BRIZON'S POV

When I heard she was here, I did nothing but search for her, but I knew she was aware of my presence, so she remained elusive.

I scoured every corner until I reached the back of the engineering building.

"Are you looking for me?"

I swiftly dodged as soon as she spoke. Whenever facing her, alertness was key—she never fought fair.

"You know, you're too ugly."

I estimated her about five meters away, but in the blink of an eye, she stood right in front of me.

I stared, her smirk evident as she leaned in close.

That's her tell...

I tried to retreat, but it was too late; a powerful blow to my stomach doubled me over.

Anyone hit like that would squirm.

"You and your dirty tactics again," I managed through gritted teeth, creating distance to prepare for her next attack.

"And you still haven't managed to block those so-called 'dirty tactics'?"

She taunted, insulting me effortlessly.

She truly was the definition of an annoying brat.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, needing to understand her purpose. She wasn't one to waste time without reason.

"Why so rude?" she pouted, feigning hurt, a whisper in my ear quickening my heartbeat uncomfortably.

Her scent was sickly sweet.

"TORRES!"

My name called, I snapped back to reality, but Hyra was gone. How long had I stood there?

"Are you alright? I was taking a shortcut to class and found you frozen in place," Joshua said, concern in his voice as he approached, patting my shoulder. "Heading to class? Let's go together."

I understood his intention—to avoid scolding alone.

"I'm not feeling well. You go ahead; I'll head home."

Without waiting for a reply, I turned away, heading straight for the parking lot and my car.

I needed some air.

I drove to Paradise, Nathan's bar. Even from a distance, I heard the chaotic noise—Nathan wasn't around.

Before entering, I retrieved something from my car—the mask that marked me as the district leader, responsible for the twelfth district.

"The twelfth district leader is here. Let him through," I smirked beneath my mask. One perk of my position: free entry and drinks.

Conversation halted as patrons bowed respectfully as I passed.

It was easy to make their lives hell if they defied me.

"This way, sir," a waitress guided me to a VIP seat.

I noted the new, predominantly female staff—likely Jarvis' doing.

"Boogshh!"

A commotion from another VIP area caught my attention—a man causing a ruckus, throwing objects recklessly.

Not good. Nathan would be furious if this continued during my visit.

"He's always like that. Some customers are scared; the staff can't handle him," the waitress explained, noticing my concern.

I sighed.

"Prepare a drink for me. I'll handle this," I instructed calmly. I was pleased with myself for not striking immediately.

"Pardon?"

"Let's talk privat—SWOOOSH!"

I turned just in time to avoid his sudden attack.

"Which party are you off to, wearing a mask?" he mocked, barely restraining laughter.

"He doesn't know Tres?"

"Pity him."

"What mountain is he from, not knowing Tres?"

"How ignorant."

"Lord Tres, teach him a lesson!"

Cracking my knuckles, I closed the distance, delivering a fierce headbutt and a precise stomach punch, finishing with an elbow strike to the back of his head.

He fell, and suddenly, four more men emerged, attacking simultaneously—two from each side.

They planned this?

Pfft. Amusing.

I swiftly evaded two approaching from the right, turning to deliver a powerful kick to the face of one, sending him flying several meters, blood gushing.

Another, armed with a knife, lunged at me. I blocked his strike with my hand, the blade piercing my palm.

"Ouch!"

"HA! HA!" Was he laughing or crying? Either way, I silenced him by yanking out the knife and hurling it back at him.

"BOOGSH!"

Onlookers gasped as the knife found its mark in his throat.

"Give me your mask," a cold voice behind me demanded, a knife at my throat.

To reach my current position, they'd have to take this mask—but that was unlikely. I hadn't risen here through kindness.

I seized his wrist, slamming him into the wall, hearing bones crack.

A sudden movement behind me—a boomerang whizzed past, embedding itself in the wall.

"I guess you owe someone a debt," a familiar voice said.

I turned.

"Hi!" he greeted, but I ignored him. Conversing with a lower student was forbidden for an elite like me.

In university, strict rules ensured elites never mixed with ordinary students—they ate first, separate from the rest.

Elites received special treatment.

"Clean up," I commanded Paradise's staff. They obeyed promptly; disobedience meant Nathan's wrath.

"Ehem!" I cleared my throat, speaking softly.

"Did you know she's here?"

"Who?"

I gritted my teeth. His ignorance grated—of all people, he should know if Hyra had arrived. He was closest to her.

"What's Hyra planning?"

Again, I demanded answers.

"Why so many questions? Maybe she's just here to study. That woman's stupid; she needs to study."

I probed, but his calm aura revealed nothing.

"Don't meddle with her plans, unless you want to lose everything," He warned, eyes wide, and he had already left, leaving me to foot his bill.

Tch. He always made me pay.

I shook my head. They hadn't changed—the same people I knew before the mask.

I watched as he disappeared into the bustling bar, frustration simmering beneath my composed exterior. Despite the chaos around me, thoughts of Hyra lingered, her unexpected return stirring unsettling questions.

Nathan's absence meant I had some freedom, yet the atmosphere crackled with tension. I scanned the room, alert for any sign of trouble.

"Sir, your drink," the waitress returned, interrupting my thoughts. She placed a glass in front of me with a nervous smile.

"Thank you," I acknowledged, taking a sip, the alcohol burning slightly as it went down. It helped numb the ache in my palm where the knife had pierced.

As I contemplated my next move, a figure approached—a woman in an elegant dress, her gaze confident, yet wary.

"Excuse me, District Leader Brizon," she began respectfully, "I have urgent news."

I raised an eyebrow, acknowledging her presence. "Speak."

"It's about Her," she continued in a hushed tone, glancing around cautiously. "She's been seen in underground since last year. Rumors suggest she's looking for something... or someone."

My jaw tensed. Hyra's sudden reappearance was no coincidence. She always had a purpose, and it usually spelled trouble for someone.

"Keep me informed," I instructed curtly, dismissing her with a nod. My mind raced with possibilities—what game was she playing now?

Before I could dwell further, a commotion erupted near the entrance. A group of rowdy patrons, emboldened by liquor, clashed with bouncers, their voices rising in anger.

"Sir, should we intervene?" the waitress asked, concern etched on her face.

I surveyed the escalating situation. Nathan would not tolerate such disturbances in his absence. Swift action was necessary to maintain order.

"Handle it discreetly," I ordered, gesturing subtly. "Contain the situation before it escalates further."

She nodded, signaling to the bouncers who moved swiftly to defuse the confrontation. It was moments like these that tested my authority—a delicate balance between power and restraint.

As chaos settled into uneasy calm, I returned to my drink, thoughts returning to Hyra. Whatever her agenda, it threatened the fragile peace I worked hard to maintain in District 12.

FLASHBACK

I was ten years old when my parents died. They perished in a supposed car accident, but I couldn't shake the feeling that foul play was involved. My father, a skilled racer, and my mother, knowledgeable about cars—both taken from me by a gunshot wound the police dismissed as incidental.

By twelve, consumed with grief and a thirst for justice, I prowled dark streets, senses alert to any presence trailing me. A figure matched my pace, closing in with each hurried step.

"Hi! Open-minded ka ba?"

A girl, seemingly my age, approached with an odd question. Was she interested in me? Or was this some scam?

"Ano bang pinagsasabi mo? Wala akong panahon sa mga scam-scam na 'yan," I replied, turning to leave.

"I know your parents and who killed them," she asserted, casually balancing on a fence.

Intrigued, I halted. "Who are you? What do you know?"

"I'm your guardian angel," she giggled. "I'll grant you a wish. Do you want to know who killed your parents?"

Desperate for answers, I nodded, unsure of her sincerity.

"Then beg," she demanded, turning away.

I hesitated, then knelt before her. "I beg you, tell me."

In moments, she stood before me again, smiling—a chill ran down my spine.

"Follow me," she commanded, leading me to a grand gate. The Clinton residence loomed. Impossible—Garret Clinton, once close to our family, now implicated?

Hyra, perched on the fence, licked a lollipop, unfazed by my disbelief.

"Why are you still here? Go in and kill him," she urged.

"I'm not a killer," I protested.

"Tch!" She scoffed, tossing me the lollipop. Annoyed, she prepared to leap the fence, but I grabbed her, and we both fell.

She straddled me, close enough for me to see her beauty—the delicate features, porcelain skin, captivating eyes.

"Who are you really?"

She raised an eyebrow but remained seated. "I'm Hyra Demonise Fukishima. I knew your parents—Mr. Clarkson and Mrs. Yein. They were targeted, and now, you inherit their legacy, including the Twelfth Mask. Leadership demands action without hesitation."

"Have you killed before?" I asked, uneasy.

She shrugged, and silence fell.

"Hey!" She broke the silence. "Do you like me sitting on you?"

Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet, flustered.

Inside, she led, navigating expertly. Had she been here before?

"I'll check the rooms. You find him after I pee," she announced, dashing off, lollipop still in mouth—disgusting.

I searched, finally hearing a sinister laugh from a room. Peering in, I saw Garret Clinton, mid-conversation on the phone.

"You're wrong. I didn't order my men to kill the Torres couple; I did it myself."

Rage surged, and I grasped a knife, its blade glinting.

"Eeeeeckkk!" The door creaked.

"Sino ka?!" Garret startled, seeing me approach.

"Recognize me? Take a good look, Uncle," I taunted.

"Is that you, Brizon?" He feigned nonchalance.

"I'm the son of the people you killed," I declared.

Cough! Cough!

He choked.

"SECURITY! SECURITY!" Garret screamed, futilely.

"I have money. I can give you whatever you want," he pleaded, desperation in his eyes.

"I want my parents back," I said coldly, advancing.

He hurled a vase, blood streaming from my head, but justice was my sole focus.

Picking up a shard, I lunged, slashing his throat, pressing harder.

"Wow! Parang hindi mo first time pumatay huh!"

Hyra's voice startled me. The lollipop still in her mouth, now splattered with blood—had she slain the guards?

Approaching Garret, she tugged his hair, his terror palpable.

"Don't come near me," he stammered.

"I'm here for what's mine," Hyra declared, brandishing a mask marked with a sinister "12." "I'll ensure he's dead," she stated as I tried to pull her away.

He gasped for air, soon to be gone.

Hyra ranted, slashing at his throat until...

Blood coated her face.

I stepped closer, wiping it away.

–

When we got away from the Clarkson mansion we stopped in a park and sat on the swing. We were both quiet and no one wanted to talk. I don't know but just now I felt relieved. Is it because I have achieved the justice I have long hoped for? Or because of this girl?

This weird girl who can kill guards effortlessly and fearlessly?

-Step, step, step.

I looked up as she stopped in front of me. She smiled again. Shit!. That smile was soothing.

"For you" She handed me the mask she had taken from Mr. Clinton's house. She says she owns it and just stole it from her, but why is she giving it to me now?. "Like I said before, your dad should own it but since he's gone, I'll leave it to you"

"I do not understand you"

"You go to the Vixen Mafia carrying that mask, they'll welcome you there and treat you well. You will meet the other mask holder there. Befriend them and gain trust. When I come back I will take back what is mine"

I was about to ask when she suddenly disappeared from my sight. What the heck, how does she do that?. Is she a witch?.

–

I spent a few days wondering about what that girl said and now I just find myself standing in front of a huge gate. It is twice the size of the gate of the Clinton family, and it has golds around it.

I put on the mask and knocked. Less than three knocks, it opened and I was greeted by more than a hundred men in black suits. They lined up in a straight line and at the same time bowed as if they had practiced it.

"Welcome to Vixen Mafia, twelfth mask" They said at once.

Since then they have explained to me everything about the mask and the thirteen districts. I once asked them about the girl but none of them knew her. That's weird.

I was sixteen years old when I was appointed as one of the thirteen leaders they gave me the twelfth district that I had to lead. I also met other district leaders.

They asked me how I got the mask of the twelve leaders and I told them the truth, that I was the son of its supposed owner. They killed and took my dad's mask in retaliation for what they did I killed that person and also took the mask from him.

-

When we escaped from the Clarkson mansion, we found solace in a park, sitting silently on swings. No words were exchanged, yet a strange sense of relief washed over me. Had justice finally been served, or was it this enigmatic girl beside me?

This girl who dispatched guards effortlessly and without remorse?

Step, step, step.

I glanced up as she approached, smiling softly. Damn, that smile was calming.

"For you." She handed me the mask she had taken from Mr. Clinton's house. "As I said, your dad should have owned it, but since he's gone, I'll leave it to you."

"I don't understand," I admitted.

"Take it to the Vixen Mafia," she instructed calmly. "They'll welcome you, and you'll meet the other mask holders. Befriend them, gain their trust. When I return, I'll reclaim what's mine."

Before I could respond, she vanished. How does she do that? Is she a witch?

Days passed, and her words lingered in my mind. Now, I stood before a massive gate, twice the size of the Clinton family's, adorned with gold.

I donned the mask and knocked. The gate swung open almost instantly, revealing over a hundred men in black suits who lined up and bowed in unison.

"Welcome to Vixen Mafia, twelfth mask," they intoned in chorus.

From that day on, they educated me about the mask and the thirteen districts. I inquired about the girl, but none knew of her. Odd.

At sixteen, I ascended as one of the thirteen leaders, entrusted with the twelfth district. I met the other leaders, sharing the story of how I had claimed the twelfth mask in revenge for my father.

Days turned into months as I settled into my role within the Vixen Mafia. Each day brought new challenges and alliances to forge among the district leaders. Yet, amidst the bustling life of the underworld, thoughts of the girl who had set me on this path often crossed my mind.

One evening, as I patrolled the streets of the twelfth district, I heard a familiar voice echoing through the alleyways. The soft sound of laughter drew nearer, accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of heels on pavement. I turned to see her approaching, her white hood casting a shadow over her face until she pulled it back, revealing a mischievous grin.

"Long time no see," she greeted, her voice tinged with amusement.

I nodded in acknowledgment, unsure of how to react. "What brings you back here?"

She shrugged casually, her eyes scanning the dimly lit streets. "Business, you could say. The kind that involves unfinished affairs."

I couldn't help but be intrigued by her cryptic words. "Are you here to reclaim what you lost?"

Her smile widened knowingly. "Something like that."

We walked in silence for a while, the city sounds fading into the background as we navigated the familiar territory. Despite the years apart, there was an unspoken understanding between us, forged in blood and shared secrets.

"So, how's life as a district leader?" she asked casually, breaking the silence.

"It's... different," I admitted, choosing my words carefully. "I've learned a lot, made alliances, faced challenges."

She nodded thoughtfully, her gaze distant for a moment. "You've come a long way since that night."

I paused, recalling the events that led me here. "You set me on this path. Why?"

Her expression softened, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. "Because you had the fire in you, the desire for justice. I saw potential."

"And what about you?" I pressed, curiosity getting the better of me. "What drives you?"

Her gaze met mine, intense and unwavering. "Revenge," she admitted quietly. "But also redemption."

Before I could respond, a commotion erupted nearby. We turned to see a group of rival gang members causing trouble, their voices raised in anger. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her presence commanding attention.

"Deal with them," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded, knowing better than to question her orders. As I approached the group, tensions escalated, but I remained calm, drawing on the confidence instilled in me by my time in the mafia. With a few strategic words and gestures, I managed to defuse the situation, sending the rival gang members on their way.

When I returned to her side, she regarded me with a newfound respect. "Not bad," she remarked, a hint of pride in her voice.

As we resumed walking, I couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with her. Despite our differences and the darkness that surrounded us, we were bound by a shared purpose—to reclaim what was lost and seek justice in a world where power ruled.

"So, what now?" I asked, curious about her plans.

She glanced at me, a mysterious gleam in her eyes. "Now, we prepare for the next move. The game is far from over."

And with those words hanging in the air, we continued down the shadowy streets, two figures intertwined in a world where masks hid secrets and alliances determined fates.

–

PRESENT

After her visit, it never happened again. I waited and waited but no one showed, but now that she is here I don't know what to do. I get nervous every time I approach her.

I know her and I know she will do no good. It's just a matter of time before he reveals herself.

As I watch Her, doubts gnaw at me. Her smiles seem too rehearsed, her gestures too calculated. Is she here out of genuine concern, or does she have another agenda? I can't shake the feeling that there's more to her presence than meets the eye."

Brizon Torres (TRES)