Werewolf

Inside the design studio, a burly, bald man was cutting fabric, adjusting patterns, and assembling sample garments. The room was packed with dress forms, assorted textiles, and clothing accessories, yet not a speck of clutter could be seen. Everything was arranged with meticulous precision, creating a space that was surprisingly pleasant to behold. "It passed! It passed!" A young female convict burst through the door, beaming with excitement. "Master Langna, our design proposal was approved! Kaishi's flagship line for this summer will be your 'Dream Bubble' collection! Congratulations!" "This is an honor we share," Langna said with a gentle smile. "Annette, with this success under your belt, you are now a qualified fashion designer in your own right." "It's all thanks to your guidance, Master Langna." Annette bowed deeply. "If you hadn't taught me everything without holding back, how could I have made progress so quickly? The credit belongs entirely to you, Master. My contribution was negligible. I hardly deserve the praise." "Now, now, no need to be so modest. If you'd like, come join us for dinner tonight." The corners of Langna's lips curved upward, warmth dancing in his eyes. "Good news like this is something I want to celebrate with Ronnie as well." "Can I order whatever I want?" Annette joked. "You can, as long as the total stays under five contribution points." Langna gave a playful wink. "All right, back to work. Don't think you can slack off just because contribution points from Kaishi will be rolling in. A person can never have too many contribution points. Besides, you should start designing on your own. Who knows, perhaps you'll be the one in charge of next quarter's proposal..." "Fine, fine, I hear you! You're wonderful in every way, Master Langna, except you nag too much." Langna sighed helplessly and lowered his head, returning to his work. Annette stared at the mountain of fabric before her, but her heart was nowhere near the task. Her attention soon drifted back to Langna. The longer she watched him, the more she felt a man engrossed in his craft was utterly mesmerizing, and the harder it became to hide her smitten grin. Too bad he wasn't interested in women. Annette sighed inwardly, lamenting how cruel the world was. She had finally met someone she genuinely liked, yet instead of competing with other women, she was forced to compete with men. She had been in Shattered Lake Prison for over a year. Like most condemned inmates, she possessed no livelihood skills outside of breaking criminal law, nor did she have the combat prowess to fight in the death match arena—though perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, saving her from being beaten into existential despair by the monstrous powerhouses of the Death Match Club who loved playing the pig to eat the tiger. Naturally, Annette didn't dare gamble on whether the citizens would spare her during the Blood Moon Trial just because she was pretty. In fact, the opposite was far more likely—the impulse to ruin something beautiful had always been deeply ingrained in human nature. The twisted individuals in this country were by no means limited to the death row inmates locked behind bars. Yet trying to learn a skill in prison that could reliably earn contribution points was hardly easier than stumbling into a Vortex in the Sea of Knowledge. Repetitive, simple manual labor held no value whatsoever. One had to possess either a novel, proprietary craft—such as the maze toys of the orcs, the bone carvings of the goblins, or the oil paintings of the ogres (Annette had only learned after her imprisonment that ogre oil paintings could fetch so much money)—or complex intellectual labor, such as writing, musical composition, or tax processing. Because condemned inmates were deemed harmless, tax consultants in Shattered Lake Prison were especially sought after by the wealthy. As long as they survived their first Blood Moon Trial, inmates with backgrounds as actuaries, tax consultants, or accountants generally managed to live quite well. Annette had neither the time to learn an intricate craft nor the head for complex calculations. Just when she was on the verge of resigning herself to death and wandering aimlessly around the compound, she had accidentally stumbled into Langna's design studio. The place was filled with textiles and fabrics. Annette's gaze had been glued to the sample garments draped over the dress forms; the prison provided only plain white garments, and it had been ages since she had worn anything flattering. She had stood there staring for a long time, until a deep male voice spoke behind her: "Do you like this outfit? Would you like to try it on?" Just like that, in a daze, she had become Langna's assistant, an apprentice fashion designer. Anyone who met Langna would find it difficult to connect his rugged appearance with the profession of a fashion designer. Yet Langna was an exclusive designer treasured by the Blood Moon's premier luxury apparel brand, Kaishi. Almost every single one of his design proposals became Kaishi's flagship line of the season. The fashionable young maidens and high-society ladies wearing those garments would never guess that the clothes on their backs were designed by a bald death row convict. While brand promotion certainly played a part, Langna's ability to dictate trends season after season was undeniable proof of his extraordinary talent. Even Annette, who had never touched fashion design before, had steadily grown under his mentorship. Now, their joint proposal had earned Kaishi's official seal of approval. Annette had even begun to feel grateful for being sent to prison. If the first twenty years of her life had been a murky, chaotic fog, Langna was the most radiant rainbow she had ever seen. His temperament, his talent, the way he spoke—every single thing about him fascinated her. Even that bald head of his seemed to gleam with the unruly brilliance unique to an artist. If she could spend the rest of her life with Langna, staying in prison wouldn't bother her in the slightest. In fact, compared to the muddy, corrupt society outside, this little prison was far better suited to sheltering a quiet design studio. Too bad he wasn't interested in women. Whenever that thought crossed her mind, a wave of inconsolable grief washed over her. She had actually contemplated visiting the medical bay to have a physician perform a full-body sex reassignment. In the Blood Moon Country, gender had never been an insurmountable obstacle. Yet it was an agonizingly difficult decision to make. Besides, Annette had no way of knowing whether Langna would mind someone who wasn't a biological man. Since Langna had been single at the time, she had hoped to turn him straight through affection built over time. As the crude saying went, no matter how bent a man's guts were, he was straight when he got hard. Annette remained quite confident in her figure and her feminine charm. If the nape chip hadn't prohibited all acts of violence, she might have already forced the issue and jumped into bed with him. Yet a year had passed, and Langna had already found a new partner, while Annette hadn't even managed to touch his bald head. To make matters worse, she had to share a table with both of them tonight, choking down her meal amidst the nauseating reek of their romance. At that thought, Annette pictured the fabric before her as that wretched man named Ronald, snipping it furiously to shreds with her shears. Knock, knock. The studio door was pushed open. Langna looked up, his eyes instantly crinkling into crescent moons as deep dimples surfaced on his cheeks. "Ronnie, how do you have time to come by? What's the matter? Are you feeling unwell? Do you want me to walk you to the medical bay?" A pale Ronald shook his head. "I'm fine, Langna. I came today because I need to talk to you." "To be precise," a handsome man said as he walked into the studio, "we have business with you." Langna's expression cooled noticeably. "'Fair Beast' Igola... Ronnie, he's dangerous. Come over to my side, quickly. Igola, don't imagine this prison will protect you. If you dare lay a finger on Ronnie, I know plenty of ways to make you wish you were dead." Another figure stepped inside, positioning himself smoothly between Igola and Langna. "Rest easy, Langna. Nobody is getting hurt here." Every trace of warmth vanished from Langna's face. "'Fiend' Yaxiu. I was under the impression that even if we weren't friends, we certainly weren't enemies." Yaxiu smiled. "We are friends. We were in the past, we are now, and we will be in the future. Langna, we're here to talk cooperation." Langna abruptly raised a hand. "Annette, step outside." "Master—" "Out!" Annette shot a venomous glare at Yaxiu and the others, biting her lower lip as she stormed out in frustration. Yaxiu glanced at the closed door. "You've probably guessed why we're here. It's not as though we're discussing locker-room vulgarities; we wouldn't have minded an extra accomplice." Although Igola hadn't paraded around with a megaphone proclaiming his intent to break out, he had approached several prison celebrities in succession. Word had long since leaked. Given the standing and resources of 'Gourmet' Langna, he undoubtedly knew Igola's purpose, which was why he had deliberately sent Annette away. Langna paid no heed to Yaxiu. His clear blue eyes remained fixed on Ronald. "Ronnie, is this what you want?" Ronald, who had looked hesitant and timid, met that azure gaze. Memories of the slaughter in the death match arena flooded his mind. Gritting his teeth, he steeled his resolve. "Langna, I'm joining Igola's crew. I'm breaking out of prison with them!" "Ronnie, we can live comfortably right here. The contribution points I earn are more than enough to ensure neither of us will ever be chosen for the Blood Moon Trial—" "But I want to get out!" Ronald yelled. "Langna, are you coming with me, or are you staying behind?!" Langna remained silent for a long time, casting a sidelong glance toward Yaxiu and Igola. When that gaze swept over Yaxiu, goosebumps erupted across his skin. An instinctive dread, like encountering a natural apex predator, surged within his chest, sparking a desperate impulse to flee. It felt just like... facing an Executioner! "Ronnie, you know I can never refuse anything you ask of me." After a long pause, Langna released a slow breath and spoke with chilling calm. "Fair Beast, Fiend. As you wish, I, Langna Dinio, am willing to follow your lead. But hear this: if anything happens to Ronnie during this breakout, you will be buried right beside him." He paused, then added, "Lay out your plan." "Our lineup isn't complete yet, so we can't reveal too much for now," Igola replied. "All I can tell you is this: Yaxiu has a way to remove the chip restrictions." Langna shot Yaxiu an astonished look, though he kept his thoughts to himself. "Who else do you need? I can help you find them." Igola shook his head. "No need. But first, you must tell us what abilities you possess once the chip's restrictions are lifted. If you happen to fill the missing piece in our roster, we won't need to recruit anyone else." Langna fell quiet, evidently weighing whether to reveal his secrets. The others did not press him, waiting patiently for his choice. In the end, he let out a sigh. "Turn off all the lights except for one." Once the studio was plunged into darkness save for a single lamp in the far corner, Langna stepped into the unlit shadows, dissolving seamlessly into the gloom. "I am a Moon Shadow." Igola stiffened in shock. "Impossible. The Moon Shadow clan and the Blood Saint clan are never subjected to the Blood Moon Trial. Neither the Research Institute nor the Church would allow the honor of both clans to be tarnished like that—" "I am an anomaly. Unlike my kin, who require the radiance of the blood moon to undergo Moon Shadow transformation, I can only transform by concealing myself in darkness. Under the direct light of the blood moon, I cannot transform at all. The Church had no cause to fear that I would bring dishonor to our people. "Moreover, unlike those who enter a frenzy through resonance with the blood moon, I have never once heard its call. When I enter Moon Shadow transformation, I only become more ruthless, more rebellious, and more... cold-blooded." With the silent, fluid strides of a stalking predator, a werewolf standing two meters tall and cloaked in dense gray fur stepped into the beam of light. Its piercing azure eyes chilled the three men to the marrow of their bones. "I am a traitor to the Church, a disgrace to the Moon Shadows, a beast spurned even by the blood moon. I am neither a pure Moon Shadow nor a faithful human. Every strand of my fur is steeped in defiance against the blood moon. "They call me a werewolf."