Chapter 80: [MEETING WITH MIDAS]

The ride up had been silent.

Uncomfortably so.

The only sound filling the elevator was the mechanical hum of its ascent and the steady ticking of numbers climbing higher on the display above the door.

But Eli’s own body betrayed him—his heartbeat thundered, a panicked drumline rattling against his ribs, so loud he swore it echoed in the metal walls.

Each ding carved deeper into his nerves, like a countdown.

One step closer. One floor higher. One second nearer to meeting the big guy of the hunter’s association.

When the doors finally slid open with a low hiss, his pulse spiked so violently it nearly choked him.

Lawrence stepped out first, sharp and unyielding, his voice clipped, perfectly professional.”This way, please.”

Eli moved without thinking, his feet dragging him forward on instinct alone. His posture was stiff, his shoulders locked like stone, every muscle refusing to relax.

His eyes darted left, then right, scanning.

The corridor stretched before them—endless, polished white tiles gleaming under harsh overhead lights. Rows of desks flanked either side, men and women stationed behind them, all in identical sleek black uniforms.

Fingers flew across keyboards, pens scribbled notes, phones were pressed to ears.

’Woah.’

But not one person glanced up. Not one person smiled.

Their expressions were blank. Their movements mechanical.

Stoic.

Like Lawrence.

It made Eli’s skin crawl.

’Does everyone who works under the Association just… act like robots?’

The steady rhythm of their steps echoed unnaturally loud, bouncing against the walls until it felt suffocating.

Each sound of his shoes hitting the tile only reminded Eli how out of place he was here, how small he was in this machine of an institution.

And then the walk ended.

At the end of the corridor, enormous double doors loomed, carved from dark, polished wood.

The insignia of the Hunter’s Association was etched into their surface—two wings crossed behind a sword, gilded in gold.

The air itself shifted here.

Heavier. Colder.

As if the atmosphere bent under the weight of the man waiting on the other side. A subtle, crushing pressure seeped through the cracks of the doors, coiling around Eli’s lungs, refusing to let him breathe freely.

Lawrence lifted a hand, rapping his knuckles once against the wood.

“Sir Midas. Hunters Caelen and Elione Noa Ahn.”

The words slammed into Eli’s stomach like a physical blow.

His throat tightened. His fingers twitched, restless at his sides.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to bolt down the hall, to flee before that suffocating weight crushed him completely.

Then Caelen’s head turned, molten eyes sliding toward him with that ever-present calm.

Calm that mocked him. Calm that made him feel even smaller.

“You ready?”

Eli’s throat worked, the single syllable clawing out raw.

“…No.”

It cracked in his chest, humiliatingly fragile, but Caelen’s smirk curved at the edge of his lips anyway—as if he found the honesty amusing.

And then the doors groaned open, slow and deliberate, like the jaws of a beast pulling back to swallow him whole.

The office inside was enormous—larger, brighter, and more pristine than Eli’s entire family apartment back when he was still Lucien Kim.

Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, swallowing half the room in an open view of the city. From this height, Soul’s skyline glittered beneath the morning sun, each skyscraper reduced to miniature toys under Midas Ryu’s domain.

Sunlight poured through the panes in merciless brilliance, painting the marble floor in dazzling gold.

It was too much. Too…vast.

’Does he really need this much space just for an office?’ Eli thought, his steps faltering as if the floor itself wasn’t meant to be walked on by someone like him.

And in the center of it all, at a desk that gleamed like polished obsidian, sat Midas Ryu.

’That’s… him?’

Eli had expected a tyrant. Someone towering, harsh, maybe even cruel in presence. But Midas didn’t look intimidating in the way Eli imagined.

His posture wasn’t rigid, and his expression wasn’t carved in stone.

Instead, the man radiated warmth.

His smile was faint but genuine, the kind that curved without effort. His suit was immaculate but not ostentatious—navy with subtle pinstripes, gold cufflinks catching the sunlight with quiet elegance.

And yet… it was his presence that filled the room. Not loud, not oppressive—just there, commanding without force, like the gravity of a sun.

“Caelen. Elione.” His voice rolled smooth and warm, but it carried weight, echoing easily in the vast space. “Welcome. I’m grateful you both came.”

Caelen inclined his head with practiced ease, his tone calm, almost casual. “Sir Midas.”

Eli’s turn.

He opened his mouth—only for his voice to snag in his throat. “I-I… uh… I–It’s…” The words tangled, crumbling before they even left his tongue.

Heat rushed to his face, his palms slick instantly. His pulse thundered in his ears, making the silence feel louder, unbearable.

’Get yourself together! Say something before you look like a complete idiot—’

But Midas didn’t frown. He didn’t let the moment sharpen into awkwardness or judgment.

Instead, his gaze softened, steady and patient, the kind of look a father gave a trembling child.

“You must be nervous,” Midas said gently, that faint smile unwavering. “That is only natural. Please, take your time. You are not here to be judged—you are here because your perspective matters.”

Eli’s chest tightened, his breath hitching.

He felt… uncomfortable.

Because this wasn’t what he expected. A man of this much authority shouldn’t have been kind.

Shouldn’t have been this patient. It disarmed him more than cruelty would have.

Still, Eli forced himself to move. His head dipped, a small bow, his voice finally scraping free—shaky but audible. “T-thank you, sir…”

Midas inclined his head in return, the smile tugging a little deeper at his lips, perfectly measured. “Please, sit. Both of you.”

Eli’s gaze flicked sideways toward Caelen, searching for any kind of signal. Caelen caught the look instantly, molten eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

The corner of his mouth curved—not mockery this time, but something closer to reassurance, as if to say: follow my lead.

Caelen moved first, unhurried and composed, striding toward the two leather chairs set before Midas’s desk.

Eli trailed behind, the heels of his polished shoes whispering faintly against the marble.

He lowered himself into the seat opposite Midas with a stiffness he couldn’t hide, every movement deliberate—measured—like he was sitting down for judgment rather than conversation.

Caelen leaned back comfortably, long legs stretching out just a fraction, his presence easy yet commanding. Eli, on the other hand, kept his hands folded tightly in his lap, knuckles pale against the black velvet of his suit.

And Midas’s gaze never left him.

That smile was still there—warm, patient, genuine. It sat too easily on his face. Not forced. Not sharp. Just… natural. Almost too natural.

“How are you feeling?” Midas asked, his tone carrying none of the clipped severity Eli had braced himself for. “I hope you’re fully healed. I heard you suffered quite the injuries.”

The words were soft, considerate—exactly the kind of tone Midas used in interviews. A tone meant to put people at ease.

And yet Eli’s stomach twisted, because kindness in this room didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like scrutiny wrapped in velvet.

’He’s just the same as he is from the broadcasts… but I honestly thought he’d be more… bossy? Cold? Something.’

Eli’s lips stretched into what he hoped passed as a polite smile, though his nerves made it twitch.

Growing up as Lucien Kim, trust had been something foreign, especially when it came to the wealthy.

The rich always wanted something, always had strings buried in their words.

And Midas Ryu wasn’t just rich—he was above politicians, above military leaders. His words shaped nations.

But Elione wasn’t Lucien. At least, not here. Elione Noa Ahn was born into that same world of wealth and marble floors. He belongs here. At least more than I do.

“I feel better than ever, though…” Eli’s voice was careful, but he forced himself to continue, leaning into the ridiculous mission before the system punished him. “…I probably wouldn’t have gotten off with just a few injuries if it weren’t for the handsome Hunter Caelen.”

The word slipped heavier than he wanted. His ears burned instantly, his throat threatening to close, but it was out there.

Caelen’s eyebrow rose, surprise flickering across his otherwise composed features. He tilted his head slightly, molten eyes narrowing with amusement.

“Handsome?” he echoed, the faintest smirk tugging his lips. Clearly he hadn’t expected Eli to drop another compliment so boldly—especially not here, in front of Midas himself.

’Damn it, my face is on fire. Three more to go. God, kill me now.’

Midas chuckled lightly, the sound smooth as silk, and it rippled through the massive office as if even laughter obeyed his command.

“Indeed,” he said, eyes glinting as he shifted his attention between the two hunters. “But Caelen already informed me that you contributed quite a lot, despite what he claimed that day.”

Eli blinked, his head snapping toward Caelen with wide eyes. “He… did?”

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