I Wish You Were Never Reborn

The young hostess shifted uncomfortably where she stood.

“Um... sir? Sh-should I get the manager?”

She reeked of fear.

--and Tyvan was at fault.

He took a breath, attempting to rein in his emotions.

“Bring them. But I dare not promise a civil discussion.”

“Tyvan,” Shay interrupted.

She placed her arm on his sleeve, a... surprisingly comforting gesture.

He had to mind himself-- if not for the sake of professionalism, then at least for hers.

“I know it’s really crappy of us,” said the young hostess, “but my manager-- he said that person was uh... ‘someone we can’t offend.’”

“Ah,” Tyvan clapped his hands together. “How fortunate. I just so happen to not share that concern. Direct me to the room.”

The hostess pouted... but with a little coddling from Shay, she gathered up a quartet of hardcover menus and turned to lead them through the restaurant.

Tyvan assessed his resources.

Considering the circumstances, Heidi would be useless in an active confrontation. He was glad to have Shay with him, as she’d proven herself consistently clever and quick of wit. Then, if the situation devolved into a physical altercation, Yeonha would be indispensable.

Cameras?

Just as in the funeral home, the restaurant had a lack of surveillance cameras. That was promising.

Walking through the main dining hall was a test of patience. The discord of raised voices and clinking utensils and the scrapes of wood on wood attacked his aural senses. That, layered with the various odours and emotions of humans and their fare made vigilance increasingly tiresome.

Heidi was miserable. Her senses were far more delicate than his in a variety of aspects.

The hostess led their party down a hallway, the voices growing more isolated and polite. He heard Mandarin and even some quieter voices in Nihongo.

But cutting through the clamour... was the drunken, immature laughter of... children?

“This... is the room your party had reserved, sir,” the hostess said with a polite bow.

Tyvan rolled his wrists and shook out his hands. He flexed his fingers. Then, he slid open the paper door and walked into the room.

There, he beheld five young, would-be gentlemen, dressed in the uniforms branded in a similar fashion. The floor was littered with broken glass and serving plates. The tablecloth was marred with ash, burn marks, and discarded cigarette filters.

“You the manager?” inquired a youth with a rounded face and notably bright red hair. “Great. Bring us s’more wine.”

He threw a drinking glass.

Tyvan caught it, easing its momentum to prevent it from shattering. From its scent, it recently contained... wine. Right.

By their uniforms, they attended the same learning institution as Shay. It followed that their consumption of libations was prohibited by the humans’ laws.

Then, judging by Shay’s look of disgust, she’d come to a similar conclusion.

Tyvan activated his ⌈Time Lock⌋ spell to weigh his options. The omnipresent murmuring and clinking and grinding of teeth slowed until it stilled.

Five children. One exit.

Heidi, Yeonha, and the hostess remained just outside the room.

He had Shay adjacent. She’d achieved basic mastery in Chinese boxing.

No cameras. Options aplenty.

Murder. He and Shay could simply murder them all.

--but would that solve his problems?

Concealing a mere five murders wouldn’t be too troublesome. Ah, but without a silencing formation, there would be witnesses that could attest to the high-pitched screams of--

Ah. His targets were technically children. Killing children was generally abhorrent.

Urgh... but they were directly responsible for delaying his sumptuous meal-- a meal he was determined to have.

No... murder would remain Tyvan’s second or third-best option. Threats were appropriate. The prospect of coercion was also appealing.

He dispelled his ⌈Time Lock⌋. However, Shay was the first to speak.

“Mister Jiang, this is highly inappropriate behavior.”

The red-haired youth blinked the drunkenness out of his eyes... “Fuck. Is that...Pres?”

Shay glared at one of the other boys, “Mister Tran, shouldn’t you guys catch a bus before they stop running?”

“Ah, shit,” said another youth. “Is it that late already?”

Tran took in the sight of the room-- of the empty bottles and disarray. He gathered his companions and led them out.

Wise.

Four gone. One remaining.

Mister Jiang calmly observed the withdrawal of his allies, conveying zero intent on accompanying them.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he said. “I got money.”

“Money doesn’t win you respect,” Shay said coolly.

“Tss. Yeah,” Jiang scoffed. “Story of my fuckin’ life... Bah. Where’s my fuckin’ glass?”

Tyvan threw the boy’s glass at his head.

Yet, despite his inebriation, Mister Jiang... caught it-- right before it struck his face. It cracked and fragmented in his hand, bleeding him lightly.

It was quite a wonder. An untrained and poorly dieted human had the reflexes and speed of a martial warrior from one of Archangel’s various factions.

Stranger still, as Jiang looked at his injury, his scent suggested annoyance rather than confusion or concern.

Then... he traced the finger of his left hand along the cracks.

The broken pieces slid up, returning to their places... and the glass became whole.

How. Very. Interesting.

Jiang carelessly dropped his glass on the floor, retrieving a fallen wine bottle and draining the remnants in a boorish, disrespectful manner.

“If you guys aren’t here to take my order, then how ‘bout you fuck off and bring me someone who can.”

Tyvan retrieved his gloves from his coat pocket and began--

“Tyvan, wait,” Shay said.

“...Why?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘Why’?” she glared. “Are you really planning on beating up a high-school kid?”

Tyvan felt his mouth twitch. That was exactly what he was planning. Was that wrong? He wasn’t going to kill the boy. There was only one. The savage beating of only a single juvenile was relatively simple to hide from the authorities.

There weren’t any cameras! He had all but express permission to utilise physical force.

“You’re drunk, Mister Jiang,” Shay said. “Let’s get you a taxi home.”

Ahhh. Tyvan nodded his approval. An appeal to Jiang’s emotion-- if successful, there was no risk of spilling unhygienic fluids! Shay’s quick thinking was a lovely reminder of why he paid her salary.

“You can’t tell me what to do, you flat-chested bitch,” Jiang said. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Tyvan shared a look with Shay. Neither of them knew who he was. Thankfully, Jiang continued.

“My-- my name is Mingtu Jiang... I’m the son of Lumao Jiang of Majestic Constructions-- and he’s the god-damned CEO.”

Shay’s expression had twisted and her mouth was agape.

If Tyvan hadn’t been so keen on his bearing, he might have looked similar.

“Miss Yan, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe there’s only one company named Majestic Constructions?”

“Why, yes, Mister Valorum. That’s correct.”

Five minutes and a short conversation later, Tyvan had the hostess produce a wireless phone on a silver platter. Tyvan slid that toward the unrefined, red-haired youth.

“Call your father, Mister Jiang.”

The young man returned a rebellious glare... but he acquiesced. He dialed a number, then shared a short conversation with the recipient in Mandarin-- disrespectful on either end.

Finally, Jiang handed the phone over with a sneer. “Let’s see if you can keep smiling, prick.”

Tyvan wasn’t smiling, but he took the phone regardless.

“Good evening. This is Tyvan Valorum of the Solaris Group. Am I speaking to--”

“What Valoran?” the senior Jiang interrupted, “What Solaris Group? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tyvan glanced over to Shay.

“He doesn’t know,” she said.

“He doesn’t know,” Tyvan agreed.

“Wait!” Lumao said. “Did you say... the Solaris group?”

“...Yes.”

The line went silent. Then, there was a rustling of cloth.

“Ah, I see...” said the voice, markedly more reserved. “Mister Val-O-rum. Good, good... Thank you for your hard work these past few weeks.”

Hmph.

“We are businessmen, Mister Jiang. Your company produces quality work and, from what I understand, there are no issues with management. It’s only natural that our agency has recommended you to Song Wei.”

“Ah, yes! You have my gratitude, Mister Valorum. We won’t let you or CEO Song down-- you have my word!”

He continued speaking... regurgitating the same basic idea thrice over. As frustrating as the repetition was, his sincerity was clear.

“We’ll see,” Tyvan replied. He handed the phone back to a very disappointed Mingtu Jiang.

The Jiangs exchanged another short conversation in Mandarin. The elder communicated his displeasure. As earlier, the younger kept his generally disrespectful tone.

“CEO Jiang wants his son to kowtow,” Shay explained. “But he said he’s not gonna do it.”

The kowtow was a cultural bow of respect. So, in line with the elder Jiang’s wishes, Tyvan asked Shay to keep Heidi company and for Yeonha to assist him.

After a few short moments, Yeonha waddled over to Mister Jiang’s side of the room, where she summarily grabbed his long red hair and smashed his head upon the table.

“Bow,” she said.

The boy squirmed his head to the side, revealing an indignant expression and rivulets of blood from his twisted nose. “What the FUCK?!”

Yeonha dragged him aside. Utilising only her left hand, she kept hold of Jiang’s hair and forced him onto his knees. Then, she pressed his forehead against the floor.

“Bow,” she repeated.

Tyvan retrieved the wireless phone.

“I’m currently discussing matters of proper etiquette with your son. I trust you have no issues.”

“Uh-- of course, Mister Valorum! I apologize for not teaching him well.”

“Have a good evening, Mister Jiang.”

Tyvan ended the call just as the younger Jiang began to regain his courage.

“You think you’re so tough, Valorum?!” he cried-- “hiding behind a woman? How about you fight me like a MAN?!”

“I have neither the need nor the desire to cede my advantages,” Tyvan waved.

Yeonha twisted his right arm behind his back, eliciting a protracted (and satisfying) yelp of pain. She looked up to Tyvan with a mischievous smile on her lips.

She was tacitly requesting permission to break one or both of his arms.

“I’m not scared of you!” Jiang shouted.

That was true... which was odd. Even since the beginning of their interaction, there was discomfort in his scent. His other emotions were stronger-- dark and negative, but not quite fear.

“Shay!” Jiang yelled, “Help me! You-- you fucking bitch!”

Yan Xue re-entered the room, Heidi in tow.

“Apologize to my chest,” the first suggested mysteriously.

“Maybe we should cut it off?” added the second-- also mysteriously.

Tyvan sensed a shift in Jiang’s scent.

Fear. As was proper.

And with his fear, rekindled and strengthened, Jiang began to babble a stream of apologies. None of it contained any degree of sincerity... but it was good enough.

He gestured to Yeonha, “Remove him from the premises.”

With a grunt of agreement, the lithe girl in her hooded jumper rolled the rotund youth out of the room.