Chapter Text
Eliminate the Fura Family’s business partner. Currently taking up residence in their mansion. Don’t get caught.
Ares watches as one of the maids assigned to the old man exits the room, finally leaving him alone. Silently landing on the balcony and opening the window, Ares notes that it was too easy to access the room. It’s like security was non-existent, he notes. As though they did not care if assassins were to come.
The thought is fleeting as he enters the room, footsteps silent. He glances at the target’s face, peaceful from sleep. It’s only when Ares easily stabs the side of his neck that he realizes that they wanted this man to die. Was this a trap?
Ares sniffs, but moves quickly to exit the room the way he came. Seeing as how bodyguards didn’t storm into the room, he guesses it isn’t.
He stays around, scouting the premises, when the maid from earlier enters the room again. She’s unsurprised, but there’s a grimace on her face as she turns back to a butler, who nods and makes a signal with his hand.
With that, the staff have rushed out of the mansion. They seem to be shielding something, or someone, what with the bulk of them all hovering around the center. Once the last of the staff escape his field of vision, he safely assumes that the mansion was abandoned, save for the quickly rotting body.
“Change of plans. Infiltrating the mansion now. No staff—left and wanted the man dead. Cleaners will be coming soon. What information do you need?” Ares sends a brief message. He instantly gets a reply—“Get your hands on any information regarding our work.”—and immediately gets moving, hiding in the shadows to avoid the cameras.
He finds countless reports in the head butler’s room, and several other witness statements from the staff. It looks like he has a lot of things to burn later. After collecting everything he could find on the ground floor, he heads up to the second.
Not like Ares expected to find anything of importance, however. The only rooms were the master bedroom and another bedroom belonging to the family’s heir, Fura Kanato. Any important documents the head of the family had would be stored safely inside one of the office rooms, and there shouldn’t be anything of use in the other bedroom.
If I remember correctly… Ares comes to a halt in front of the heir’s room and steps inside. It seems that he was here as well, judging from the haphazard state of the room. He guesses that the one in that clustered center of staff members was him. He should be about the same age as me, he thinks absentmindedly, before snapping out of it. “Now is not the time to be distracted,” he scolds himself, before he notices something peculiar on the desk.
He approaches it and grabs a stack of paper. There isn’t anything written on any of them, so Ares places it back. There’s a lot of crumpled up paper with a whole pile of it shoved to the side and opens one of them. “‘Dear future penpal’...” He reads before immediately frowning. “What’s a penpal?”
Was this some sort of secret code this family made? Shaking his head, Ares grabs the latest version of what was probably a letter made by the heir, sitting underneath the desk light. It didn’t seem too important to be reported on, but it piqued his curiosity, oddly enough. This isn’t something to be curious about. You’re not a child anymore. He harshly reminds himself, but shoves the letter in his inside coat pocket. Just in case.
There’s no reason for him to be curious about anything outside of his job. It’s not like he can do anything about such information anyway. He’ll just keep the letter as a token, maybe. It’s not like him to be sentimental, but it’ll serve as a reminder that a normal life just doesn’t suit him. With a bitter smile, he leaves through the window, snuffing out all traces of his presence in the mansion.
Dear future penpal,
I hope you’re actually reading this! This means a whole lot to me so don’t even think about throwing it into the trash can!
I… don’t actually know what to write, however. I think I just wanted to talk to someone, you know. It didn’t have to be face to face, letters would do just fine for me.
If you’ve reached this far, I’m holding on to hope now that you’re interested? In exchanging letters with me? How about it, future penpal? Hehe. If you’re lonely, you can talk to me, and if I’m lonely, I can talk to you! Isn’t it a great win-win situation?
Let me know through a reply, okay?
From,
[There’s a scratched out blob of ink before the signature.]
KNT
…Surely the Fura heir was not this ignorant, right?
Ares frowns, his hands crumpling the side of the paper. After reporting his mission results, he was thrown back in his cell. Thankfully enough, they didn’t search his body for anything else. He scoffs. They were the ones that told him blind faith was poor work etiquette, yet here they were.
He just finished reading the letter. If he had to be honest, Ares didn’t know what to say. What else was there to say? It was foolish, childish, and naïve. That’s what it was. He expected someone mature for a mafia heir.
Silently thumbing the corners of the paper, he ignores the growing yearning of wanting to reach out to someone from the outside. Ares wasn’t allowed to want something like this. Playing the violin was enough for him, he didn’t need another taste of a life outside of killing.
He could just burn the letter. No one would know it ever existed, and he can forget about its existence. That way, it won’t bother him anymore. Although he did take it as a token, it serves more as a distraction rather than a reminder.
…Or maybe he was just childish, too.
Such emotions can get him killed one day. Being a child was something Ares did not get to experience, being thrown immediately into the middle of his family’s business. It’s hard to remember that he was (still) a child as well, even if he didn’t have a normal childhood.
Ares pauses, gathering his thoughts, then sighs and frowns. He looks around his desk for paper and checks the drawers. It’s a little worse for wear, crumpled and covered with soot, but it’s paper nonetheless. He pats himself down and finds a pen in one of his pockets. If he remembers correctly, it also doubles as a hidden knife.
Despite having the means to reply, Ares hesitates. He shouldn’t think about doing this. He shouldn’t even follow through with it. His family will find out, and he’ll once again be punished for such behavior. Time and time again he was reminded to not indulge himself, to not stray from his job.
…They won’t know. It’s a foolish thought, one he has gotten quite accustomed to. Still, he goes for it anyway, because he’s just a lonely child looking for company.
I think your letter has reached the wrong person.
I don’t think I can reply as often as I would like. I don’t think I can receive all of your letters. I don’t even think I’d be someone good enough to have a conversation with.
Still—still, I want to talk… because I’m lonely, too. I hope you don’t mind, and I’m sorry if I don’t meet your expectations.
[There’s a lot of scratched out closings and what could be a vague resemblance of another name before the signature.]
—Seraph