Rakshasa sat alone in her room, the environment silent, devoid of distractions, illuminated only by a soft light that highlighted the table before her. On the dark surface, two manuals lay open, positioned side by side with almost ritualistic care.

They were not ordinary books, nor something one would find in any collection.

The paper had an ancient, dense texture, carrying a weight that came not only from the written content, but from the history behind it.

The titles were engraved with precision: Dance of the Demonic Sword and Method of Divine Blood Body Enhancement.

Her gaze slowly scanned the pages, not like someone reading for the first time, but like someone who already knew every line and yet needed to revisit it attentively.

There was no doubt about what those manuals represented. They were not simple techniques, nor even advanced in the common sense. They were the foundations of something that transcended the standard. Something that, when combined, created a specific path. A dangerous path.

She rested her elbow on the table, bringing her fingers to her chin while keeping her eyes fixed on the texts. The silence around her wasn’t empty. It was dense, heavy with thought.

"Teaching this to someone..." she murmured, in a low voice, almost as if she were organizing her own conclusion aloud, "...is the same as creating the next Celestial Demon."

There was no exaggeration in her words. No dramatization. It was a direct statement.

The Demonic Sword Dance wasn’t just a combat style. It was a way to transform the body and mind into something exclusively geared towards efficient destruction, where every movement carried a real intention to kill, without waste, without hesitation. The Divine Blood Body Enhancement Method went even further, molding the body to a level where resistance, regeneration, and adaptability ceased to follow conventional limits.

Separately, they were already dangerous.

Together...

She didn’t finish the thought aloud, but she didn’t need to.

Rakshasa slowly closed one of the manuals, sliding her hand over the cover with a care that belied the violent nature of the content. The other remained open for a few more seconds before she did the same, aligning both on the table with precision.

"This isn’t something you give away lightly," she continued, now more firmly. "It’s not something you teach out of momentary interest... or curiosity."

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs while keeping her gaze on the now-closed books. Her expression wasn’t hesitant, but there was a clear weight to it. A line she wouldn’t cross without reason.

"This can only be given to someone who will stand by my side," she said, more to herself than anything else. "For all eternity."

Marriage.

The word wasn’t spoken this time, but it was implied.

Not as something symbolic.

But as a real contract.

Rakshasa wasn’t someone who treated power lightly. Much less something on this level. Teaching this meant sharing more than just knowledge. It meant creating someone who could, at the very least, walk alongside her on equal footing at some point in the future.

And that wasn’t a simple decision.

She remained silent for a few seconds, her eyes still fixed on the manuals, as if weighing possibilities that weren’t yet fully formed. Only one thing was clear: it wasn’t something she would do on impulse.

It was at that moment that a light knock sounded on the door.

The sound broke the flow of thought without being intrusive. Rakshasa didn’t move immediately, only glanced towards the entrance, her expression quickly returning to neutral.

"Come in," she said simply.

The door opened carefully, revealing the figure of the butler, who entered with measured steps, impeccable posture, like someone trained never to occupy more space than necessary. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed slightly.

"Madam," he began, in a controlled tone. "Jake Valentine requests an audience."

Rakshasa arched an eyebrow slightly.

"Jake Valentine..." she repeated, as if testing the name.

She didn’t seem surprised.

But she didn’t seem particularly interested either.

"What does he want?" she asked, without changing her tone.

The butler maintained his composure.

"He informed me that he wishes to discuss a specific matter," he replied. "Related to... Victor."

The silence that followed was brief.

But the change was immediate.

Rakshasa’s eyes flashed red for a short, almost imperceptible instant, but intense enough to completely alter the atmosphere around her. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t surprise. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

It was interest.

Slow.

Dangerous.

A small smile began to form at the corner of her mouth, growing slowly, carrying a kind of satisfaction that didn’t come from something positive, but from confirmation.

"Ah..." she murmured.

She leaned slightly forward in her chair, resting her elbow on the table again.

"So it began."

The smile widened a little more.

"The vultures..."

There was no moral judgment in the word. It was just a description.

Natural.

Expected.

Inevitable.

Rakshasa already knew this would happen at some point. Someone like Victor, with the kind of growth he’d been demonstrating, wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. Not in an environment where power was currency and any anomaly was analyzed, measured... and, eventually, contested.

Jake Valentine wasn’t there by chance.

And he definitely wasn’t the only one interested.

Rakshasa rose from her chair calmly, adjusting her posture while her smile remained, now more restrained, but still present.

"You can let him in," she said, looking again at the butler.

There was a small pause before she added, in a slightly lower tone, but full of intention:

"I want to see exactly what he thinks he can get out of this conversation."

The butler nodded.

"Yes, ma’am."

He bowed again before leaving the room, closing the door with the same care with which he had entered.

Rakshasa remained standing for a few seconds, her gaze briefly gliding back to the manuals on the table. Her expression didn’t change, but there was a clear connection between that and what was about to happen.

"Let’s see..." Rakshasa didn’t go directly to the door when the butler left to fetch the visitor.

Instead, she simply took a few steps to the side, moving away from the table while hiding the manuals in her clothing, and made her way to the far end of the room, where a large translucent cloth partially separated the space. It was an ancient architectural detail, more symbolic than functional, but useful enough for the kind of interaction she preferred to maintain.

Without haste, she sat behind the fabric, settling into a lotus position naturally, as if it were an ancient habit. The ambient light was sufficient to project only her silhouette on the other side, a firm and still shadow, impossible to read in detail, but still full of presence. Whoever was on the other side would see the form, but not the eyes, not the expression, not the small changes that betray intention.

It was intentional.

A few seconds later, the door opened again.

The butler entered first, as expected, maintaining his usual impeccable posture, but now accompanied by a figure that completely clashed with the organization of the room. Jake Valentine entered right behind, without the same concern for formality, his gaze sweeping the space directly, almost aggressively, as if he were evaluating everything at once, but without any real interest in anything other than the reason for the visit.

He didn’t bow.

He didn’t ask permission.

He simply stopped a few steps ahead, his eyes fixed on the shadow behind the curtain.

The butler closed the door carefully, positioning himself discreetly beside it, without interfering.

The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was enough to make clear the contrast between the two sides of the room. On one side, absolute control. On the other, a presence that seemed ready to break any rule it deemed irrelevant.

Rakshasa was the first to speak.

"You took your time," she said, her voice calm and steady, coming from behind the curtain without any hurry.

It wasn’t a direct accusation, but it wasn’t a warm welcome either.

Jake let out a small sound through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

"I came," he replied simply, as if that ended any discussion about time.

Rakshasa didn’t react to the answer. The silhouette remained motionless, but there was clear, focused attention there.

"So let’s get straight to the point," she continued bluntly. "Why are you here?"

Jake didn’t answer immediately. He took a few slow steps around the room, analyzing the space like someone who doesn’t feel pressured by the situation, but who also doesn’t completely trust it. His gaze returned to the shadow behind the curtain, fixing itself there with more intensity now.

"I want to know what you want with Victor," she said finally.

The tone wasn’t neutral.

There was something there, contained, but evident.

The way he spoke the name wasn’t casual. It was too direct. Too loaded.

Rakshasa tilted her head slightly to the other side of the cloth, the subtle movement reflected only in the shadow.

"Interesting," she murmured. "You didn’t come to ask about him."

A short pause.

"You came to ask about me."

Jake didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted slightly, his jaw tensing for a second before relaxing again. He didn’t deny it.

"It makes no difference," he said soon after. "It’s the same thing."

Rakshasa let a short silence form before continuing, as if evaluating not only what was said, but how it was said.

"It does make a difference," she replied. "Because one question is curiosity. The other... is intention."

Jake took another step forward, now stopping completely, staring directly at the silhouette.

"Then consider it intention," he said without hesitation.

Rakshasa looked at him through the fabric. "You can leave now," she said slowly. "In less than a minute, you earned my disrespect."