The sky above the city looked like bruised velvet, soft and dark and threaded with sickly orange from the low-hanging haze of streetlights. Rain had passed, but the air still clung to everything, damp and restless. Leon stood outside the lobby of a building he hadn't known existed until twenty minutes ago.
The message had been short.
"She's making her move tonight. Meet me on the rooftop at 10."
No name. No building number.
But when he walked toward the place Mira once pointed to in passing—"That tower? That's where people go to not be seen"—a man in a suit was already waiting by the door.
"Mr. Vale," the man said. No introduction. Just that. Then he pressed a key into Leon's palm and gestured toward the elevator.
Now Leon was riding up fifty floors alone. The elevator had no music. Just a soft mechanical hum and a heartbeat that wasn't his.
By the time the doors opened, he wasn't ready.
The rooftop was wide and open, ringed with flickering lights and marble planters overgrown with vine. The city stretched in every direction like a painting, broken only by neon signs, red dots in the dark, and towers with glass eyes.
In the center stood three women.
He knew them immediately.
Mira. Elira. Sayaka.
And they were facing each other like chess pieces already locked in check.
Leon stepped out slowly. No one turned. They had known he was coming.
Sayaka was dressed in a high-collared crimson coat, her arms folded behind her back, eyes fixed on Mira with the casual grace of a queen waiting for someone to dare interrupt her meal.
Elira wore black. Always black. This time with a midnight-blue undershirt, barely visible beneath the folds of a long trench. She stood calmly, one hand inside her coat, like the wind didn't dare touch her.
And Mira, draped in a flowing slate-grey cloak that barely brushed the ground, held her hands in front of her like she was praying. The moonlight caught her eyes—faint, sad, calculating.
Leon opened his mouth.
"You came," Elira said, cutting him off without looking.
"I didn't have much choice," he said.
"That's debatable," Sayaka replied smoothly. "He always has a choice. That's why he's interesting."
"You're not here to flirt," Elira said.
Sayaka smiled without teeth. "I can do both."
Leon stepped forward. "Okay, I don't know what this is, but I'm officially uncomfortable."
Mira finally turned to him. "You shouldn't have gone to the warehouse."
"I didn't mean to go to the warehouse," Leon said. "It was next to a noodle place."
"She's not blaming you," Sayaka said. "She's blaming the message your presence sent."
"What message? I panicked! I ducked behind crates!"
"And they interpreted it as restraint," Elira added.
Leon looked between them, exasperated. "So me freaking out like a civilian looked like I was choosing not to act?"
"Yes," Elira and Mira said at the same time.
Sayaka grinned. "It's your curse. You breathe, and people assume you're calculating."
Leon turned in a circle slowly. "I swear to god, I feel like I got dropped into the third act of a drama I never auditioned for."
"No," Elira said, turning to face him fully now. "You are the drama, Leon. You just haven't accepted it yet."
There was a long silence.
Then Mira spoke, her voice quieter. "We can't keep letting the myth grow unchecked. He's becoming a catalyst."
Leon's eyes widened. "Becoming?! I'm just a guy!"
"No," Elira said softly. "Not anymore."
Sayaka walked slowly toward him, heels soft against the stone tiles. She stopped just within reach, not touching him, but close enough to make the hairs on his arms rise.
"You don't know it yet," she said, voice low, "but you've changed everything. You walk into rooms, and people stop breathing. You don't threaten. You imply. You don't command. You exist. And that's all it takes."
Leon took a step back.
"I'm not leading anyone."
"That's the worst part," Mira whispered. "You're not trying to. So everyone thinks you're playing a deeper game."
"I'm not! I'm just—"
Elira stepped forward too.
"We know."
Leon froze.
That tone.
That was new.
Not accusatory.
Resigned.
He looked at them, really looked at them.
Each one of them was circling him in their own way—not with jealousy, but with strategy. They weren't chasing his affection. They were defending territory. Managing appearances. Waging a cold war with smiles and glances.
But none of them wanted to hurt him.
That made it worse.
"Why am I here?" he asked finally.
"Because we've decided," Mira said. "There has to be a line. You can't keep walking blind through a field of knives."
"So what, I pick one of you?" he said bitterly. "Choose a faction? Be a real boss for once?"
"No," Sayaka said. "That would be too easy."
Elira stepped close. She raised her hand—not in threat, but gently, her fingers brushing his sleeve.
"You don't have to choose a side," she said. "You just need to understand... there is no side without you now."
A silence fell.
Not awkward.
Final.
Then, below them, sirens lit the night.
Red and blue flashed against the sky.
Someone had made a move.
Not one of them.
Not any of the factions they controlled.
A new player.
And for the first time, none of them knew who.
Sayaka turned her head toward the edge of the roof.
"Well," she said, her voice laced with excitement, "it seems the next chapter begins."
Leon stepped to the edge, following her gaze.
Far below, a convoy of black cars pulled into an abandoned plaza.
Uniformed figures exited.
And at the center of them, a woman with white gloves and no expression stepped out, flanked by four men carrying silver briefcases.
Leon swallowed.
He had no idea who she was.
But from the way all three women behind him tensed, he knew one thing:
This wasn't about misunderstanding anymore.
This was about power.
And someone had come to take it.