The rest of the day passed in a strange rhythm of idle chatter and long stretches of silence. Conversations were brief, functional and rarely personal. I chalked up the earlier tension with Jia to me still being the newbie, still the anomaly in their otherwise well-oiled system.

  If she felt anything about our earlier exchange, she didn’t show it.

  She was perfectly chill for the remainder of the afternoon. At one point she even stopped by my office to drop off lunch, placing it on my desk with a casual “Don’t die on paperwork,” before walking off. I later realised it had been paid for through a company expense account.

  Which, apparently, now meant my salary.

  But whatever.

  Now I found myself seated at a long glass table in the penthouse conference room, attending my first proper afternoon idol meeting to discuss the next Tokyo concert. The room overlooked the skyline, sunlight pouring in through the panoramic windows, reflecting off polished surfaces and making everything feel far more corporate than I had expected.

  Laptops were open. Tablets lit up with draft stage designs and projected seating charts. A digital board displayed potential venue layouts, lighting rigs, sponsorship slots, merchandise projections, fan engagement strategies.

  This wasn’t just a concert.

  It was a military operation disguised as entertainment.

  Talia sat at the head of the table, posture straight, voice composed as she went through bullet points. Jia scrolled lazily through a presentation, occasionally offering surprisingly sharp input. Bea leaned forward enthusiastically whenever choreography or crowd interaction was mentioned.

  I sat there with a stylus in hand, trying to keep up, trying to look like I belonged.

  Because somehow, overnight, I had gone from part-time worker to vampire executioner to idol manager.

  And now I was apparently expected to help plan a concert in Tokyo as if this were my daily occupation.

  “We need to make sure this is the biggest concert we’ve done in Japan yet!” Bea announced, leaning forward with infectious intensity.

  I wasn’t quite sure how you got bigger than the Tokyo Dome.

  “I don’t know how you can go much bigger than Tokyo…?” I asked cautiously, half-expecting to be told I’d just embarrassed myself again.

  “Who said we’re staying in Tokyo?” Talia replied with a small, knowing smirk.

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. Make zero assumptions.”

  I nodded quickly. “But considering you’re staying here while you’re in the area and doing interviews locally, I’d be surprised if we were going too far out, is all.”

  “True,” Talia said, tapping the table lightly. “Which is why we’ll only be going to Tokyo’s neighbour.”

  The PowerPoint slide changed with a soft click.

  Nissan Stadium, Yokohama.

  The image filled the screen: an enormous arena in the Shin-Yokohama area, capable of housing 72,000 fans. Larger, broader and far more open.

  Even I knew that name.

  Bea’s eyes lit up immediately. Jia leaned back, whistling low under her breath.

  The image of Nissan Stadium lingered on the screen.

  “So we book it,” Talia said plainly. “End of March. The 27th.”

  Bea clapped once. “Perfect timing. That place will be insane.”

  I blinked. “March 27th? That’s… kind of far, isn’t it?” I glanced between them. “Don’t you guys have to travel internationally? Europe, the States, all that?”

  “There are two reasons,” Talia replied, folding her hands neatly on the table.

  She glanced at Jia, who flicked to the next slide.

  A dark title card filled the screen.

  STYX NOXIUM

  Even the font looked heavier.

  “The first,” Talia continued, “is that we’re currently creating a new album.”

  Bea grinned. “Our next masterpiece.”

  I looked at the title again. “Styx Noxium…”

  “The River Styx,” Jia said lazily, spinning her stylus between her fingers. “Mythology. Death. Oaths. Crossing over. You get the vibe.”

  “And Noxium,” Talia added, “from Latin roots. Night. Poison. Corruption. It’s an evolution of our sound.”

  “So… darker?” I asked.

  “Refined,” Jia corrected.

  “Bigger,” Bea added immediately.

  “More intentional,” Talia finished.

  I nodded slowly. “And the concert date ties into that?”

  “Yes,” Talia said. “We’re releasing the album one week before the concert.”

  Bea leaned across the table toward me. “So everyone has time to memorise the lyrics and scream them back at us.”

  Jia smirked. “Nothing worse than debuting a track and the crowd just stands there confused.”

  “So you’re using the week as a hype window,” I said, trying to sound like I understood the marketing logic.

  “Exactly,” Talia replied. “We drop Styx Noxium. You”—she pointed at me—“will help coordinate its promotion. Interviews. Teasers. Strategic leaks. Controlled chaos.”

  “Controlled chaos,” Jia repeated with amusement.

  “You’re going to help position it as our next defining era,” Talia continued. “By the time March 27th arrives, the audience won’t just be attending a concert.”

  “They’ll be entering Styx Noxium,” Bea said dramatically.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  I glanced at the stadium capacity again.

  Seventy-two thousand people.

  And they were planning to debut an entirely new era in front of all of them.

  “…No pressure,” I muttered.

  I cleared my throat, trying to sound like I belonged in a room discussing seventy-two-thousand seat venues.

  “So… is there a theme?” I asked. “And what’s the budget looking like?”

  Bea’s eyes lit up immediately. Talia’s expression shifted into something more deliberate.

  “There is a theme,” Talia said. “We’re killing our previous style.”

  “Killing?” I echoed.

  “Symbolically,” Jia added dryly. “Relax.”

  Talia clicked to the next slide. Old promo images of Realta Noxia filled the screen—leather, chains, gothic undertones.

  “That era was about death,” she continued. “Decay. Rebellion. Existing in the dark.”

  “And now?” I asked.

  “Now,” Bea said, leaning forward with excitement, “it’s about rebirth.”

  Jia nodded. “Styx Noxium isn’t just darker. It transitions.”

  “From death,” Talia said softly, “to new life.”

  I frowned slightly. “So the album follows that?”

  “Yes,” Talia replied without hesitation.

  She changed the slide again.

  A single silhouette of a girl stood beneath a hanging blade.

  “The story,” she said, “is about a young woman condemned to execution for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  Bea’s usual brightness dimmed into something more serious.

  “She’s judged unfairly,” Jia continued. “Dragged through a symbolic afterlife. Faced with her regrets, her anger, her fear.”

  “And at the end,” Talia said, “she’s brought back.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it wasn’t her time,” Bea answered quietly.

  The room fell still for a second.

  A woman condemned.

  Executed unjustly.

  Dragged through something close to death.

  Given another chance.

  I felt something tighten in my chest, but I kept my face neutral.

  “That’s… interesting,” I said carefully. “Very cohesive.”

  It was more than that.

  It was uncomfortably close to my own story.

  But I didn’t ask whether I had inspired it. I didn’t even imply it. That would’ve been absurd.

  Still.

  It sounded good.

  “So,” I said, grounding myself in something practical, “what’s the budget?”

  Talia and Jia exchanged a look.

  “It’s open,” Jia said.

  “Open?” I repeated.

  “As in,” Talia clarified, “if you can justify the cost, we’ll fund it.”

  “Talk to either of us,” Jia added.

  “And definitely not Bea,” Talia finished.

  “Hey!” Bea shot upright in her seat. “What’s that supposed to mean!?”

  Jia slowly turned her laptop around.

  On the screen was what looked like a past expenditure sheet.

  Highlighted in red.

  Bea squinted.

  “Oh come on, that was one time.”

  “One time?” Jia repeated flatly.

  “You do not,” Talia said, rubbing her temples, “need a live dove release, imported Italian stage fog, and a floating crystal chandelier rig for a mid-set transition.”

  “It was aesthetic!” Bea protested. “You two just don’t understand vision!”

  “It exceeded the budget by—” Jia glanced down. “—forty-three percent.”

  Bea folded her arms. “Worth it.”

  “It caught fire,” Talia said.

  “It caught a little fire,” Bea corrected.

  I blinked.

  “You set part of a stage on fire?”

  “It was controlled!” Bea insisted.

  “It was not,” Jia replied.

  Talia looked back at me.

  “So yes. Budget is open. Run major financial decisions through me or Jia.”

  Bea leaned across the table toward me dramatically.

  “Don’t listen to them. I have excellent ideas.”

  “Terrifying ones,” Jia muttered under her breath.

  I exhaled slowly. The magnitude still dawning on me.

  “…No pressure,” I repeated before clearing my throat, trying to keep the momentum on logistics instead of metaphysics.

  “You said there were two reasons,” I said. “What’s the second?”

  The room shifted.

  It wasn’t dramatic. No one gasped. No music cut out.

  But the air changed.

  Bea’s posture straightened. Jia leaned back in her chair, expression flattening. Talia closed the laptop slowly.

  “The second reason,” Talia said carefully, “is that we’re hunting a Monarch in Tokyo.”

  I swallowed.

  A Monarch…?

  That word rang somewhere deep in my memory like a warning sign painted in red.

  I remembered it being mentioned once.

  Briefly.

  With the unspoken implication of stay away.

  “What’s… a Monarch again?” I asked, trying to sound neutral.

  They looked at one another.

  Talia answered.

  “Monarchs are the most powerful vampires in the world.”

  Jia picked up where she left off. “There are thirteen total, all spread out across the world.”

  “Thirteen?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” Bea said quietly. “And the Duchess you fought? She was nothing more than a regional lackey.”

  “Not even this Monarch’s strongest subordinate,” Jia added.

  That made my stomach drop.

  “The Monarchs,” Talia continued, “have typically lived for centuries. Some for far longer, some even shorter but what they all have in common is that they build kingdoms beneath cities and regions.”

  “Networks. Armies. Systems. They don’t just survive,” Jia added. “They rule.”

  I felt a cold weight settle in my chest.

  “And you’re… strong enough?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  All three of them looked at me.

  Talia’s brow twitched.

  Bea’s lips parted in mild offense.

  Jia, however, just shrugged.

  “Whether we are or not,” she said casually, “another Inquisitor is coming to Japan to assist.”

  “…Another one?” I echoed.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Bea looked away.

  Jia exhaled through her nose.

  Talia’s jaw tightened.

  “He’ll be here in a month,” Talia said flatly.

  There was no excitement, not even relief. Only restraint.

  “We would prefer,” she continued, voice steady but edged, “to find and eliminate this Monarch before he arrives.”

  The displeasure in her tone was subtle but unmistakable.

  Noted. Mystery Inquisitor not welcome was the baseline.

  “Got it,” I said aloud. “Understood.”

  I straightened in my chair, nodding like a proper manager.

  “Well then. I’ll stay home and work my butt off on the concert logistics.”

  I want absolutely nothing to do with another underground bloodbath.

  Talia blinked.

  “Hold on.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “Who said you’re staying at home?”

  My fingers twitched slightly against the desk.

  “I—”

  “If you fail to prove yourself,” she continued evenly, “the Church will have no problem handing you over for experimentation.”

  The words were calm, measured, and unemotional.

  “And when he arrives,” Jia added quietly, “we won’t be able to shield you from that decision.”

  I looked at Bea.

  Her expression confirmed it.

  I exhaled slowly.

  So that was the line.

  Perform or be dissected, huh.

  I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them again. Accepting that I would have to take another descent into hell.

  “…What’s the plan?” I asked.

  Talia’s lips curved faintly.

  “The first step,” she said, “starts tonight.”