Grandpa Gena moved with the ease of a regular here.
The madam greeted him the moment he entered. But Gena was a man of few words, his replies clipped and brief.
"Two." He dropped a coin purse into her palm. "My student picks his own."
Without another word, Gena swept two women in their twenties into his arms and disappeared upstairs. Leaving Boka frozen mid-step, mouth slightly agape.
The madam had never seen Boka before. New faces—especially ones wearing such guileless expressions—were far more profitable than old regulars.
"Choose freely, honored guest," she purred.
Women lined the hallway benches, winking at Boka. In Albion, such establishments operated legally—a policy Duke Clar had championed in his youth to curb rampant assaults on women. The law mandated monthly health checks for workers, though corruption still seeped through the cracks. Still, safety had improved vastly from the shadowy days before legalization.
Some girls here were barely older than Aisha. Albion strictly enforced a seventeen-year minimum age.
"They..." Boka trailed off, puzzled.
"They only chat with guests. Nothing more."
*Ah.* An apprenticeship, then. A way to earn before coming of age. Their vacant stares made Boka’s chest tighten.
"I’ll just... talk."
Intimacy felt unthinkable. If Cynthia ever learned he’d set foot here... He’d rather hide than stand idle. Besides, Gena had already paid.
"Lily." The madam beckoned a blonde girl with sea-green eyes. "Attend to Master Gena’s student. Show respect." Her tone brooked no argument.
"Mhm." Lily ambled over, chewing candy. "Uncle, my room has picture books. Want to see?"
"O-Okay." Boka nodded.
His eyes flicked past her—to tattooed brutes lounging in the inner hall. Places like this needed their own enforcers. If he crossed a line with Lily... well. The consequences were obvious.
Lily led him upstairs with practiced ease. Moans and rhythmic slapping echoed from every room. Boka’s face burned crimson; Lily skipped ahead, utterly unfazed.
"Here we are!" She flung open a door.
Boka stepped inside cautiously. Frilly curtains. Stuffed toys on the dresser. A girl’s room—nothing like Aisha’s old-fashioned austerity.
"Rule one." Lily huffed, plopping onto the bed. "Try anything, and the downstairs boys come up with cleavers."
"Understood..." *Exactly as I thought.*
"So, Uncle," she propped her feet on the table, "what’ll we chat about?"
"I’m waiting for my teacher." He paced near the window. "And I’m twenty-three. Not ‘Uncle’."
"Twelve years older. Should I call you ‘Big Brother’ then?"
"...Fine. Whatever you like."
Silence swallowed the room. Boka scanned the streetlights below—brothels were banned from main districts to preserve Albion’s image. Patrons valued anonymity. Guards even blocked wives searching for straying husbands at the alley entrance.
Lily finally snapped. "What’s *wrong* with you?!"
"Talking to you."
"Have we even spoken?"
"We are now."
...
"Uncle. Are you stupid?"
"People say that often."
Lily sighed, already writing him off as another boring client dragged here by Gena. "Waiting for that old fossil Gena? Give up. He stays all night. *Enjoys* it."
Boka froze. *That’s why he paid so much?* The thought of frail, trembling Gena "enjoying" anything made his stomach churn.
"You’ve been here long?" he asked quietly.
"Since I was eight."
"Doesn’t it... bother you?" The smoke, the sounds—it choked him. How could a child endure it?
"Nah! I like it." She grinned. "Full meals. Tips from guests."
"...What about your parents?"
"Uncle," she chided, "asking about parents is rude here."
*Of course.* No normal family would let a child near this place. His question tasted foolish.
"But I don’t mind." She shrugged. "They’re dead anyway."
"Sorry."
"Actually..." She flashed a gap-toothed smile. "You’re not like other guests. Too honest."
"Am I?"
"Yeah. Like Doctor Baird. Though *he* plays with the older sisters."
"Baird?" Boka stiffened. "The famous physician?"
"Yep! He’s here now. Two nights straight."
"You’re lying." Boka’s voice turned icy. "A child shouldn’t lie."
"I’m *not*!" Lily bristled. "Baird would *never* come here! He’s honorable! Cynthia’s husband!"
"He’s next door!" she shot back. "Two days! Ask him yourself!"
"*Brat!*" Boka pinched her cheeks.
"*You* pinched *me*!" She twisted his arm. "Bully!"
"You started it!"
"I *told* you—he’s the one-eyed-glass doctor next door!"
*One-eyed-glass...*
Baird only wore his monocle at night—for writing, for examining tiny details. Outsiders wouldn’t know that.
Boka’s blood turned to ice. *What if she’s telling the truth?*
"Next door?" He released her.
"Go knock!" Lily rubbed her reddened cheeks, tears welling. "See for yourself!"
Boka stood. Walked to the door. Stopped at the neighboring room. He tapped twice. Footsteps approached. He gestured for Lily to stand before the peephole. Sniffling, she obeyed.
"Who is it?"
*That voice.* Boka’s pulse hammered.
"It’s Lily, Doctor Baird. I think I’m sick."
A pause. Then: "Hmm." The lock clicked.
Boka shoved the door open before it fully opened. The man behind it stumbled back, monocle clattering to the floor.
Baird stared, slack-jawed—until he recognized Boka. His face drained of color. Lips trembled like he’d seen a ghost.
Boka’s jaw clenched. *Last night.* Cynthia, trembling after a stranger harassed her. Alone. While her husband hid here. *Two nights.* He remembered her tears soaking his shirt. Her broken whisper: *"Why isn’t he home?"*
Rage seared his throat. He grabbed Baird’s collar.
"Do you deserve Cynthia?"
"Boka, I—"
"She hauls crates all day. Her hands are scarred from nails."
"Let me explain—"
"Dorin cried for her father *yesterday*."
"Cynthia’s gentle. Kind. But *you*, Baird!" Boka shook him. "You don’t deserve to be her husband!"
"N-no... it’s not... *they’re* back..." Baird crumpled.
Lily slipped out, guilt twisting her face.
"*Speak clearly!*" Boka raised a fist.
"They came back... for revenge..."
"Who?! What are you *talking* about?!"
"Boka." Baird’s shoulders slumped. "Do you remember the plague seven years ago?"
"*Of course I do!*" Boka snarled.
A third of Albion’s population had vanished overnight. The Blumer Clan reduced to just Cynthia and him. Pyres outside the city walls reeked for miles. No one spoke of it lightly.
"But..." Baird’s whisper cut through the fury. "That plague wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t Nellos’ invasion."
"Everyone knows it was Nellos!"
"No." Baird shook his head, eyes hollow. "The conspiracy came from within. From *us*. From Albion itself."
