HFfC: CH 12: Setting the Stage

A new day had come, bright and clear. In the center of the loft's living room, Zero sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed in deep concentration. The chaotic energy of the previous days had been replaced by a focused stillness. Last night, after their debriefing, Erwin had placed a hand on Zero's forehead, and in a dizzying, disorienting moment, had transferred the entirety of the scant knowledge he'd gleaned from the library's demonology texts. Soma, ever the wit, had tried to come up with a clever name for the ability—Mind Meld, Knowledge Infusion, Synaptic Transfer—but Zero, with a stubbornness born of exhaustion, simply kept calling it "touching foreheads."

Today, Zero intended to deep-dive into that new, confusing knowledge, to explore the very nature of his Archdemon magic. He would let Soma manage the café alone. Besides, after the debacle with the Vipers, he knew what was coming. The gossip would spread like wildfire, first about the Master Chef, then about the thugs, and finally, inevitably, about the demon owner with the horns.

Sure enough, when Soma flipped the sign to 'OPEN' and unlocked the door, the frantic, desperate line from the day before was gone. The alley was quiet. Over the next hour, only a handful of customers trickled in—a few of the familiar faces from the day before, the ones who had stayed through the chaos. Soma didn't mind. The quiet was a relief.

He was in the kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast hash, when one of the customers, a gruff-looking dwarf with a beard like iron filings, spoke up from his seat at the bar.

"How's your boss?" the dwarf asked, his voice a low rumble. "Heard some gang scum came in here last night trying to cause a ruckus."

Soma, who had been preparing himself for this exact question all morning, turned from the stove with a practiced, easy smile. "The boss is alright," he said. "He's just taking a well-deserved rest today, that's all."

The dwarf grunted, taking a long sip of the dark, bitter coffee Soma had served him. "Your drink is good," he said, setting the mug down with a solid thud. "But not as good as your boss's." He looked Soma directly in the eye. "Tell him it doesn't matter if he's got horns growing out of his forehead. I couldn't care less. He does the work, and he's damn good at it. That's all that matters." He then turned back to his drink and his food, the conversation, in his mind, concluded.

A genuine, unforced smile spread across Soma's face. The tension he hadn't even realized he was holding in his shoulders melted away. It was okay to have fewer customers. It was more than okay. At the very least, the ones who came back, the ones who mattered, seemed to be fine with who Zero was.

Another regular, a human tailor from down the street, watched Soma smiling to himself. "Hey, Soma," he joked, "stop smiling like that while you're holding that cleaver. It's creepy."

Soma laughed, a bright, easy sound that filled the quiet café. He brandished the cleaver playfully. "Careful, or I'll come over there and use it to clean the wax out of your ears."

The other customers chuckled along with them. Soma's heart felt light. 'This is it,' he thought, looking around at the small, loyal group of patrons. 'This is better. We don't need the ones who don't want to be here.'

…

While Zero delved into the mysteries of his own magic, Erwin took to the streets. He had forgone his commander's uniform for a simple, practical disguise: a well-tailored but unremarkable suit, a brown wool overcoat, and a mid-century style hat with a brim that cast his face in a perpetual shadow. He was blending in. His rationale was simple: looking poor would bar him from the establishments he needed to enter, while looking rich would only attract the wrong kind of attention. Middle class was the perfect camouflage for an observer.

He continued the observations he had started the day before. The city, which had been a ghost town the previous night, was now teeming with life, a frantic return to normalcy that felt almost defiant. It was as if the entire populace had a silent, collective agreement to pretend the terrifying, monthly ritual of the Silent Night had never happened.

His keen eyes, sharpened by the fusion of two brilliant minds, began to notice the deeper inconsistencies. As he moved from one borough to the next, he saw the deep rot in the city's law enforcement. In a wealthy, noble district, he witnessed a minor traffic incident: a horse-drawn carriage scraped the side of a nobleman's gleaming, magitech automobile. The damage was trivial, a mere scratch in the paint, yet a Watcher patrol car was on the scene in less than a minute, its officers bowing and scraping as they took the nobleman's statement.

An hour later, in a lower-income market district, Erwin watched as two thugs from the Vipers gang roughed up a stall owner, openly demanding protection money. Several meters away, two Watchers stood on a corner, observing the whole event with bored indifference. They didn't intervene. They just watched it happen, a clear and silent endorsement of the city's criminal element.

This disparity was most stark when he reached the slums. Here, the Watchers didn't even bother to patrol. The streets were narrower, the buildings more dilapidated, and the air thick with a sense of hopelessness. He noted the demographics immediately: the residents were almost entirely demons and various beastkin, with only a handful of humans, elves, or dwarves in sight.

It was here that he felt the eyes on him. A subtle shift in the crowd, a few figures detaching from the flow of foot traffic to fall in behind him. He didn't change his pace. He let them follow, his mind calmly calculating their numbers and assessing their intent.

After leading them for several blocks, he spotted what he was looking for: an empty, trash-strewn alleyway. He took a hard, deliberate turn into the narrow passage and stopped once he was deep in the shadows.

He waited. Then, without turning around, he spoke, his voice calm and clear, echoing slightly off the damp brick walls. "Alright," he said. "Are we going to play hide and seek, or shall we get straight to the 'rob and kill' part of the evening?"

One by one, the shady figures that had been following him emerged from the mouth of the alley and from behind stacks of old crates, blocking his only exit. There were five of them. As Erwin turned to face them, he saw they were mostly beastkin—a gaunt-looking wolf-man, a rat-like creature with twitching whiskers—and a single, desperate-looking imp demon. He also saw, with the clarity of a detective, that they were all clearly unhealthy, their bodies thin with malnourishment, their eyes holding a desperate, hungry light. The clothes on their backs could barely be considered rags, and the crude knives they held were gripped in trembling, uncertain hands. This wasn't an organized attack; it was an act of desperation.

…

On the other side of the city, in a bustling merchant-class market, Sebas moved with an entirely different kind of purpose. Dressed in his immaculate butler's uniform, he was an island of serene dignity in a sea of shouted prices and haggling customers. The air here was thick with the scent of fresh bread, exotic spices, and the faint, clean smell of ozone from the enchanted cooling-stones used by the fishmongers.

He wasn't observing strategic layouts or criminal tells; he was observing the flow of daily life, the invisible currents of information that powered the city. He saw them everywhere: maids in the crisp, modest uniforms of their respective households, servants sent out on errands, their shopping baskets bearing the subtle crests of their employers.

A portly baker, seeing Sebas's noble attire, rushed from behind his stall, wiping flour from his hands onto his apron. "Good sir! A fine morning! May I interest you in a fresh loaf for your master's table? Our sourdough is favored by the Earl of the Keystone's own steward!"

Sebas turned, offering a polite, placid smile that revealed nothing. "You are too kind," he said, his voice a smooth, respectful baritone. "But I am merely here to wait for several of the young maids to complete their shopping. My master is entertaining guests from another house today." It was a complete and utter lie, delivered with such flawless sincerity that the baker couldn't help but believe it. The man bowed, disappointed but impressed, and returned to his stall.

Sebas continued his slow, deliberate walk through the market. His eyes followed a pair of maids from a Baron's household as they gossiped near a fruit stand. He watched a footman from the Margrave's estate haggling over the price of wine. These were the people the nobles ignored, the ones who were invisible. The ones who polished the silver, served the meals, and overheard everything. They were the veins through which the lifeblood of the city's secrets flowed. A smile, subtle and sharp as a razor, touched Sebas's lips. Here. Here were the seeds of his information network.

He didn't need magic to do what he planned next. His card, "Sebas Tian," was not that of a mage. It was that of a Monk, a Ki Master. That was why the mage on the barrier patrol had sensed no mana from him the previous night; he had none to sense. His power came from within, a disciplined, potent life force known as Ki.

As he passed a talkative group of servants, he allowed a minute, imperceptible pulse of his own Ki to extend from his body. It was not an attack, not even a touch. It was a gentle resonance, an attunement. In his mind, he could now feel their unique signatures, the distinct hum of their individual life forces. He had marked them. He could find them again anywhere in this city.

He smiled. For now, this was enough. He had identified his first potential assets. He turned and walked calmly out of the market, his face a mask of serene placidity. But beneath the calm, a cold, righteous fury was boiling. The more pressing matter, the one that required not subtlety but force, was dealing with the Vipers. And for that, he would need a different kind of plan.

…

Erwin adjusted the collar of his overcoat, his movements calm and precise. He smoothed the sleeve of his suit jacket, a gentleman tidying himself after a minor inconvenience. Behind him, in the shadows of the alley, lay the five men who had tried to rob him. They weren't dead, merely neutralized, left in a tangled heap of groaning limbs and shattered confidence. Erwin had moved with a speed and brutal efficiency that was less a fight and more a clinical disassembly. A precise strike to a nerve cluster here, a dislocated joint there. It was over in less than five seconds.

He looked down at the men, his expression unreadable. "Life isn't fair," he said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "It never was. I don't care what precarious state you find yourselves in. If you want to take from others, you had better be ready to give something of yourselves in return."

He turned and walked out of the slums, leaving the five men to their misery. As he re-entered the more populated streets, he noted that no one dared to meet his eyes or even consider following him. A subtle, dangerous aura now clung to him, a clear warning to all would-be predators.

As the sky began to darken and the streetlamps flickered to life, he saw a familiar, dignified figure walking toward him. It was Sebas. Erwin continued on his path, not breaking stride, and as they passed each other like two strangers in the evening crowd, he whispered, his voice barely a breath of sound.

"Go back to the café."

Sebas gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, his own path altering as he turned to head back. His plan was now halted, superseded by a direct order. Erwin kept walking, his face a mask of calm purpose.

…

Back at Café LeBlanc, the last of the day's loyal customers had departed, leaving Soma to clean up in the warm, quiet space. He wiped down the counter and stacked the last of the clean mugs, the easy rhythm of the work a comfort after a long day.

Just as he finished, two figures entered the main café floor from two different routes. Zero, looking refreshed after his long meditation, descended the stairs from the living quarters. At the same moment, the front door opened, and Erwin stepped inside, home from his reconnaissance.

"Well, welcome to the café floor, you two," Soma said cheerfully.

Erwin closed the door behind him and flipped the sign to 'CLOSED', the sound of the bolt sliding home echoing in the quiet room. "I have more leads," he announced without preamble, taking off his hat. "And I think I know where I need to go next."

"Good," Zero said, a new energy buzzing around him. "I also had a breakthrough during my meditation. I want all of you to come with me. Where's Sebas?"

"He will be here in a minute," Erwin replied.

"Great!" Soma declared, rubbing his hands together. "Now, shall we have dinner first? I just made schnitzel, and I would hate to eat it all alone."

Zero smirked. "You were in charge of the café alone all day, and now you're throwing a pity party?"

"Ohh, poor me," Soma lamented dramatically. "Thankfully, I'm a Master Chef. If I weren't, this café would have gone bankrupt in less than a minute with so few customers."

Zero let out a mock laugh. "Ha ha, shut up. You're not even as good as Liu Mao Xing."

"Hey! Take that back!" Soma shouted.

Zero just giggled and darted away as Soma gave chase, their playful argument filling the café with a familiar, chaotic energy. Erwin watched them go, then his eyes fell on the four plates of perfectly golden-brown, crispy schnitzel Soma had left on the counter. A deep, weary sigh escaped his lips—the sigh of a tired father who had come home from a long day at work only to find he had more work to do. With a quiet resignation, Erwin gathered all four plates and began carrying them upstairs.

The three of them moved around the large dining table, the easy rhythm of domesticity settling over them as they set out plates and cutlery for dinner. The tension of the day had faded, replaced by a comfortable quiet.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

The scream ripped through the peaceful atmosphere. Soma, who had been placing forks, jumped back, pointing a trembling finger toward the large window. A dark figure had just leapt through the open frame from the rooftop outside, landing silently on the pine floor in a perfect, balanced crouch. It was Sebas.

"Sebas!" Zero exclaimed, his heart still hammering in his chest. "Can you not come in through the window? We have a perfectly good front door, you know."

Sebas straightened up, calmly brushing a non-existent piece of dust from his sleeve. "My apologies, Master," he said, his voice a placid baritone. "I wanted to ensure that I was not seen entering the building. It is important that I maintain the appearance of having no affiliation with this café."

Zero sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well... I guess that works."

"Hey!" Soma yelped, still recovering from the shock. "You're just going to accept his not-so-normal explanation just like that?!"

…

An hour later, the four of them were finishing their meal. The delicious schnitzel had done much to calm everyone's nerves.

"Okay," Zero said, setting down his fork and pushing his clean plate away. "Let's hear about today."

Soma's cheerful demeanor faded, replaced by a grim pragmatism. "The café had a... significant decrease in both customers and revenue," he reported.

"Is it that bad?" Zero asked.

"From a business perspective? Yes," Soma said, leaning forward. "Based on today's earnings, I estimate we can maybe pull four 11-pulls' worth of Gacha points every month. If we're lucky." He looked at Zero pointedly. "That's roughly what we were making in a single week before the news about you got out."

The weight of the statement settled heavily in the room. "So you're saying our old weekly revenue... is now our new monthly revenue," Zero clarified, his voice flat.

"With the customer traffic we have now? Yeah," Soma confirmed.

Zero sighed, the sound heavy with a familiar resignation. "Alright."

Soma continued, his expression hardening. "And about the Vipers' 'protection money'. That 3000 Sol they're demanding? If we decide to pay them, they will be taking approximately eighty percent of our new monthly income. Every single month."

The number was suffocating. It wasn't a tax; it was a death sentence for their business.

"With Sebas here," Erwin stated calmly, having listened to the entire report without a change in expression, "I do not believe any thugs from the Vipers can defeat him in a direct confrontation."

"That may be so," Sebas said, his voice a respectful counterpoint. "But after my brief meeting with them last night, I do not believe we can be complacent about their strength or their influence. A direct fight might solve the immediate problem but could invite a much larger one."

Erwin rubbed his chin, his blue eyes distant as he processed the variables. Then, he snapped his fingers, a sharp, decisive sound in the quiet room. An idea had formed.

"Let them come to the café," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "And let them make a ruckus."

Soma slammed his hands on the table, his chair scraping backward. "Are you crazy?!" he shouted, his protective instincts flaring. "You may be a clone of Zero, but you weren't here when those thugs came and slammed his head into the bar! So maybe you don't understand wh—"

"Yes, I do," Erwin cut him off, his voice perfectly calm but carrying an authority that silenced Soma instantly. "I know what you feel, because I felt it too. But I want this to happen. I want them to come here and cause a scene." He looked around the table, his gaze sharp and strategic. "I want this to be my opener. The first move on my stage."

Zero, who had been listening silently, leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He steepled his fingers under his chin, a calculating glint in his own eyes. The fear and anger were gone, replaced by a sharp, intellectual curiosity.

"Alright, Erwin," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Elaborate."

A small, cold smile touched Erwin's lips. It wasn't a smile of warmth or humor, but the chilling, confident expression of a general seeing the battlefield laid out before him, every move and counter-move already calculated.

"My plan is simple," he began, his voice calm and measured, cutting through the tension in the room. "We turn their aggression into our opportunity. We will create a public spectacle, a piece of theatre with a very specific audience."

He looked at Zero and Soma. "The next time the Vipers come to collect their 'donation,' you will refuse them. You will be polite but firm. You will not give them a single Sol."

Soma immediately tensed. "And then what? They'll just start breaking things! They'll hurt Zero again!"

"Precisely," Erwin said, his blue eyes unwavering. "That is the point. They will become angry. They will threaten you. They will attempt to intimidate the few loyal customers we have. They will make a loud, public, and undeniable ruckus. They will likely threaten Zero physically again, to make an example of him." He saw the fury building in Soma's eyes and held up a hand.

"This is where the next act begins," he continued. "I will be here, sitting at a table, acting as just another customer enjoying a meal. When they lay a hand on Zero, I will intervene." He paused, letting the image form in their minds. "I will stand up and publicly decry the state of this city's security. I will ask, loudly, 'Where are the Sentinels of this kingdom? Does this city have no protectors at all?'"

"Sentinels?" Zero asked, catching the strange detail. "They're called Watchers."

"Exactly," Erwin confirmed. "My use of the wrong term—the term for the Athenean Concord's elite police force—will establish me as an outsider, someone unfamiliar with local terminology but well-versed in the principles of law and order. It makes my cover story more credible."

He continued, laying out the scene. "After you correct me, I will deal with the thugs. I will neutralize them efficiently and publicly. With the immediate threat gone and the remaining customers watching, I will make my final declaration. I will state that this kingdom's authority is a joke, that its Watchers are either corrupt or incompetent, and that its citizens are not safe. This will, undoubtedly, offend any loyalists in the crowd, but that is irrelevant. The performance is not for them."

"And what if they're stronger than you think?" Soma argued, still not convinced. "What if more of them show up?"

"That is Contingency Alpha," Erwin said smoothly. "Sebas will also be present, sitting at another table, also as a customer. He is our insurance policy. If the situation escalates beyond my control, he will intervene. He is the overwhelming force; I am merely the actor on the stage."

"And after you've beaten them and insulted the entire kingdom's legal system?" Zero asked, leaning forward, his mind now fully engaged with the cold logic of the plan.

"The Watchers cannot ignore a public disturbance of this nature, especially one that ends with their pet gang being humiliated and their own competence being publicly questioned," Erwin explained. "They will have to investigate. They will find me: a capable fighter, an outspoken critic, and a supposed outsider. I will then reveal my credentials as an 'ex-private detective' from a distant land, disgusted by the lack of order in this city. A man like that is a problem for them. And the easiest way to control a problematic critic is to put him on your own payroll. It is my entry point into their organization."

He looked at Zero, his expression grimly serious. "For this to work, you must appear to be the victim. The threat against you must be credible. It will be unpleasant, but your Archdemon body can withstand the initial assault. Your role as the 'defenseless demon proprietor' is crucial to selling the entire narrative."

The room fell silent. Soma looked at Zero, his face a mask of worry. Zero looked at Erwin, seeing not a clone, but a ruthless, brilliant strategist offering them a dangerous, but viable, path out of their predicament. He thought of the thugs, of the feeling of powerlessness, and made his decision.

"Alright, Erwin," Zero said, a hard glint in his eyes. "Let's set the stage."

Soma held up a hand, cutting through the intense, strategic energy that had filled the room. "Hold up, hold up, calm down, General," he said, looking from Erwin to Zero. "Before we start planning our glorious revolution, Sebas didn't even get a chance to report his intelligence plan."

Zero blinked, pulled from his trance of tactical possibilities. A sheepish grin spread across his face. "Ehehehe, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just got too hyped up from the plan. My bad."

All eyes turned to the dignified butler. Sebas gave a slight, patient nod. "About my intelligence group plan," he began, his voice a calm and steady counterpoint to the previous excitement. "I will not be targeting the powerful. I intend to use the people this city considers 'low-born'."

"Which people are you talking about?" Soma asked, leaning forward with interest.

"I will take from the ranks of the beggars who see every face that passes," Sebas explained, his gaze distant as if he were already seeing the network in his mind's eye. "The servers in taverns who overhear the loose talk of Watchmen. The maids and servants who are invisible within the halls of the nobility. Even the demon slaves, who are treated as less than furniture but are privy to their masters' darkest secrets." He looked at each of them in turn. "These are the unthreatening people. The ones who listen, hear, see, and touch the very sources of power, yet are never noticed."

"And I guess this will be a long-term plan," Zero mused, the strategic value immediately apparent.

"Longer than Young Master Erwin's plan, certainly," Sebas confirmed. "It will be a network built on trust and mutual benefit, not coercion. It will take time to cultivate."

Erwin, who had been listening intently, nodded in approval. "Hmmm, that could be very good," he said. "A deep-cover intelligence network running in sync with my own infiltration of the Watchers. I can use your information channel to identify corrupt officials and smoothen my climb through their ranks."

"It would be an honor, Young Master Erwin," Sebas replied with a slight bow. "For I will help whenever I can, for all of you."

"Alright then," Zero said, clapping his hands together. "Two solid plans. I guess the meeting is adjourned for toni—"

"Wait!" Soma interjected once again, pointing an accusatory finger at Zero. "What about you? Didn't you say you had a breakthrough during your meditation?"

Zero froze, his eyes widening. "Oh, yeah!" he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. "Sorry. There were a lot of mind-churning plans being thrown around. It completely jumbled my thoughts."

"You should be more mindful, Master," Sebas advised gently. "I can give you several exercises to help you focus your thoughts and energy."

Zero scratched his head and laughed awkwardly. "Ehehehe, I know, I know. I'll work on it." He looked around at the three of them, his expression turning serious again. "For my breakthrough... I'm going to need all of your help. Come, sit on the floor with me."

He stood up from the dinner table and walked to the center of the living room, sitting down cross-legged. Puzzled but intrigued, Soma, Erwin, and Sebas followed his lead, arranging themselves in a small circle around him on the polished pine floor.

Zero sat them down in a circle on the floor, the weight of their long day settling around them. "So," he began, his voice quiet but filled with a new kind of energy, "all day, I've been meditating. I've been trying to see, feel, and understand my power with the limited knowledge that our soon-to-be Chief of Police here," he gestured to Erwin, "gathered from the library."

He looked at his own hands. "At some point, I realized something important about what Cecil told me. He used two different terms: 'Racial Talent' and 'Power'. My Racial Talent is 'Clone.' My Power is 'Gacha.' This suggests that the Gacha is a fixed gift, my golden finger, the thing I can't change or train. But a 'talent'... a talent is something innate that can be practiced, honed, and improved. I think I can get stronger, make more of you, and control our connection better, but I need to practice it."

"So what do you need our help with?" Soma asked, intrigued.

"Grab each other's hands," Zero instructed. "And close your eyes."

They linked hands, forming a small, complete circle on the floor. Soma snickered. "Are we about to summon Cthulhu or something?"

A few of them chuckled, but they did as he asked, the room falling into a deep, meditative silence.

"Now," Zero said calmly, his voice a steady guide in the darkness behind their eyelids. "Try to sense each other's energy. Don't just think about it. Feel it. See the cards that make up our souls."

Time stretched. The only sound was their soft, synchronized breathing. For Soma and Erwin, it was difficult at first, a confusing jumble of their own thoughts. But for Sebas, a master of Ki and internal energy, the path was clearer.

"I think... I see it," Sebas said after a long moment, his voice a low murmur. His eyes remained closed. "Young Master Erwin's soul... it is a sphere of steady, blue light. And orbiting it, like two moons spinning adjacent to each other, are two distinct cards."

"Yes," Zero confirmed, his own voice sounding distant. "That's it. He's made of two cards, after all. Now you two, try to see it."

Soma focused, pushing past the phantom tastes and smells that usually filled his mind. He saw a blur, then a flash of blue light, and for a split second, he could perceive the two tarot cards—the Commander and the Detective—spinning in a perfect, impossible balance. Erwin, ever the analyst, didn't see it as a picture but as a structure, a logical framework of two intertwined power sources.

"Now," Zero's voice guided them again. "Look at me. Look at my soul."

They shifted their focus. And what they saw made them all catch their breath. Zero's soul was a deep, powerful core of dark, crimson energy, like a miniature, sleeping sun. But emanating from it were three brilliant, blood-red strings of light. Each thread stretched out across the void of their shared consciousness, connecting directly to the core of each of them—one to Soma, one to Erwin, and one to Sebas. The strings pulsed with a gentle, rhythmic light, like a shared heartbeat. They were the tethers, the lifelines, the very definition of their connection to the original.

"That's enough for today," Zero said, his voice sounding strained but satisfied. He opened his eyes, and the vision vanished. "I can't say for sure what we accomplished, but... I can feel it. I see a path for growth with this training."

Soma opened his eyes, looking a little dazed. "So, are we going to do this every night now? This weird soul-holding-hands thing?"

Zero nodded. "Mmm-hmm. We'll do this exercise every time we're done with our meeting. It's how we'll get stronger together."

"Consistency breeds good results," Erwin stated, his analytical mind already seeing the long-term benefits of such training.

Sebas simply said, "I agree."

"Alright then," Zero said, a sense of real, tangible progress finally settling over him. "With this, our meeting for tonight is officially adjourned."