'No hesitation!'
Mika screamed in his head as he watched the leader's severed head hit the ground, rolling across the floor before coming to a stop against the wall.
'He didn't even have time for his evil speech… Louis really hated him that much…'
Mika looked at Louis, disbelief etched across his face, but the fighter merely kicked the lifeless body away, disgust clear in his expression.
Right.
Mika had forgotten—Louis was infamous for his ruthlessness in the novel.
That was why his relationship with the Holy Maiden was nicknamed "the Toxic, Useless Couple" in the fandom.
With the Holy Maiden's reckless stupidity and Louis' merciless brutality, their love story was a pain in the ass to read.
But not this time.
'Don't worry, Louis. You're going to live in a toxic-free world. I'll find a good girl for you.'
Mika crossed his arms over his chest and nodded proudly—completely unaware that he had done the motion out loud and not just in his mind.
Louis, seeing the action, completely misinterpreted it.
'Is… Is he saying I'm doing a good job?'
Louis stared at Mika, his grip tightening around his sword.
'I'm doing a good job?'
No—he couldn't assume that.
Mika hadn't said anything.
He was just doing what a master was supposed to do—command his bodyguard.
Louis exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing.
There was no way someone would proudly praise him for killing people.
Mika was only approving his actions because they were enemies now—because freeing Louis had officially made them adversaries.
Nothing more.
Nothing personal.
Just busi—
Louis snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a warm hand on his arm.
Looking down, he found Mika staring at him.
And—for the first time—Mika was smiling at him.
Not a polite business smile.
Not a forced gesture.
A real, soft smile.
"Good boy."
Louis froze.
His mind short-circuited.
Good boy?
Him? Good boy?
He wasn't a dog.
He was a fighter. A survivor.
A simple, humiliating praise like that shouldn't have worked on him.
And yet—why was his heart beating so fast?
Why was there an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest?
His stomach felt funny.
His cheeks felt hot.
What was this feeling?
Why did hearing Mika call him that feel… good?
Others had called him "good boy" before, and it had always been humiliating, degrading, anger-inducing.
So why—why did it feel different coming from Mika?
Mika cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly stepping back, his cheeks flushing red.
He had meant to say "good job", but his words had slipped, and somehow, "good boy" had come out instead.
As a single, overworked office worker with a deep love for cats and dogs, Mika had spent most of his previous life holed up in his apartment, reading books or wasting his barely-there salary on cat and dog cafés.
He didn't know how to praise a human properly.
Hell, he had barely been praised himself at his job.
Mika cautiously glanced at Louis, expecting the fighter to look at him with disgust or confusion.
But instead—he was met with something entirely different.
Excitement.
Louis stood straighter, his usual sharp gaze softened slightly, his furrowed eyebrows relaxed.
He looked… happy?
'I'm a good boy!!'
Was the only thought screaming inside Louis' mind.
If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously right now.
After battling his internal struggle, Louis finally decided—that praise from Mika was the highest praise he had ever received.
Higher than the King himself.
"L-Let's leave now!" Mika blurted out, snapping Louis out of his moment of bliss.
The fighter's cold expression returned instantly, his usual sharp demeanor sliding back into place as he nodded.
Without another word, Louis stepped past Mika, his grip tightening around his sword.
His glare sharpened.
The remaining fighters trembled.
The massacre would continue.
Or so Louis thought.
Just as he was about to strike down the remaining fighters, Mika suddenly stopped him, his hand firmly outstretched, halting the blade's path.
Louis frowned, confusion flickering across his face.
"My lord?"
Mika stepped forward, his movements measured, deliberate.
One hand remained outstretched in front of Louis.
Then—he spoke.
"Lower your weapon if you wish not to fight anymore."
The words were quiet.
Soft.
But unshakable.
Mika's eyes narrowed slightly, his posture unwavering.
And as he took a single step forward—the fighters instinctively took a step back.
To Louis, Mika was a wet newborn kitten.
Fragile.
Small.
A noble unfit for survival, weak in both body and presence.
But to everyone else?
Mika was anything but that.
He might be the King's illegitimate son.
But he was still his son.
His voice carried weight, despite its quiet, weary tone.
It was low, tired, almost whisper-like, devoid of unnecessary strength.
Not loud, not overbearing.
Just steady.
And yet—
It was uneasy.
Commanding.
Uncomfortable.
No room for argument.
No one even dared to argue with him.
One by one, the fighters let go of their weapons, their bodies trembling in fear as they stepped to the side, creating a clear path for Mika.
"Come, Louis."
Mika walked through the path, his steps steady, not sparing so much as a glance at the fighters who had surrendered.
Louis hesitated, his grip tightening around his sword for a brief second before he finally sheathed it.
With a quiet sigh, he followed Mika, falling into step behind him.
Still—he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, taking in the faces of the men who had once been opponents.
Then, shifting his gaze back to Mika, Louis leaned down, whispering.
"How about the others?"
Mika raised an eyebrow, unbothered.
"How about them?"
Louis shrugged, his tone neutral.
"I thought you would take more people with you."
Mika let out a small chuckle, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Louis.
"Why should I? I already have you."
Louis froze mid-step, his expression flickering with something unreadable.
'Have me?'
He stared at Mika, his usually sharp gaze widening slightly.
'He already has me? Is he saying he only needs me? He came here just for me?'
Louis' hand instinctively moved to clutch his chest, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs once more.
'What is this feeling? Why does every word he utters make my heart race?'
Shaking his head quickly, forcing himself to ignore the strange sensation, Louis picked up his pace, stepping forward to catch up with Mika.
'There's no way I'm spitting on anyone else to remove the mark.'
Mika thought to himself as he headed toward the exit, determination in his steps.
The moment he entered the corridor, workers and nobles instinctively moved aside, their faces twisted in fear.
Of course they were scared.
Why wouldn't they be?
A man with Verhault royalty's distinct red eyes, followed by the strongest fighter in the underground arena—a walking storm of destruction.
No one dared to speak.
No one dared to stop them.
Especially when Louis glared at them, his presence alone an unspoken threat.
Then—Mika stepped through the final door.
And instead of appearing back in the same room as before—
He stepped out from inside a painting, standing at the top of the grand staircase.
'Two-way teleportation.'
The realization settled as he looked down at the guests inside the luxurious hotel.
Gasps rang through the room.
Their eyes fixed on Louis—the undefeated fighter of the arena.
Mika closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering himself.
Then—he spoke.
"Listen."
His voice was low, steady, absolute.
"The Leader is dead, and I am now master to Louis."
His tone didn't waver.
His posture didn't falter.
The nobles stiffened, whispering amongst themselves—but none spoke up.
Mika's gaze lowered slightly, staring down at them with complete disinterest.
"Remember, he is not fond of you nobles. So…"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp, voice devoid of emotion.
"Try to stop us. If you can."
Silence.
Not a single person moved.
Because they knew.
They knew there was nothing they could do.
Louis gave them a death stare, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword—ready to strike at a moment's notice.
But the tension eased—just slightly—as Mika opened the final door.
Louis raised a hand, shielding his eyes as the first rays of sunlight hit his face—the first daylight he had seen in years.
Lowering his hand, Louis looked around.
At the outside world.
His new, free world.
Mika looked back at Louis, his gaze steady, before holding out his hand toward the fighter.
"Let's go home."
Louis' eyes widened slightly at the words.
'Home?'
He looked down at Mika's outstretched hand, his own fingers twitching, itching to reach for it—but hesitating.
'Home…'
A long-forgotten word.
Memories surfaced—his old house, before he ended up here, before everything turned into endless fights and shackles.
His fingers clenched tightly, his posture stiffening.
Then—he lowered his head, making Mika frown slightly in confusion.
"Louis?"
The sound of his name pulled him back.
Slowly, Louis raised his hand, reaching forward until his fingers wrapped gently around Mika's.
Then—he raised his head.
And for the first time in what felt like eternity, he smiled.
A soft, genuine smile.
"...Let us go back home, Master."
Mika squeezed his hand, firm and reassuring, before pulling Louis forward.
"Our home. It's our home, Louis."
Louis swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he let Mika lead the way.
'Our home… That sounds nice.'
Stepping outside, Louis lifted his gaze, staring at the clear blue sky, the vast world beyond.
The wind brushed against his skin, gentle and unfamiliar.
But not unwelcome.
'This is nice…'