Chapter 36 - 6 - Making A Deal With The Devil (2)

Chapter 36: Chapter 6 - Making A Deal With The Devil (2) I glanced at the time on my smartphone, the luminous display indicating the arrival of 6 PM. The person I was meant to meet hadn't graced the scene yet. Contemplation of abandoning this meeting crossed my mind, opting to unleash my wrath on him for his tardiness at our next meeting. However, just as the notion solidified, he finally arrived. "You're late," I declared. "Can you please quit staring at me like I'm about to face a firing squad? It's bloody unnerving, you know? And late? What do you mean? I'm perfectly on time." "I specifically said 'exact sunset,' didn't I? Look at the time," I said, thrusting my smartphone toward his face. "It's 6:01." "It's just one minute..." "If a bomb were planted here set to explode precisely at 6 PM, it would be entirely your fault for the deaths of countless people." "Don't compare a bomb threat to me being fashionably late. That's not a valid comparison." "But it's the exact comparison," I asserted with an unwavering gaze. "Now, brace yourself for the impending consequence." "You're not playing around, are you?" "Of course not. Why would I jest about this? I'm deadly serious," I replied, smoothly extracting my gun from beneath my jacket to reveal its ominous presence. "Now, where would you like to take the hit? Since you've graced us with your belated presence, I'll ensure it's a locale free from vital damage—somewhere a mere flicker of healing magic can mend. And rest assured, there's no need to worry about me missing. I'm a seasoned sharpshooter, capable of hitting my mark with my eyes sealed shut. Furthermore, this firearm comes equipped with a silencer, ensuring your punishment remains a clandestine affair." Instinctively, he distanced himself from me. "You're downright spine-chilling, you know? And why in the world are you toting a gun on a date?" "Insurance, of course. One can never predict what a man might attempt when in the company of a lady." "Yeah, well, I get that. But I highly doubt anything of that sort would happen to you." He sighed, shaking his head. Even with a gun in his face, he remained surprisingly calm. As expected, this man is... "Anyway, could you perhaps grant me a reprieve just this once? I arrived precisely at 6 PM on this bridge, and it took me a full minute to locate you. Hence, the one-minute tardiness." "That's quite the excuse, but do you honestly believe it'll sway me?" I scrutinized him. "If you'd pinpointed the 'exact' meeting spot, sure, I'd be considered late. But you just mentioned 'the bridge' without a clear indication—whether it's the far end, the other end, or smack in the middle. So, you can't fault me for being tardy, can you?" "You certainly possess a knack for crafting persuasive excuses," I remarked, smoothly holstering the gun back into my jacket. His audible sigh of relief echoed the lifting tension. "I'll let it slide this time, but don't make a habit of this." "As I suspected, this won't be the last time, huh?" "Exactly." "I see. I'm not at ease with you either." Our conversation came to an abrupt halt as we redirected our focus to the jester. The performer had elevated the act by incorporating daggers into the juggling routine, seamlessly adding them to the seven balls already in play. Another jester made an appearance, bowing his head while holding a beautiful woman by the hand, who also bowed alongside him. The jester proceeded to guide the woman to a circus target, securing her in place with tight bindings around her wrists and ankles. After a brief moment, the woman found herself restrained on the target, her limbs sprawled apart. The juggling jester then turned his attention to the bound woman, while the other jester initiated the spinning of the circus target. With the woman rotating in place, the juggling jester skillfully hurled each dagger he was juggling toward her. The spectators reacted with each throw of the daggers, but the jester showed no sign of stopping. He continued the mesmerizing act, hurling the daggers one after another. Even as the audience gasped and cheered, he remained relentless. Once all the daggers were hurled, the jester ceased juggling the seven balls, turning to face his captivated audience. With a humble bow, the other jester halted the spinning circus target, revealing that not a single dagger had struck the restrained woman. Swiftly, he untied her and guided her back to the center of the stage, where they both bowed in unison. The spectators erupted in applause. Yet, neither I nor Mr. Leon shared the sentiment. We remained unimpressed. Amidst the applause from the audience, I opened my mouth to say, "Did you know that jesters have demonic origins?" "That's news to me," he responded. "That's because the Church has concealed it from the world," I explained. "Only those uninterested in the Church's teachings know about it. I assume your ignorance stems from being raised by nuns, correct?" "Is that so? Well, I can certainly envision the Church pulling such manipulative tactics, so I'm not entirely surprised." "But did they not instill in you the warning to steer clear of jesters?" "They didn't. And just to set the record straight, the nuns who raised me aren't exactly in league with the Church. Their devotion lies solely with the Goddess of War, Jeanne." "Is that so?" After our brief conversation, the crowd's applause finally ceased. The jesters transitioned into acrobatics, accompanied by the woman's graceful dance. While my eyes were fixed on the performance, my mind wasn't truly engaged with it. Instead, I was contemplating, striving to understand the person beside me. Who was he, really? And what motivated him to enroll in the Academy, assuming a facade of weakness among the students? I needed to comprehend him, as he could either become an ally or a hindrance. Though the notion of ending him had crossed my mind, I refrained, recognizing the potential utility he might offer. Hence, I focused on comprehending him, seeking to decipher the enigma that surrounded him. However, as I delved deeper into this intricate pursuit, doubts emerged regarding my ability to extract cooperation from someone of his caliber. Consequently, I opted for a different tactic—to establish a form of control. "Oh, by the way, I managed to capture something quite intriguing earlier," I casually mentioned, retrieving my phone from my pocket with a calculated ease. Unlocking the device, I presented a photo to him. "Recognize this face?" I inquired, knowing full well that the man in the picture bore an undeniable resemblance to the one standing beside me. There was no room for denial. "This man entering a brothel—doesn't that look like you?" The chessboard had just been set, and despite the early stage of the game, I found myself firmly holding the upper hand.