The Hun Estate was not merely a house; it was a monument to architectural grief. Situated on the jagged edge of Sabu City’s most affluent district, it sat isolated behind a perimeter of weeping willows. In the moonlight, the trees didn’t look like plants; they looked like thin, mourning women leaning over the marble walls, whispering secrets into the wind.

  Arthur stopped the black sedan at the iron gates. He didn’t turn off the engine. The vibrating hum of the car was the only thing grounding them to the modern world.

  "The parents moved to the Grand Imperial Hotel this morning," Arthur said, his voice barely a whisper. He checked his watch—a nervous habit he’d picked up since they started this 'consultancy.' "They told me they couldn't stand the smell. Not the smell of rot, but the smell of... nothing. Like the air in her room was being emptied out."

  He reached into the back seat and handed Luke a slim, silver thermos. It felt unnaturally cold.

  "Arthur, I told you about my heart," Luke said, his voice muffled by the black tactical mask he was already wearing. "You're overreacting. I’m not a marathon runner."

  "Luke," Arthur said, turning to look him in the eye, "I don't know the physics of how you do what you do. But I know that when you 'overclock,' you radiate enough heat to melt a laptop. Your electrolytes are probably non-existent. Drink the damn fluid."

  Luke sighed, his fingers grazing the cold metal. He’s overreacting, he thought, but I definitely still need this. He cracked the tab. The liquid inside was a viscous, electric blue. It tasted like mint-flavored lightning.

  "Three days, Arthur," Luke said, checking the digital readout on his own watch. 110 BPM. "That’s the window. If I can't figure out the trigger by the third night, the unification becomes permanent. She won't be a girl anymore; she’ll be a monument to whatever malice is eating her."

  "Be careful," Arthur whispered, his eyes drifting to the third-floor balcony. "The CCTV shows a visitor. Every night at 3:03 AM. A shadow that doesn't trigger the motion sensors."

  Luke stepped out of the car. He felt like an amateur, a student wearing a costume he hadn't earned. But as he looked up at the towering, neoclassical nightmare of the mansion, he felt his heart give a singular, heavy thud.

  Good luck to us, Arthur, he thought. Let's not fail this one.

  The interior of the mansion was an exercise in oppressive luxury. Marble floors that echoed every heartbeat; oil paintings whose subjects seemed to track Luke’s movement with painted eyes. Mrs. Halloway, the head maid, met him in the foyer. She was a woman who looked like she had been carved from old oak—stiff, silent, and ancient.

  She handed him a brass key and pointed upward. No greeting. No instructions.

  Luke entered Elena’s room. It was beautiful—canopy bed, silk drapes, the scent of expensive lilies. But the air was stagnant, like the atmosphere inside a sealed tomb. Elena Hun lay in the center of the bed. She was eighteen, possessing a beauty that felt almost fragile, as if she were made of spun glass.

  Luke sat in a high-backed velvet chair in the corner. He didn't have a plan. He was just... watching.

  Around midnight, curiosity got the better of him. He stood up and approached the bed. He wanted to act like the protagonists in the manga he read—cool, observant, clinical. He reached out to check her pulse, intending to look like a professional doctor.

  The moment his fingertips touched her wrist, the world vanished.

  THUMP.

  His F1-engine heart didn't just beat; it roared. A sudden, crushing wave of Loneliness slammed into his psyche. It wasn't a thought; it was a physical sensation. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a desert under a black sun. He felt the phantom memory of crying for parents who never looked back. He felt the cold realization that he was utterly, completely alone in the universe.

  Luke recoiled, his boots skidding on the marble. He gasped for air, his lungs burning. His heart rate spiked to 160 BPM instantly, radiating a wave of heat that made the lilies in the vase wilt.

  "What... what was that?" he hissed, clutching the silver thermos.

  The drawback was real. Every time he touched the malice, it became a part of him. He wasn't just observing her; he was absorbing her hell.

  By the second day, the mansion felt even more claustrophobic. Luke retreated to the security room, a high-tech bunker filled with glowing monitors. He spent hours scrolling through the archives, trying to act like a 'Specialist.'

  At exactly 3:03 AM, the screens distorted. Static crawled across the glass like frost.

  Then, he appeared. The Thief.

  He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a man in a long, dark duster coat, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. He entered through the balcony, moving with a fluid, weightless grace. He stood at the foot of Elena’s bed, perfectly still.

  In the footage, Elena’s eyes opened. They were wide and glassy. She didn't scream. She didn't move. She just stared at him. "The Eye," she had whispered to the maids before her voice failed. "The Eye is so beautiful."

  Luke pulled up the secondary logs—the cameras from the hallway. He saw the parents. Day after day, they were there. The father brought her favorite books; the mother sat by her side, weeping and brushing her hair. They had cancelled everything to be with her.

  "She feels alone," Luke muttered, the lingering Loneliness from the night before sitting like lead in his gut. "But the cameras don't lie. Her parents are right there. Why is her heart telling me a different story?"

  He was a newbie. He was a kid with a powerful heart trying to solve a puzzle where the pieces were made of smoke. He couldn't reconcile the "Truth" of the CCTV with the "Malice" of the girl's soul.

  The third night brought the cold. The heating system in the mansion was working, but the air tasted of iron and grave dirt. Elena was changing. Her fingers had lengthened, her nails turning into jagged, obsidian claws. The Stage Three Cocoon was hardening. Her human form was being replaced by a wet, grey hide.

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  Luke sat in the dark, his heart monitor flickering. 140 BPM. The thermos was empty. He felt drained, the emotional weight of Elena’s manufactured loneliness making his limbs feel like they were made of stone.

  3:02 AM.

  The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime. The sound was wrong—warped and low, like it was being played through a broken speaker.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Long, thin footsteps on the balcony. Luke stood up, his hand shaking as he touched the Needle Ring.

  The balcony doors creaked open. The Thief stepped in. He leaned over the mutating girl, his face hidden. "Almost time," he whispered.

  Luke stepped out of the shadows. He tried to think of a cool line. Something from a movie.

  "The window is closed, shadow," Luke said, his voice cracking slightly from the exhaustion. He lunged forward. "Caught you!"

  He slapped his hand onto the Thief’s shoulder, activating a Blood Seal Binding. The Thief froze instantly, pinned by the weight of Luke’s Sovereign authority.

  "I got caught..." the Thief stammered, his voice trembling. But he wasn't looking at Luke. He was looking at Elena, who was currently floating six inches off the bed, her spine snapping backward in a rhythmic, terrifying arc. "But man, what the hell is happening to her?"

  Luke blinked. "You mean you didn't do this?"

  "Of course not! I'm a thief, not some damn Nosferatu!" the man hissed. He tried to wiggle, but the seal held firm. "Let go of me! She’s gonna explode or something!"

  "Then why do you visit every night at 3 AM?"

  "It’s a trade secret! Just let me go, man!"

  Luke looked at the girl. She was twisting like a knot of wet rope. "Well, if it's not you, stay still. I'll handle the Malus."

  Luke stepped in front of the floating girl. He put his hand over his heart, trying to summon that anime protagonist energy. "I can feel the malice in you, Elena. It’s loneliness. But you see... your parents cared for you. They were always there. I’ve seen the truth. Don't let the shadow lie to you!"

  Elena’s head tilted 180 degrees. A voice like grinding stones tore from her throat: "I'm lonely... no one cares... where are they? TELL ME, HUMAN! WHERE ARE THEY?"

  The Thief started panicking. "Come on, man! If you're an exorcist, do the thing! She's gonna crawl on the walls and spew green vomit! Don't you see the mutation?"

  "You watch too many movies," Luke said, though he was sweating. Talking didn't work. The 'heart-to-heart' failed. "I thought that would convert you back. Well, I don't want to hurt you, Elena. I'll count to three. If you don't behave, I'll be forced to... uh... kill you."

  He used his blood to bind her to the bedposts. Elena screamed, a sound that shattered the vases across the room. Luke pricked his thumb and touched her foot. "State your name, demon! Or Eidolon! Whatever!"

  "What are you spouting about? Who are you?" the girl-monster roared.

  Okay, the 'Naming the Demon' thing doesn't work either, Luke thought, his panic rising. Real exorcism is way messier than the movies.

  She was transforming faster now. The 72-hour window was slamming shut.

  "Sorry for taking my time," Luke whispered. He abandoned the lines and the poses. He pressed his blood-stained thumb directly to her forehead.

  “IMPOSE.”

  He didn't just purge; he linked. He felt her loneliness again, but this time, he pushed back with the truth he had seen in the monitors. “You were never alone, Elena. Remember the dinner. Remember the books. Remember their faces.”

  The Thief watched, slack-jawed. "He’s legit... the kid is legit." The moment the binding on the Thief’s shoulder weakened, he didn't hesitate. "I'm out! Can't be caught! Bye!"

  Luke didn't even look back as the Thief scrambled over the balcony and vanished. He was too busy holding Elena as the grey hide melted away, replaced by soft, pink skin. She slumped back onto the pillows, her breathing finally evening out.

  Luke checked her pulse one last time. No resonance. No malice. The "Loneliness" in his own chest finally began to dissipate, leaving him feeling hollow and tired.

  He tapped his watch, contacting Arthur. "It's done. Clear the scene."

  "The parents saw the whole thing," Arthur’s voice crackled, sounding relieved. "I've already handled the deletion of the footage. Good job, Luke. And hey... the transfer just cleared. Five million pesos."

  Luke looked at the sleeping girl, then at his own trembling hands. Five million, he thought.

  Luke stood by the bed, his chest heaving as the heat from his heart slowly began to dissipate. The digital readout on his watch flickered: 95 BPM. Back to a "normal" human range, though his body felt like it had been dragged through a thresher.

  He tapped his comms. "It’s done, Arthur. She’s... she’s back."

  "I know," Arthur’s voice crackled, sounding more energized than Luke had ever heard him. "The parents saw the whole thing on the encrypted feed. They’re already headed back from the hotel. And Luke? The transfer just hit the holding account. Five million."

  Luke froze, his hand hovering over the silver thermos. "Five million?" he repeated, his voice flat with shock. "They’re actually willing to pay that much? For three days of sitting in a chair?"

  "In this city? For a daughter's soul?" Arthur laughed, a sound of pure joy. "Luke, you're underselling yourself. To them, you’re a miracle. I'm on my way. Meet me at the gate."

  Ten minutes later, a sleek, brand-new sedan—smelling of expensive leather and fresh wax—pulled up to the willow-lined entrance of the estate. Arthur was behind the wheel, wearing a grin so wide it looked painful. In his mind, he was already calculating his thirty-percent cut, mentally furnishing a new office and eyeing a luxury watch.

  "Boss! You did great!" Arthur shouted as Luke slumped into the passenger seat.

  Luke blinked, rubbing his tired eyes. "Boss? What happened to 'Specialist'?"

  "Well, starting today, I’m calling you Boss," Arthur said, shifting the car into gear and gliding away from the haunted mansion. "You’re the talent. I’m just the guy making sure the talent gets paid. Five million, Luke! This is just the beginning."

  Luke leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the shadows of Sabu City flicker by. "Whatever. Just drive. I’m starving."

  "Since class hasn't started yet and we're officially rich," Arthur beamed, "Tonight is a celebration. My treat. Where to?"

  Luke didn't even have to think. The "Sovereign Surge" had worn off, leaving a hollow, ravenous pit in his stomach that only pure protein could fix. "Steak. I want steak. The biggest one they have."

  They ended up at a high-end, dimly lit steakhouse near the Finas border—the kind of place where the waiters wore white gloves and the wine cost more than Luke's tuition. As Luke cut into a massive, charred ribeye, the calories finally began to hit his bloodstream, stabilizing the tremors in his hands.

  Arthur, halfway through a glass of red wine, leaned forward. "I am curious, though. Why did it take you three days? With your power, I assumed you could have ended that on the first night. Was the Malus that strong?"

  Luke chewed slowly, thinking back to the dark room and the way the shadows had felt. "Honestly? I wasn't sure about the process. It was my first real case, so I took the chance to learn. I wanted to see how the possession behaved, how I could interact with the malice. I had to wait for it to fully mature before I could actually confirm her state."

  He sighed, the exhaustion of the vigil finally settling in. "The three-day rule was just an estimate, but it was a good experience. I learned a lot."

  "Like what?" Arthur asked.

  "I learned that the 'talking from the heart' you see in anime doesn't work. And the stuff from the old movies where you command the demon to speak its name?" Luke shook his head. "It was all a bunch of theatrical nonsense. Real monsters don't care about your script, Arthur."

  Arthur chuckled, then his expression turned serious. "And what about that Thief? The one on the CCTV? You let him go."

  Luke stopped his knife, the image of that single, violet eye flashing in his mind. The feeling he’d gotten when he touched the man’s shoulder wasn't like touching a Malus; it was like touching a fuse.

  "He wasn't part of our job," Luke said, his voice dropping an octave. "But something’s telling me we’ll meet that guy again.

  Luke took another bite of steak, his eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the city of Sabu felt different now. It wasn't just a place he lived; it was a map of hidden territories, and he had just stepped onto the board.