Chapter 21 - 4 - Ayane, The Spirit Fox (2)

Chapter 21: Chapter 4 - Ayane, The Spirit Fox (2) Martha and I headed to her office, just upstairs from the establishment. It turned out to be a small office, fitting for a brothel owner. It would've been a shock if her office were grand and magnificent. I found myself settled on a plush, red couch, positioned to face her as she occupied her seat behind a modest desk. "So... sir?" Martha queried. "Ah, Leon," I clarified. "Just... Leon?" "Yup." Martha's head tilted, an expression of confusion etched across her features. She donned rimless glasses that adorned her strict face. Her short, vibrant blue hair framed an alluring visage. In what resembled a corporate office uniform, she had strategically left the upper buttons undone, granting a provocative glimpse of her cleavage. The tight miniskirt she wore boasted a seductive slit to one side, revealing stockings that intertwined with pantyhose. Martha's attire exuded an undeniable allure, challenging the conventional image one might have of a brothel owner or manager. A closer look suggested she harbored more than met the eye. It was this realization that fueled my determination to dominate her. "What do you want to talk about?" she inquired. "Ah..." I stammered. Oh, right. That was the reason we came here, right? I had forgotten. The truth was, I had no clue what to discuss. While my mind flirted with the idea of probing into her skill or the secrets of the basement, I could sense this woman wasn't one to spill her secrets willingly. Even now, she appeared guarded. So, let's come up with something for now. "Are you the owner of this brothel?" She nodded, a motion so curt it bordered on enigmatic silence. "That's surprising, given your youthful appearance. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" I recognized it might be considered rude to inquire about a woman's age, but I wanted to keep the conversation flowing and discourage her from being so reserved. I despised one-sided conversations. "Isn't it considered somewhat impertinent to inquire about a woman's age? Others might raise an eyebrow or two if faced with such a bold interrogation. Fortunately, though, I remain ensconced in the embrace of youth, as your discerning eyes may have surmised. Perhaps our ages align more closely than one might anticipate." "I'm 18," I disclosed. "How coincidental. I find myself at the tender age of 18 as well." "Liar," I chuckled. "W-Why are you laughing like that? And why did you call me a liar? How rude. I wouldn't just fabricate my age, would I?" I smiled at her. The subtle play of emotions on her face fascinated me. The veneer of strictness gave way to a faint blush as she confronted my laughter and the accusation of falsehood. However, she was indeed concealing the truth. I wasn't merely making baseless claims when I called her a liar. "You shifted your eyes ever so slightly when you claimed to be 18." "I-I didn't!" What the fuck? Useless? I thought that was one hell of a skill. Being a master at anything with your hands could turn life into a smooth ride. And if I could snatch that skill, it might just skyrocket my swordsmanship. I mean, swordsmanship involves hands, right? Making that skill mine became a burning ambition. Her proficiency was impressive, and she had this innate talent for hands-on tasks. My craving to conquer her only intensified. While I was lost in my thoughts, she pressed on. "It's useless," she sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Because this skill couldn't save those women," she admitted bitterly. Realizing the weight of her words, she shook her head and looked back at me, her expression softer. "I'm sorry for saying something weird." "It's fine," I assured her. I was starting to glimpse the face beneath that stern exterior. "And also..." she hesitated. "I'm sorry for extorting you." "...What?" "For demanding so much money just to let you through those doors. I'm not some money-hungry woman, just so you know. I'm doing this so that... those women there can live a better life." "You must be carrying more than just the burden of managing this brothel." "It's nothing you need to know about." "Is that so." I responded. After our conversation, a heavy silence hung in the air. Hours crawled by until finally, the fruits of my labor, in the form of money, arrived. Gabrielle looked worn out as she wearily stepped through the entrance of the brothel. "Why do you always have to put me through the wringer? Being a professor at the academy is demanding enough, you know!" she said, huffing and puffing. "Now, now. Take a breather, Gabrielle. I'll make sure to show my appreciation for your hard work, alright?" Her protests ceased, and a faint blush painted her fatigued face. She was undeniably charming. I couldn't help but feel a deep affection for her. "Did you bring what I asked for?" "Yes. Three thousand gold coins, right?" She gestured towards three imposing boxes. I approached them and opened each one, revealing a gleaming pile of gold coins. Among them, I noticed a box containing smartphones. "Amon sent those to me," Gabrielle explained. Martha also approached the three boxes, her eyes fixed on the contents. The prostitutes and the receptionist joined in. Almost in unison, they seemed ready to collapse at the knees, their eyes gleaming as they beheld the dazzling pile of gold that radiated a captivating sheen. On top of the gold sat a cluster of smartphones in one of the boxes. Martha regained her composure and turned to me, "Wh-Who are you?" she stammered. It was a question that made perfect sense under the circumstances. The sheer amount of money before them was incomprehensible. Even a prince might struggle to amass such wealth. The prostitutes and the receptionist gazed at me with eyes sparkling, their unspoken question mirroring Martha's. "Someone with a hell of a lot of money," I grinned at her.