumbs-up.

I did feel bad for Red. He worked so hard for his parents’ approval, constantly proving himself over and over again. But at the same time… I wasn’t exactly in a position to give him advice. I didn’t even remember my own parents all that well. And even now, I had no real desire to find them, to reconcile, or to try earning their love.

Red and I came from completely different worlds. His parents did love him, in their own messed-up, borderline-abusive way. But they weren’t human, so maybe that was normal for demons or celestial’s. I’d have to look into that sometime. I was only half-demon, after all.

He didn’t seem to notice anything off about me, too caught up in his excitement as he turned back to his papers. “Don’t worry, Shiro,” he added casually. “I’m sure Father will approve of you as well. Actually…” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I bet he already did before you even came to get me. With your quick and impossibly accurate shots, Father had to have been impressed.”

I raised an eyebrow before striding over to his desk. Dropping into a rolling chair, I leaned back dramatically, running a hand through my hair.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Red,” I said dryly. “I won his approval by shooting at him and grazing his cheek.”

I watched the way his shoulders tensed at my words. It took a moment, but he eventually relaxed, his mind working through the implications. If DBK hadn’t approved, I’d be dead. Simple as that.

Sure, I was strong, but the Demon Bull King was a beast in hand-to-hand combat. And me? Well… I sucked at that. I had lost my element of surprise after the first shot. If we had fought then and there, I might’ve landed another hit or two, but I wouldn’t have survived long enough to make it count.

Red turned to face me fully, a rolled-up blueprint in his hands. His expression was deadpan. “Are you stupid? How could you shoot at my FATHER!? That could’ve ended so badly for you!”

His hair sparked slightly, the edges flaring up in irritation.

Huh. He was actually upset at the idea of his father killing me.

I sighed, leaning back into the chair. “I figured Lord Ox was the kind of demon who preferred actions over words. If I had tried to explain what I could do, my nasty personality probably would’ve slipped through, and then he definitely would have killed me.”

Red didn’t look convinced. He just sighed heavily and shook his head.

“You are somehow one of the smartest and dumbest demons I’ve ever met.”

Shaking his head once more, he ran a hand through his fiery hair before turning toward the exit. He didn’t have time to argue. We had places to be.

I pushed myself out of the chair and followed as he led the way toward the Foundry, where his parents were waiting. At least we wouldn’t have to explain why we didn’t have the staff. That meant we could avoid Lord Ox’s rage and Lady Iron’s disappointment—two things I had no interest in dealing with.

As we stepped into the heart of the Foundry, the heat from the molten metal washed over us. The place was alive with the sounds of clanking metal and hissing steam, the bull clones working tirelessly on new armor and weapons.

And there, sitting on his massive throne, was the Demon Bull King himself.

He towered over everything, his sheer presence making the enormous room feel small. The molten metal’s glow cast shifting shadows across his form, accentuating the ridges of muscle and the sharpness of his claws.

He didn’t need to move. Didn’t need to speak.

Just by sitting there, he made it clear—he could kill any one of us if he wanted to.

Lady Iron, to my surprise, wasn’t here with him. I couldn’t think of a single reason she wouldn’t be.

Remembering my place, I bowed to Lord Ox. He spared me a glance before focusing back on Red.

“You failed, my son.” His voice was harsh and cold. Red’s shoulders stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice subdued. Then, as if trying to shake off the weight of his failure, he straightened. “But I can make up for it right now!” His fire rekindled as he spoke. “This armor I invented will convert any and all materials put into it into raw power for you to use! And don’t worry about moving—I’ll put it on you right here.”

Red was already in motion before DBK could respond. Not that his father stopped him.

I watched as Lord Ox observed his son’s work, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or just indifferent, but at the very least, he wasn’t stopping Red, which was a good sign.

Four hours later…

And we were still sitting in utter silence.

It. Was. So. Awkward.

The only sounds came from the forge—metal clanking, fire roaring, the hum of welding as Red continued assembling the armor piece by piece.

I had no idea what to do with myself. I wanted to pull out my phone—do something, anything—but technically, I was on the clock. My job was to make sure Red didn’t end up dead. Princess Iron Fan had never been above testing my skills by sending bull clones to attack her own son before, and I doubted she’d changed her ways.

At least Red seemed to be nearly finished.

Good. Because if I had to endure this silence any longer, I was going to lose my mind.

The heat wasn’t helping either. I had learned to tolerate it long ago, but that didn’t mean I liked it any more than I did at the start.

Finally, Red straightened up, jumping down from his father’s chest with an effortless motion. “That should do it!” He clapped his hands together, then pulled off his welder’s hood, flashing his father a sharp-toothed grin.

Demon Bull King stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing the armor’s weight. He frowned slightly.

“It’s… heavy.”

Red visibly tensed, panic creeping into his expression. He quickly started rambling. “That’s because it isn’t powered up yet! The suit absorbs energy to create energy. And what better source than the magic staff that kept you underground?”

DBK’s gaze darkened, his deep voice rumbling with irritation. “You mean the staff that you lost?”

A low blow? Yes. Did it hit its mark? Absolutely.

Before Red could stammer out a response, Lady Iron drifted gracefully into the room from wherever she had been.

“Oh, don’t toy with him, my love,” she said, her tone smooth as silk. “We will get it back. I have bull clones scouring the city. It’s only a matter of time.” She idly brushed a few strands of jet-black hair—styled into bull horns—away from her face.

Red, regaining his confidence, grinned. “And while we wait, the furnace can convert other things into energy.”

To prove his point, he threw his face shield into the armor’s furnace. The metal erupted into flames, causing the Demon Bull King to let out a deep, rumbling roar.

Red’s grin widened. “The rarer the item, the more powerful Father will become. And once we have that staff, he will be unstoppable!”

Once DBK’s chest had stopped burning, he sat back down. Then, without a word, multiple holographic screens appeared before him. He began browsing through shops.

I blinked. Had Lady Iron seriously taught him how to online shop while Red and I were gone? Weird. Not my place to judge. Even though I was judging. Just silently, this time.

Lord Ox let out a deep chuckle. “Now to find something rare and expensive… something to give me the power I deserve.”

I remained where I was, watching from the sidelines. That was all I could do—watch.

Even as they planned to destroy the city, I couldn’t bring myself to care more than a little.

Eventually, DBK settled on whatever absurdly expensive artifact he wanted. He stood from his throne, striding toward the exit, Red right on his heels. “I’ll take you to the store myself, Father!” Red declared eagerly.

I glanced at Lady Iron, silently asking if she wanted me to join them.

She shook her head.

Finally, a break.

Not a real one, though. I could already tell by the way she was eyeing me that she expected a full report on what had happened while she was gone.

I sighed.

Honestly, this might be worse than going with them.

We sat in silence for a while.

Maybe she was making sure the boys were far enough away that they wouldn’t overhear this conversation. That was the most logical reason—at least, it was the one that made the most sense.

Demons and celestials have far better hearing than humans, along with a host of other advantages: an enhanced sense of smell, magic, greater stamina, superior strength—and that’s just off the top of my head. Those abilities are what most demons hold over humans, though some are even more powerful.

The quiet stretched between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts.

Princess Iron Fan finally broke the silence with a single word.

“Report.”

She shifted her weight slightly, placing a hand on her hip, then turned to face me fully. Every movement was effortless, graceful—like she had all the time in the world.

I didn’t bother to stand or bow. If the Demon Bull King had still been here, I might have. But that kind of deference wasn’t necessary between us anymore. Not after everything.

Besides, she’d told me before—when it was just the two of us, there was no need for formalities. Even though I still used them from time to time, much to her annoyance.

I exhaled through my nose, stretching out my legs a little before I spoke. “To be honest, nothing much happened that you don’t already know.” My tone was light, casual. “Red Son failed to get the staff back from the delivery boy, nearly crashed into a wall, and put the magic armor on Demon Bull King.”

As I spoke, I casually brushed my hair over my shoulder as if I were bored, but in reality, I was carefully watching her body language. Her shoulders were still tense. That meant we still had no idea where the boy had run off to.

She studied me right back, her gaze sharp and calculating.

“That delivery boy… what was your read on him?” she asked.

She knew I had never met him before, but my eyes saw things that others didn’t. That was one of the main reasons she took me in off the streets back when I decided to take a “break” from the guild. Half-starved, dirty, and homeless, I had little choice but to accept the magical contract she offered me. She had a feeling I could be useful, and I needed food and shelter. I wasn’t above being used to get it.

I tilted my head, thinking back to what I’d observed about the boy.

He gave me the impression of someone kind—caring, maybe even a bit of a people-pleaser. He seemed easily overwhelmed. But it was his kindness that truly stood out to me.

She was asking for my read because they didn’t know where he was or where he might go. Maybe my insight would point her in the right direction.

“I picked up a few things about him,” I started, “but the most important one right now is that he’s a nice boy.”

She gave me a deadpan look. Without saying a word, she was asking what the hell I was getting at.

I clarified.

“He’s the kind of guy who’d help an old lady cross the street. If he found a wallet, he’d return it without a second thought.”

She kept giving me that same unimpressed stare, so I rephrased it again.

“He’s so nice that if he found something lost… he’d return it to its original owner. And he just happened to find the so-called lost staff of the Monkey King.”

I fell silent, letting her process what I was implying.

She brought a hand to her chin and murmured, “I see. So the boy would want to return the staff to that old fool.”

I simply nodded.

“That’s just my opinion, though,” I added with a shrug. “I only saw him for a couple of minutes. I could be wrong.”

She shot me a dry look. “You are hardly ever wrong, Kitten.”

I nodded again. She wasn’t wrong.

Princess Iron Fan turned to leave. “Take an hour to rest, then join my husband and son in town. Make sure Red Son doesn’t get himself into something he can’t handle.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She shot me a sharp look the moment the words left my mouth.

“I told you not to use such formal language with me when it’s just us.”

Her glare could melt metal, but I did my best to act like it had no effect on me.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing away. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be as informal as I usually am now that Bull King is back.”

She sighed and turned toward the door, with me staring after her as she left.

“You are more family than employee,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll let my husband know about our arrangement. He’ll agree with me. You’re allowed to treat us like family, not just as your employers.”

She didn’t even bother looking back as she disappeared down the hall, leaving me with that thought.

I exhaled slowly.

I’d probably still be formal with them—out of habit, if nothing else. But Red Son? No chance. He was too much fun to mess with.

I stood, stretching my arms above my head before stepping out of the Foundry. The cooler air in the hallway helped clear my thoughts, but not entirely. My mind kept circling back to what she’d said.

You are more family than employee.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

I had never really thought about what I was to them. A tool? A convenient asset? That was easier to believe. But family? That was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that could be taken away.

I walked the halls at a slow, steady pace, passing the flickering lanterns lining the walls. The Foundry always had a strange hum to it, as if the metal and magic woven into its bones were alive, constantly shifting, waiting.

I was walking to my room, too lazy to actually hunt down Red Son and Bull King. Red had given me a small mirror-like tool that tracked him no matter where he went.

By the time I reached my room, I realized my hands had clenched into fists.

I forced them to relax as I stepped inside. The space was simple, functional. I had never asked for much. A bed, a locked chest for my guns and ammo, a small desk, a dresser. No decorations. Nothing unnecessary.

I found the tracker Red had given me and picked it up, running my fingers over the smooth surface. A precaution, he had called it. I had teased him at the time, asking if he was scared I’d lose him. He had scoffed, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed.

I smiled faintly at the memory.

Then, my gaze flickered toward the window. The town lay beyond. Somewhere out there, the delivery boy was running, unknowingly dragging himself deeper into this mess.

I sighed and clipped the tracker to my belt.

One hour. That’s what she had given me.

I wasn’t sure if that was enough time to shake the strange feeling lingering in my chest, but it would have to do.

For now, I had a job to do, make sure Red didn’t get himself killed.

Following the tracker to the site of destruction was easy.

Downtown was a graveyard.

Smoke strangled the streets, thick as tar, burning my throat with every breath. The air reeked—charred flesh, scorched plastic, and something else, something worse. The sickly-sweet stench of cooked blood clung to everything like rot in a corpse’s mouth. Fires burned unchecked, scattered across the city like festering sores, casting flickering, hellish light over the ruins.

And the bodies.

They littered the streets like broken toys. Some were intact, almost peaceful in death—others, barely recognizable. Crushed beneath tons of rubble, their limbs jutted out at impossible angles, skin split open to reveal shattered bones and shredded muscle. Entire torsos had been flattened into meat paste. Burned-out husks sat slumped in cars or sprawled on sidewalks, their mouths frozen in silent screams, teeth melted to slag inside their blackened skulls.

But the worst were the torn ones.

People ripped open—gutted like livestock. Entrails coiled across the asphalt in glistening loops, steaming in the cold air. Ribcages split wide like cracked eggshells, lungs sagging out, still twitching. Faces peeled off in long, curling strips, eyes bulging from sockets scorched clean. Children were among them—small bodies impaled on rebar, limbs gnawed away, as if something had fed on them in a frenzy.

Screams clawed at the air. Raw. Endless. Some begged for mercy, others howled in wordless agony, pinned beneath debris with spines snapped and organs leaking. A woman rocked a headless infant in her arms, her voice gone hoarse from sobbing, whispering lullabies to blood-soaked fabric. Nearby, a man tore at a mountain of rubble with his bare hands—skin flayed down to tendon, nails gone—screaming for a wife who would never answer.

I stepped over a body split clean down the middle, spine cracked open like a wishbone. The scent of feces, bile, and burst intestines hit me like a punch. Flies were already gathering.

I didn’t flinch.

I’d seen worse.

In the distance, the Demon Bull King loomed—monstrous and godlike—wreathed in fire, his silhouette blotting out what was left of the sky. With every thunderous step, the earth fractured beneath him, sending tremors through the wreckage. He didn’t care. Not about the corpses in his wake, not about the screams, not about the lives reduced to ash. The innocent were just collateral—nameless, faceless casualties in his path of destruction.

I knew he had anger to burn through. Centuries of pain, pride, and betrayal packed into one brutal outburst. But what was the point of all this? What would be left when the fire died down and the dust settled?

When this was over, someone would have to pick up the pieces.

We would.

We’d have to rebuild what he tore apart. House the people he displaced. Feed them. Calm their fear. Try to convince them that the Bull Family wasn’t the monster burning their homes to the ground. But the truth hung heavy in the smoke: our name was being dragged through the dirt with every passing second.

After today, we’d be more hated than ever. Feared. Reviled.

Maybe rightfully so.

But that didn’t matter—not now.

What mattered was that the Demon Bull King wanted to wreck the city.

So that’s what we were doing.

It took me over an hour to finally reach the building Red was on. I sighed, tilting my head back to stare up at it. Counting how tall it was.

Ninety-five stories.

My eyebrow twitched.

Why the fuck did he pick a building this tall? And why the hell did he have an anti-magic barrier around it?

I pulled out my phone and called him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Six times.

Nothing.

This bastard was really going to make me climb all those stairs? He was going to pay for this.

Shoulders slumping, I let out a long, slow breath.

I already knew I’d be half-dead by the time I got up there.

By the time I finally reached the ninety-fifth floor, I was a sweaty, panting mess. My legs felt like lead, my arms hung uselessly at my sides, and my lungs burned with every breath I took.

I pushed open the rooftop door and collapsed onto the ground. I barely had the energy to glare, but I still forced myself to look up—because this was his fault.

Red Son stood near the edge, the city’s destruction reflected in his narrowed eyes. He turned at the sound of the door opening, his head whipping around to face me.

I struggled to even form words, sucking in uneven breaths between each one. “Why… the… fuck… do… you… have… an… anti-magic… barrier… up?”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched as I tried to catch my breath. At least he had the patience to wait.

Finally, he glanced down at his wrist, pressing a button on his watch. He frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Huh… I do have that up, don’t I?”

If I wasn’t currently dying, I would have shot him on the spot.

He turned back to me, still looking unimpressed. “Why didn’t you just call me and tell me to take it down?”

I clenched my jaw. He had to be joking.

I forced out the words. “Look… at… that… stupid… watch… again.”

He did. His fingers clicked through a few settings, and then—finally—his expression shifted. His eyes widened slightly. At least he had the decency to look guilty.

“…Sorry, Shiro. I didn’t realize you had called me.”

“SIX TIMES.”

He actually flinched a little. Good. He should feel bad.

Red sighed and walked toward me, crouching down before offering his hand. I begrudgingly let him help me sit up, my back pressing against the rooftop ledge.

“Here.” He handed me a bottle of water, seemingly out of nowhere.

I didn’t question it. I just took it and drank.

Red didn’t move away. Instead, he stayed crouched in front of me, watching. I knew that look. He was analyzing me—taking in the way I was still breathing too heavily, the way sweat dripped from my brow, the way my fingers trembled just slightly around the bottle.

“You shouldn’t have climbed up here, Shiro.” His voice was quiet. “We both know you don’t have the strength for this.”

I scoffed, though it came out weaker than I intended. “I didn’t have a choice since I couldn’t teleport, bastard.”

Red gave me a deadpan look. “You could’ve stayed on the ground. I would have noticed you eventually.”

Did he really not think?

Of course I had to be up here. How the fuck was I supposed to protect him if I wasn’t by his side? Unless Lady Iron gave me direct orders otherwise, my place was with him. Or when I was feeling petty and wanted him to learn from his mistakes. But that wasn’t the case right now either.

I didn’t bother to dignify him with a response to his stupid statement.

I glanced at the water bottle.

There was something in it.

Something to help me recover. It would take a few minutes to kick in, so I focused on my breathing. In through my nose. Fill my lungs. Out through my mouth. Repeat.

Red said nothing.

But he was watching me.

He felt bad.

He’d never say it, but I could tell. He knew my weaknesses better than anyone. We had worked together for years—long enough for him to learn exactly what I couldn’t do. What my limits were. And how we could compensate for each other’s flaws.

I wasn’t built for endurance. He knew that better than anyone. I wasn’t like him—born into fire, built for battle. My strengths lay elsewhere. My stamina had become… limited. And he had forced me—whether intentionally or not—to climb a ninety-five-story building with no breaks, no magic, no help.

He didn’t speak, but I saw it. The guilt festered in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to do something, fix something, but didn’t know how.

So, we waited.

Waited for my body to catch up.

Waited for Lady Iron to return.

The sun sank lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of blood-red and burnt orange.

I finished the water.

Red glanced at me, mouth parting slightly like he was about to say something. I just nodded. I was good. I pushed myself up, feeling my legs stabilize beneath me.

Red pressed a button on his wrist, activating his jetpack, and took off into the air. He weaved through the debris before landing beside his father.

I walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking down just in time to see Princess Iron Fan approach the Bull King.

In her gauntlet the one Red Son had made, she held Monkey King’s staff. It seemed to almost sing with energy.

She took a knee before the Demon Bull King, holding the staff out in both hands. The staff lifted from her grasp, floating toward the hollow space in his armor.

The moment it embedded itself inside, flames erupted from his chest.The Bull King let out a ferocious yell, power pouring from him like an unstoppable force.

“Finally!” Red Son shouted over the roar of energy. “Father has the power he truly deserves!”

Red Son had stayed on the ground with his father.

From high above, I watched them for a moment, before I felt the subtle shift in the air. Lady Iron had spotted me. I didn’t need to look to know it was her.

She rose through the air with her usual poise, wind swirling gently around her, not a single hair out of place. Her landing on the rooftop was so graceful it was nearly silent—like a dancer landing on soft earth.

She turned to me with a knowing smile that was just shy of a smirk.

“As always, Kitten, your sight led us true.”

I didn’t reply right away, just turned my head slightly to glance at her. She didn’t need to say anything more—I already knew what she meant. She was acknowledging our earlier talk. That my instincts about the Delivery Boy had been right. He was trying to return the staff to the Monkey King.

I looked back out at the carnage Lord Ox was causing.

Buildings falling. Fires rising. Cracks splitting the roads like veins.

A fleeting thought drifted through my mind—I wish I had been wrong.

But I let it go just as quickly as it came.

It wasn’t my fault what people chose to do with what I told them. That wasn’t on me. I just saw what others didn’t. Spoke the truth, even when it was uncomfortable.

I gave Lady Iron a small nod, not taking my eyes off the chaos below.

“He is aware,” I asked slowly, “that if he keeps killing and destroying the city, Heaven is going to get involved, right?”

Right on cue, Lord Ox fired another blast of that sickly purple-green energy from his chest. The beam tore through half a district, reducing entire blocks to rubble in a blinding flash.

Buildings crumbled like dried leaves.

Lady Iron let out a small laugh—amused, maybe even delighted—and walked over to me. Her heels made the faintest click on the rooftop as she crossed the distance between us.

Then, her hand was on my face, perfectly manicured fingers tilting my head until I was looking directly at her.

There was a sharpness in her smile, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

She patted my cheek gently. “That’s why you’re here, Kitten. To keep watch on the Heavens. And if any of those pompous bastards come down—shoot them.”

She dropped her hand after delivering the command like it was a compliment and moved to sit on the ledge, the picture of elegance, her gaze returning to the battlefield.

I stood there for a second longer, her words settling in my chest. Then, with a quiet sigh, I reached up and unclipped the small coffin from the silver chain around my neck. The weight of it felt heavier than usual today.

I wrapped my fingers around the strap and forced my magic into it.

A soft grey light pulsed from within the metal.

Slowly, it began to grow—expanding, reshaping itself in my hands until it was nearly as tall as I was. The size made it difficult to carry, too heavy for comfort, but I could still manage.

Just barely.

I knelt and set it down carefully on the rooftop, then undid the latches with practiced fingers.

The lid opened with a low creak, revealing the neatly organized interior.

Shelves. Compartments. Every piece of every weapon I could ever need.

Today, I needed precision.

I began assembling my sniper rifle. My hands moved with practiced efficiency—grabbing parts, fitting them together, reinforcing them with my magic as needed. I made sure to choose components that could handle the energy I fed into them—ones that wouldn’t combust after a single shot.

The weapon came together in less than three minutes.

Once it was complete, I rested it against the ledge next to Lady Iron and adjusted the scope, my gaze drifting across the horizon.

Scanning.

Waiting.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and spoke softly, “I always forget how fast you can put those things together.”

I gave her a half-smirk. “It’s one of the reasons you keep me around?”

Her eyes met mine. Amusement danced in her expression.

“Among other things,” she said with a smug smile.

We sat together in silence after that, watching from our perch as the city was torn apart piece by piece. The sun dipped lower, and the sky took on the deep golden, pink, and purplish hues of dusk. Fires still burned. The streets were littered with debris.

We must have been watching for over an hour. Maybe longer.

I kept expecting Bull King to run out of energy. Or at the very least… get bored.

But no.

He kept going.

Building after building.

Like it brought him peace.

Then something caught my eye—something fast.

A jet.

It tore through the sky, heading straight for us at a high speed.

I shifted slightly and took aim through the scope, finger hovering just over the trigger.

“I can take it down now—” I started.

But Lady Iron calmly extended her hand and placed it directly in front of the scope.

“Let’s see how the boys handle these nuisances,” she said.

I gave her a skeptical look. I didn’t necessarily disagree, but… wouldn’t it be easier to take them out before they became a real problem?

Maybe she wanted to give them a little playtime.

Let Red Son and Bull King entertain themselves.

So I slowly pulled back from the scope, finger drifting away from the trigger.

I watched instead.

Watched as the jet closed in.

Watched as it crashed into Red Son.

Watched as the Delivery Boy climbed out of the wreckage, somehow still standing.

I couldn’t hear the exchange between them, but I wasn’t really listening either. My eyes darted between Red Son, trapped beneath the jet, and Lady Iron.

Waiting for any sign that she wanted me to act.

But she stayed silent. Still. Watching with that same calculating expression.

I turned back to Red. From here, it looked like he was just passed out. Nothing life-threatening, as far as I could tell.

The noodle boy—somehow—got his hands on a motorcycle.

He started weaving through the warzone, heading directly for Bull King.

Dodging flames. Rubble. Collapsed roads.

The hell was he doing?

I shifted my gaze back to the sky. Still no sign of Heaven. Still no movement from above.

They had to know.

They had to.

Unless they’d finally given up on us.

I wouldn’t blame them, but it still pissed me off.

When I glanced back down, I nearly missed it—just in time to see the noodle boy launch himself headfirst into the glowing furnace in Bull King’s chest.

I blinked.

Well.

That was short-lived.

He just… dove in.

What the hell did he think was going to happen?

From where I stood, it looked like he’d just committed suicide.

I couldn’t hear anything happening on the ground, but Lady Iron’s mouth had tightened into a firm line.

Something wasn’t right.

I looked back toward Bull King.

He was hunched over now. His entire body pulsing with energy, his breath ragged.

Something dropped from his chest—a stone-like object. It rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.

He fell to one knee, staring at it.

There was something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—anger, yes… but also awe.

The stone began to glow.

It twisted. Shifted. Changed shape before our eyes.

It was morphing.

Transforming.

Until it became…

A boy.

Floating midair, surrounded by radiant golden magic.

The boy laughed—a wild, joyous kind of laughter—and pulled the staff from behind his ear.

Then, with sudden force, he rushed forward and punched Bull King in the face, sending him flying.

Bull King didn’t hesitate. He responded with a flurry of energy blasts, purple-green lasers shooting from his chest in rapid succession.

The boy dodged every single one.

Flawlessly.

Like it was easy.

Like he’d done this a hundred times before. How the fuck…? How did this kid learn to fight like that?

It took me years—years of bleeding and training and pain—to learn how to control my magic. To fight while channeling it. To survive.

And he’d had his for what? A day? A few hours? Goddamn prodigies. They pissed me off more than anything.

But I needed to focus.

The boy was now literally throwing buildings at Bull King. Actual buildings. How strong was he? What even was he? He could lift the Monkey King’s staff. That alone said a lot.

I turned back to the sky, scanning for any celestial movement. And that’s when I saw it.

A bird.

It looked almost normal—brownish-ginger feathers, splashes of red and blue. Colorful, sure. Strange, but not unheard of.

Then I saw its tail.

Tails.

One was a regular tail, the kind birds usually had.

The other… a fluffy, animal-like tail.

Like mine, in a way but maybe fluffier? It was hard to tell with the wings getting in the way. But definitely some kind of mammal that had a tail.

What the hell kind of bird has two tails?

Before I could process that, a sharp burst of wind and energy hit us, scattering dust across the rooftop.

When it cleared, I looked down and saw Bull King in the center of a crater.

And standing over him?

A giant mech. A Monkey Mech—the kind from that one video game. “Damn,” I muttered. “I was looking at the bird too long.”

Lady Iron stood beside me, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to get them,” she said simply. “Meet us back at the mansion.”

I looked down at the group gathering below, Red Son rolling into the crater beside his father.

“Do you want me to… finish them?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No. We will not use such low tactics to finish them off. Not yet at least.”

And with that, she vanished in a whirlwind, reappearing in front of the group. She said something—then disappeared the same way.

I watched them a while longer as the echoes of celebration drifted upward, their voices rising and falling in uneven bursts of laughter. It was the sound of relief more than victory—tired and unsteady but real. The kid stood in the center, eyes wide and body bruised, half held up by his friends as they gathered close around him. They’d survived something bigger than they understood. Maybe they thought it was over. Maybe they believed they’d actually won. That was the funny thing about battles like this—the fight never really ends when the last blow is thrown.

My attention had already started to drift, my focus sliding back toward that strange bird again. It had landed on the mech’s shoulder and was sitting on it like it belonged there, its feathers catching the last of the sun’s light. Deep reds and sharp blues shimmered with each breath it took, as though the creature itself was carved from dusk. Its mammal tail flicked once, slow and deliberate, before going still again. I didn’t trust it. Something about it had rubbed at me the whole time, like a splinter just beneath the skin—unseen but always felt.

Then, with no sound and no warning, the bird shifted cast in a golden light.

It didn’t explode with power. It didn’t twist the air or pull energy from the world around it. It simply changed. Wings folded into sleeves. Feathers gave way to fabric. And in its place stood a figure I recognized instantly.

Sun Wukong.

No illusion. No trick of the light.

The Monkey King stood on the shoulder of the mech like he had always been there. His weight rested easily on one leg, his robes teasing at the edges of the breeze. He didn’t move to speak, didn’t announce himself, and didn’t seem interested in being noticed. He just stood there, watching the boy and his team below with a gaze that was almost—distant. Proud, maybe. Or satisfied in the quiet way that only someone who had seen a plan come together could be.

I adjusted my grip on the rifle, my hand brushing the trigger guard more out of habit than intent. My breath was calm, but my chest was tighter now. The realization that he’d been here the whole time shifted the whole narrative.

Demon Bull King had never had a real chance. Wukong had been watching, waiting, ready to act if anything went off-script. The fact that the boy had been the one to face him… maybe that was intentional. Or maybe it was mercy. Making Bull King face the boy instead of having to seal him away again himself. It was probably one of the only reasons that Lady Iron was able to take the boys away.

Wukong moved slightly, the turn of a shoulder, a shift of weight.

Then he froze.

His head turned slowly, methodically, like someone becoming aware of an itch they hadn’t realized was there.

And then his eyes locked with mine.

His gaze hit me like a blade drawn in silence. No energy behind it. No power flared. Just sharp, focused awareness. There was surprise in his expression—brief but unmistakable. He hadn’t seen me. Not until now. Not until my focus settled on him fully, like a hand pressed to the side of his neck. His posture didn’t shift much, but I saw it in the subtle realignments. The calculations beginning.

We watched each other across the destroyed city. The world seemed to narrow in around us, everything else fading into the slow tension of that held gaze. He was reading me now, trying to understand how long I’d been here. Whether I was dangerous.

I didn’t move. But I let him see that I wasn’t hiding, wasn’t going to shrink away from him.

I did do my best to hide my irritation at the situation in front of me though.

The whole fight had rubbed me the wrong way. Demon Bull King should’ve crushed that kid—he had the strength, the experience, the sheer presence plus on top of that the new fancy armor Red had made him. And yet, somehow, the noodle boy pulled through. Not because he outmatched him. Not really. It felt more like luck than anything else—timing, chance, or maybe just Wukong pulling strings from a distance like some smug puppeteer.

Watching them celebrate like they’d truly earned it, like it hadn’t almost gone completely sideways, only made it worse. And Wukong standing there above it all, proud and quiet like this had been part of the plan from the beginning, made my jaw clench. The last thing I wanted was to head back to the Bull Family and sit through another round of whispered vengeance and half-baked schemes against the Monkey King or taking over the world.

The thought of it soured my mood completely. I needed to let off steam. And I knew better than to actually shoot him. But I could still poke the beast. I was told not to kill them, not that I couldn’t have a little fun.

I raised my rifle—not at him, but just to the side. Right where the mech’s shoulder curved into smooth plating. My finger settled on the trigger.

Six shots. Under six seconds. Fast and deliberate.

When the echo of the last shot faded, six clean bullet holes formed a jagged little smiley face just inches from where Wukong’s head had been.

I lowered the rifle slowly, letting my eyes stay on him.

He blinked once, then turned to look at the mark.

For a second, he looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Then the realization hit, and I saw his face tighten—not with rage, but something quieter and colder. He turned back to me with a furrowed brow, and that was when I saw it.

He got it.

He realized I hadn’t just taken six random shots.

I could’ve taken them all out, if I’d really wanted to. Wukong wouldn’t have stayed down—he’s immortal, after all—but I could’ve put him on the ground long enough to matter. One solid hit, center mass, spine, head—doesn’t take much to stall even a legend. The other five? They wouldn’t have been so lucky. Six shots, six bodies. Clean. Precise. He saw that. He recognized the spacing, the control, the rhythm. That wasn’t a warning shot—it was a choice. I could’ve ended the whole game right there.

But I didn’t.

I just wanted to mess with him.

His stance shifted, barely perceptible—but enough to signal that he was considering whether to close the distance. I saw the tension build in his shoulders, the faint glint of something sharper behind his eyes. A slow, deliberate readjustment. Not a threat. Not yet. But a decision was starting to form.

I stayed locked in his gaze, even as I knelt and began to stow the rifle. I didn’t hurry, but I didn’t drag my feet either. I could feel the shift in the air. He wasn’t just irritated anymore—he was thinking about what it would mean to walk across the rooftop and come find me. I didn’t know if he’d do it, but I knew enough not to hang around and find out.

Still, I wouldn’t look away.

Not first.

He hadn’t moved yet. But he was close. I could feel the pressure of it, like gravity tilting toward a fall.

I snapped the coffin case shut and let my fingers curl around the spell humming just beneath my skin. One last look. One last breath. He was still watching.

And so was I.

The moment broke only when the petals flared around me, soft and spinning in the wind, carrying me out in a flash of color.

I didn’t even shrink the case.

Our eyes met one last time through the swirl of pink.

His expression didn’t shift.

But it didn’t have to.

He was definitely coming my way.

And he did not like my joke.

My vision was filled with the pink flower petals as I teleported back to the Bull Family’s mansion.

I landed outside in the courtyard, boots crunching softly against the stone path. The air here was still, calm—completely disconnected from the battlefield I had just left behind.

I stood there for a few moments, letting the weight of everything sink in. The magic still buzzed under my skin, faint and restless. My muscles ached. My arms were sore from holding the rifle for hours. I could still feel the phantom recoil in my shoulder. My head was starting to pound, too—probably the aftermath of adrenaline and overextending myself again.

But at least I wasn’t dead.

Yet.

I knew better than to teleport directly into the mansion. The last time I did that, the petals made it all the way into Lady Iron’s private meditation room. I got yelled at by three different people and had to sweep the place for six hours with one of the clones side-eyeing me the whole time.

Not worth it.

I moved the coffin in front of me, still pulsing faintly with residual energy. My hand slid over its smooth, enchanted surface as I pushed my magic into it again. The glow returned—soft, grey, familiar—and slowly, it began to shrink back down to its original size. Once it was small enough, I clipped it back onto the chain around my neck. It was warm against my chest.

It always was.

With a tired sigh, I adjusted my coat and started the walk inside.

The mansion was its usual organized chaos. Bull clones scrambled through the halls, arms full of supplies and paperwork, calling out orders to each other as they rushed by. Some of them paused to glance at me, then looked away quickly. Smart.

I walked slowly, dragging my feet a little more than usual, heading toward the infirmary.

I was about seventy-five percent sure the boys had ended up there.

Thankfully, I was right.

The door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the crack. Inside, the room buzzed with quiet conversation and the soft beeping of monitors. A few clones moved around, tending to injuries, setting up IV drips, adjusting machines.

Red was already talking. Loudly. Energetically. Like he hadn’t just had a jet crash into him a few hours ago.

He was mid-rant, animated hands flying through the air as he launched into his next big idea for world domination—something about installing solar-powered flamethrowers on the moon or building a floating volcano fortress over the ocean. He was probably high off the pain meds right now.

I sighed quietly and rubbed my temples. My hands were already full with him.

Now they were going to overflow.

Bull King was sitting upright, surprisingly. Quiet. Calm. He was watching Red with a neutral expression, his large form half-shadowed by the soft lighting of the room. His eyes were hooded but not unfocused. He was listening.

And maybe—just maybe—he was a little proud.

Or maybe I was reading into things. It was hard to tell with Lord Ox.

He blinked slowly and leaned his head back against the wall, finally letting his eyes slide closed. Exhaustion, thick and heavy, weighed down his body. Rampaging through a city for hours tends to do that.

Across from him, Princess Iron Fan sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand in both of hers. Her thumb brushed softly over his knuckles. Her gaze was gentle. Concerned.

There was love in that look.

No matter how destructive they could be… at least they were cute.

I stepped farther into the room and walked up to Red. He didn’t seem to notice me at first—still rambling, still talking a mile a minute about some orbital laser cannon idea he’d probably sketch out in crayon later.

So I raised my hand and smacked it right over his mouth.

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide.

Then narrowed into a glare.

His hair flared upward in a burst of flame, licking dangerously close to my face.

I gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “How about you save your energy and rest, dude?”

The flames sputtered down at my words, shrinking into little flickers as he rolled his eyes.

But then—without warning—my palm was suddenly wet.

I froze.

“Ew!” I yanked my hand back like it had been dipped in acid. “Did you lick my hand like a dog?!”

Red grinned at me, completely unrepentant. “Don’t cover my mouth, peasant!”

And then—he passed out.

Just like that.

Eyes closed. Head lolled back. Gone.

I stared at him, completely deadpan, holding my hand away from my body like it was contaminated.

I glanced around the room. One of the clones gave me a sympathetic shrug. I looked back at Red’s peacefully unconscious face, still grinning in his sleep like he was the smartest idiot in the world.

I sighed again, louder this time.

“Great. Now I have to wash my hand.”

I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, muttering curses under my breath and already planning my route to the nearest sink.

#sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #reader has trauma #lego monkie kid #lego monkey kid fandom #lego monkie king #six eared macaque #Threats of Violence #slow burn #angst #fluff #Forced Proximity

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