Chapter 101: [GOING IN RIGHT AWAY]

The second the car rolled to a stop, Eli barely had one foot on the pavement before it happened.

“Elione Noa Ahn!”

Two voices exploded in perfect unison.

Eli’s head jerked, startled—but he didn’t even get the chance to turn.

“Wha—?!” he yelped as both his arms were snatched, yanked forward so hard he stumbled, boots scraping against concrete.

In less than a heartbeat, he was caught between two human whirlwinds.

Zaira Minho on his left—grin sharp enough to draw blood, orange eyes glittering like fire. She clutched his arm like it was hers to keep, her confidence radiating in waves.

And Mel O’nner on his right—smile wide, body practically vibrating with energy, words already spilling out before Eli could even breathe.

“Still so pretty I swear to God!” Zaira beamed, leaning in close, her voice smooth and teasing. “Finally, finally I get to actually talk to you. Eli, right? Can I call you Eli? We’re definitely nickname-close already—”

“Wait, me first!” Mel nearly shouted, yanking Eli’s other arm to his side as if in competition. “Elione—uh, Eli! I’m Mel! You have to know me, right? Well, maybe not, but now you do! Also, sorry for assuming you were a woman before—”

Eli’s lips parted, but he barely got out a strangled “It’s fine—” before Zaira steamrolled over him.

“I still owe you, you know.” She leaned closer, voice dropping like a vow. “You remember saving me, right? I haven’t forgotten. I owe you big time. Name it—anything. You want my weapon? My car? Dirt on Kairo? I’ll hand it over.”

Eli’s head whipped toward her, panicked. “That’s not nec—”

But Mel cut in again, tugging him harder, practically bouncing. “Do you even know how insane it was? One second you’re gone, the next I find out you’re the son of Noah Ahn?! Do you understand how big of a deal that is?!”

His voice rose louder and louder, words overlapping Zaira’s bold declarations, each sentence tripping over the other.

Eli’s head snapped back and forth between them, dizzy, helpless—like a rag doll caught in the jaws of two wolves.

’Holy shit, they’re going to pull my arms out of their sockets. Is this what Kairo meant by “bothered”?’

He tried to raise a hand. He tried to breathe, to interject, to say literally anything—

But they didn’t stop. Not even for air.

Until—

“Ahem.”

The sound wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried, clean and cutting, slicing straight through the chaos like a whipcrack.

Eli’s head snapped up.

Mio Zhi stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his half-smile sharp as glass. The gleam in his eyes was mischievous, but his voice was crisp, unyielding.

“Enough,” Mio said, his tone smooth, but iron under silk. His chin tilted, a subtle command aimed directly at Zaira and Mel. “Stop yanking him around. We’re here for a dungeon, not a fan meet.”

The words landed with the weight of authority.

Zaira’s grin faltered into a playful pout, but she released Eli’s arm with a flourish, as if she were being magnanimous.

Mel let go a beat later, shoulders sagging like a scolded child, though his mouth twisted into a sulky pout.

“You’re no fun, Mio.”

Mio arched a brow. “We’re not here to have fun, Zai. And you—” his gaze flicked to Mel, sharp as a blade, “—are supposed to act like his senior, not a starstruck fanboy. Pull yourself together.”

“W-What?! Why me?!” Mel squawked, indignant. “Zaira was just as bad—”

But Mio ignored him entirely, palm brushing over his face like he couldn’t believe he was stuck with these two. He turned instead, his sharp eyes meeting Eli’s.

“Sorry about them.” His smirk softened into something faintly apologetic, though still tinged with amusement. “They’re overeager. Welcome to the team.”

Eli stumbled back a step, chest heaving as if he’d just escaped drowning, rubbing at the faint ache in his arms where they’d been pulled.

“…Holy shit.” The words slipped out under his breath.

’What just happened?’

Eli barely had time to catch his breath, still rubbing at his sore arms where Zaira and Mel had nearly pulled him apart, when the air shifted.

It was subtle at first—the steady rhythm of boots against pavement, echoing sharp across the lot.

Kairo.

He emerged from the shadows near the car, tall and imposing, the flickering light of the unstable gate painting his silhouette in jagged strokes.

His black eyes cut across the group with that same lethal calm, and in an instant the atmosphere snapped taut.

Zaira straightened like a soldier under inspection. Mel’s animated pout evaporated, his lips pressed tight. Even Mio, ever smug and playful, let his grin relax into something more reserved.

The chaos from seconds ago drained out of the air, leaving only stillness. Authority followed Kairo like a cloak.

“We should get ready.” His voice was low, smooth, and final. “We’re going in.”

Eli’s heart lurched into his throat. ’So fast?’

His gaze darted toward the gate, hovering just meters away. A ragged tear in the air, its edges pulsed like an open wound, seeping faint, otherworldly light that crawled across the asphalt. Every instinct in Eli screamed at him to back away, not forward.

’Wait—shouldn’t there be a briefing? A strategy? Something to mentally prepare me before diving into hell again?’

Before he could voice it, Mio shifted at his side, speaking low enough for Eli to hear. “You’re wondering why we’re not wasting time.”

Eli’s head snapped toward him. “…A little, yeah.”

Mio’s smirk returned, sharper this time, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to explain. “Simple. We go in before the paparazzi or bystanders catch wind. Kairo hates being watched. Hates the spotlight. And he works best with a clear head.”

Eli’s eyes flicked back to Kairo, drinking in the man’s sharp profile against the gate’s glow. The contrast slammed into him.

Caelen had thrived in attention, smirked for every camera like he was born for it. But Kairo? He seemed to move in the opposite direction—commanding, quiet, never inviting eyes where they didn’t belong.

’No wonder they can’t stand each other. They’re polar opposites.’

Then Kairo’s gaze turned. Black eyes locked onto him like a blade pressing against his throat.

“Are you ready?”

The question landed like a hammer.

Eli’s first instinct was to lie, to plaster on a shaky grin and force the words out. Yes. I’m fine. Totally ready.

But the memory of Kairo’s voice cracked down his spine.

“I don’t like liars.”

His throat bobbed. His palms dampened. His heart thrashed against his ribs. And before he could stop himself—his head shook.

“…Nope.”

The word dropped into the silence like a stone through still water.

Zaira blinked. Mel’s jaw went slack. Mio’s brows shot up, sharp amusement flickering across his face.

“Did he just say no to Kairo?” Zaira whispered, leaning slightly toward Mel.

“I think he did,” Mel whispered back, awestruck.

’Wait—was I not supposed to say that? He told me he doesn’t like lies!’ Eli’s brain screamed as his stomach dropped.

But instead of snapping, instead of tearing into him, Kairo’s lips shifted. The barest twitch. A curve so slight it could’ve been imagined—gone in a breath.

“…Good.” His tone carried no mockery. Only a quiet weight of approval. “Let’s go in, then.”

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