V2.C23. The Prying Eyes

Chapter 23: The Prying Eyes

The casino was alive with the hum of activity, a cacophony of clinking coins, shuffling cards, and the occasional burst of laughter or groan of defeat. The air was thick with the scent of incense, spilled alcohol, and the faint metallic tang of polished stone. The grand hall was a labyrinth of tables, each one surrounded by gamblers of all kinds—nobles in fine silks, merchants with their heavy purses, and adventurers with their worn boots and hungry eyes. The flickering light of the lanterns cast long shadows across the room, their golden glow reflecting off the polished wooden floors and the intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes that adorned the walls.

Mariko moved through the chaos with practiced ease, her steps light and deliberate, her posture poised despite the weight of the tray she carried. She was dressed in the casino's uniform—a deep red dress that hugged her figure, the fabric shimmering faintly in the lantern light. The dress was simple yet elegant, with a high slit that allowed her to move freely as she navigated the crowded room. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, held in place by golden pins that caught the light with every turn of her head. A few strands had escaped, framing her face and giving her an air of effortless beauty.

She was a vision of grace amidst the chaos, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she moved from table to table, delivering drinks and taking orders. Her smile was warm but calculated, her laughter light but never too loud. She knew how to play the part, how to blend in while still standing out. She was a waitress, yes, but she was also a princess, and even in this role, she carried herself with the poise of someone who knew her worth.

As she approached a table of rowdy merchants, she set down a tray of drinks with a practiced flourish, her smile never wavering as they leered at her and made crude jokes. She laughed along, her voice light and teasing, but her eyes were sharp, always scanning, always assessing. She took their orders with a nod, her mind already moving on to the next task.

But as she turned to leave, she felt it—a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, the unmistakable feeling of being watched. She paused, her hand tightening around the edge of the tray, and glanced over her shoulder.

In the far corner of the room, at a table that was unusually quiet compared to the rest of the casino, sat an elderly man. He was hunched over, his face obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, his hands resting on the table in front of him. There was something about him that made Mariko uneasy, something in the way he seemed to blend into the background, unnoticed by the bustling crowd around him.

She turned back to the merchants, forcing a smile as she finished taking their orders, but the feeling didn't go away. It lingered, like a cold breath on the back of her neck, and she couldn't shake the sense that the old man's eyes were on her.

She turned again, this time more deliberately, her gaze locking onto the corner table. But the old man was gone. The table was empty, the chair pushed back as if he had just left. Mariko's heart skipped a beat, and she scanned the room, her eyes darting from table to table, but there was no sign of him. The casino was too crowded, too chaotic, and the old man had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

Just as she was about to dismiss it as her imagination, a voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.

"Mariko."

She turned, her heart pounding, to see one of Boss Shen's goons standing behind her. He was a large man, his muscles bulging beneath his simple tunic, his face impassive but his eyes cold and calculating. He didn't need to say more; his presence alone was enough to make her stomach twist.

"Boss Shen wants to see you in his office," the goon said, his voice low and gravelly.

Mariko forced a smile, her mind racing. "Of course," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her chest. She turned to the merchants, who were already deep in their drinks and barely noticed her departure. "Another waitress will be with you shortly," she said, her tone light and apologetic.

She signaled to another waitress, a young woman with wide eyes and a nervous smile, and gestured toward the table. The girl nodded and hurried over, taking Mariko's place with a tray of drinks in hand.

Mariko turned back to the goon, her smile still in place but her mind already working through the possibilities. Why would Shen call for her now? Did he suspect something? She had been careful, so careful, but Shen was no fool. If there was even the slightest chance that he knew her true intentions—to marry Yogan and use his family's influence to strengthen her kingdom—then she needed to act fast. She couldn't afford to be caught off guard.

As they walked through the casino, the goon leading the way, Mariko's eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail. The gambling tables were packed, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. The sound of dice rolling and cards shuffling filled the air, mingling with the occasional cheer or groan of defeat. She passed a table where a group of nobles were playing a high-stakes game of Shan Kui, their faces tense as they placed their bets. At another table, a group of adventurers were laughing and drinking, their voices loud and boisterous.

But amidst the chaos, her eyes landed on a figure at the bar—a man who seemed out of place, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was unassuming, dressed in simple clothes, but there was something about him that caught her attention. She raised her hand subtly, twirling her outstretched finger in a wide circle. The man noticed immediately, his eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment before he nodded and got up from his bar stool, turning toward the exit.

Mariko's heart raced as she followed the goon through the casino, her mind working through the possibilities. If Shen suspected anything, she would need to leave town fast, and she would need to take Yogan with her. But for now, she would play along, see what Shen wanted, and be ready to act if necessary.

The goon led her through a side door, away from the noise and chaos of the casino floor, and into a narrow corridor. The walls were lined with faded tapestries, their colors muted by years of neglect, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and something else—something metallic, like the tang of blood. The corridor was dimly lit, the flickering light of the lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. A path of stairs leading up.

Mariko's steps were light but deliberate, her senses on high alert. She could feel the weight of the goon's presence behind her, his heavy footsteps echoing in the narrow space. She didn't need to look back to know that his eyes were on her, watching her every move.

As they approached a large wooden door at the end of the corridor, the goon stepped forward and knocked twice, the sound sharp and clear in the stillness. For a moment, there was no response. Then, a voice came from within, low and resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder.

"Enter."

The goon pushed the door open and stepped aside, gesturing for Mariko to go in. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest, and stepped inside.

The room beyond was vast, its walls lined with shelves that held ancient scrolls and artifacts, their surfaces gleaming in the light of the lanterns that hung from the ceiling. The floor was covered in a thick, plush carpet, its patterns intricate and swirling, like the currents of a river. In the center of the room stood a single table, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. Atop the table, seated in the lotus position, was Boss Shen.

He was a massive man, his broad frame draped in a dark robe embroidered with golden tigers. His shaved head gleamed in the lantern light, the deep scars on his face adding to his menacing aura. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto Mariko as she entered, and a cruel smile spread across his face.

"Mariko," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "So good of you to join me."

Mariko forced a smile, her mind racing. "Of course, Boss Shen. How can I be of service?"

Shen leaned back, his massive frame dwarfing the chair. "Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.

Mariko hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, her posture straight, her hands resting lightly on her lap. She could feel the weight of Shen's gaze on her, pressing against her skin like a physical force.

"I've been hearing some interesting rumors," Shen said, his voice low and measured. "Rumors about you, Mariko."

Mariko's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression calm. "Oh? And what kind of rumors would those be?"

Shen's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Rumors that you've been… distracted lately. That your mind isn't entirely on your work."

Mariko forced a laugh, the sound light and carefree. "Distracted? Me? I assure you, Boss Shen, my work is my top priority."

Shen leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "Is that so? Then perhaps you can explain why you've been spending so much time with that aibender, apparently sceaming more than what we agreed upon."

Mariko's stomach twisted, but she kept her smile in place. "Yogan? He's just another means to an end. I've been doing my job, making sure he knows what is at stake here."

Shen's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. "Don't play dumb with me, Mariko. I know you better than that. You're not just a waitress. You're a princess, and you have your own agenda."

Mariko's heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I don't know what you're talking about, Boss Shen. I'm just here to do my job."

Shen's smile faded, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "You're a liar, Mariko. And I don't like liars."

The room fell silent, the tension thick and suffocating. Mariko's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and determination. If Shen knew the truth, then she was in danger. But she couldn't let him see her fear. She had to stay calm, stay in control.

"Boss Shen," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her chest. "I assure you, I have no ulterior motives. I'm here to serve you, just as I always have, I am here as a run away from my family as I mentioned the first time we met. I am indebted to you for so much."

Shen leaned back, his expression unreadable. "We'll see about that, Mariko. We'll see."

The room was silent, the weight of Shen's words hanging in the air. Mariko's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression calm, her mind already working through the possibilities. If Shen suspected anything, she would need to act fast. She couldn't afford to be caught off guard.

For now, she would play along, see what Shen wanted, and be ready to act if necessary. But deep down, she knew that the game had changed, and the stakes had never been higher.

Shen's voice was firm, edged with quiet authority. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as his sharp eyes locked onto Mariko's.

"Do not mess with the future of Daiyo," he said.

The weight behind those words was unmistakable. This was not a warning—it was a command.

"The Big Boss does not take kindly to those who interfere with Daiyo's fate." He let the words settle, his expression unreadable. "Take heed, Princess, and hear my words."

Mariko remained still, her expression carefully composed. She met his gaze evenly, her mind working through every possible meaning behind his statement.

"The messenger should return by morning," Shen continued. "With the Shuji Clan's response. Be ready for it."

A beat of silence passed. Then, his gaze darkened.

"For now, you shouldn't be focused on work." He gestured vaguely. "Your cover as a waitress is trivial when we are this close to our goals."

Mariko inhaled slowly, weighing her words before responding. "I understand."

Shen studied her, his expression betraying nothing. He was waiting—for a reaction, for a slip, for something.

Mariko gave him nothing.

She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of his warning.

Then, without another word, she turned and exited the office.

Mariko turned without another word and exited the office. The heavy wooden door shut behind her with a quiet click, sealing Shen inside his den of schemes. As she stepped down the narrow hallway, the dim lanterns lining the walls flickered, casting long shadows that danced with her movements.

She knew for certain now.

Shen knew her real plan.

And just as clearly, Shen knew that she knew he knew.

A game of silent maneuvers had begun. Now, he would wait and watch, expecting her next move. And she—she would act as if nothing had changed.

Her steps were steady as she descended the stairs, but the moment she reached the entrance to the casino floor, she hesitated.

That feeling again.

Watching eyes.

Not the old man from before.

This time, it was Shen's men.

She could sense their gaze even without turning. They weren't making a show of it, but their intent was clear—waiting for her to try something. To run. To slip away.

Mariko let out a quiet breath, schooling her features into an amused smile.

Shen, you poor desperate fool.

She wasn't running. Not yet.

Instead, she pushed the doors open and strode back into the casino, her expression betraying nothing. The atmosphere hit her like a wave—smoke, alcohol, laughter, and the rhythmic clatter of dice and tiles against polished wood. She moved through the maze of tables and gamblers with practiced ease, the slit of her dress flowing as she maneuvered past drunken patrons and scheming nobles.

Straight toward the kitchen.

She passed the threshold and immediately spotted them.

Kenshiro and Haru.

Her breath caught, but only for a moment.

"What are you two doing here?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

Kenshiro folded his arms. "We could ask you the same thing."

"I don't have anything more to say to you," she replied curtly, her eyes flicking between them.

"Is that so…" Haru let a slow smirk creep onto his face, pausing for effect before adding, "Princess."

Her breath stilled.

Her fingers twitched at her side.

They knew.

Of course, they did. And if they knew… that idiot.

Her mind snapped to Yogan. He told them. He must have let something slip. Damn it, Yogan! No wonder Shen knew, no wonder his men were watching her now.

Her decision crystallized at that moment.

Daiyo was no longer safe.

Just as she was about to speak, another voice joined them.

"Gentlemen."

All three of them turned.

A tall, lean man stood just beyond the kitchen's entrance. He was in his forties, maybe fifties, his face lined but his posture strong. There was something familiar about him.

Kenshiro and Haru recognized him immediately.

The quiet old man from their gambling match. The one who had played against them the night they taught Yogan the game.

The man let out a low chuckle as he stepped closer. "I haven't seen you four since that night."

Kenshiro and Haru exchanged a look.

"Where is your little friend?" the old man continued, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "The lad in airbender robes."

Yogan.

Mariko's breath caught.

This was her moment.

Without hesitation, she spun on her heel and slipped past them, disappearing into the kitchen before they could react.

Mariko moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, weaving effortlessly between the bustling workers, the scent of sizzling meat, fresh bread, and fragrant spices filling the air. Steam rose from boiling pots, and the rhythmic chopping of knives against wooden boards created a steady tempo that blended with the sharp commands of the head chef.

"Hot pan coming through!" a cook barked as he carried a steaming wok past her.

She sidestepped him fluidly, not missing a beat as she maneuvered through the narrow aisles. The kitchen was always alive, a chaotic dance of movement and sound, but Mariko knew how to move without disrupting the flow.

Still, she felt the eyes on her.

Not Shen's men—at least, not yet. These were fellow workers, suspicious glances lingering just a moment too long. She wasn't usually in such a rush, and people noticed.

"Mariko, can you take this tray to table five?" one of the younger servers called out, balancing a tray of dumplings and rice bowls.

"Boss Shen sent me somewhere," she answered smoothly, barely pausing as she stepped past him. The excuse was simple and effective. No one questioned orders that came from Shen.

Another chef, a woman with flour-dusted hands, called after her. "The noble couple in the east wing asked for extra ginger tea—can you bring it?"

She shook her head without looking back. "Another girl will get it. I have to go."

With that, she slipped into the employee storage area, a small, dimly lit room in the back of the kitchen where the staff kept their belongings. The space was lined with wooden shelves, filled with neatly folded aprons, spare uniforms, and personal bundles wrapped in cloth.

She found hers near the bottom, tied tightly with a faded green sash. Quickly, she untied the knot and unwrapped the bundle, revealing a simple, deep-blue dress—modest, loose-fitting, something that wouldn't stand out in a crowd.

Without hesitation, she pulled the uniform over her head, letting it slip to the floor before stepping into her own dress. The fabric was comfortable, familiar, unlike the restrictive silk of the casino's attire. She fastened the ties securely and took a slow breath.

Now the real game begins.

She slipped out the back door, stepping into the open alley behind the casino.

The moment she emerged, she saw them.

Dark shapes shifted at the edges of rooftops, barely visible against the bright midday sky. Others lingered too perfectly in the street, pretending to be merchants, beggars, or idle passersby.

As expected.

Mariko didn't let it faze her. She didn't stop, didn't glance around in suspicion—doing so would only confirm to them that she had something to hide. Instead, she did what they expected her to do.

She walked.

The sun was high overhead, the city of Daiyo buzzing with life as she blended seamlessly into the streets. Merchants called out their wares, rickshaws rolled past, and the distant clang of the city guard's drills echoed from their barracks in the center of town.

Shen's men followed.

They weren't skilled enough to be unseen, but they were patient. They didn't close in, didn't rush to catch her. They simply waited.

She pretended not to notice.

Instead, she took her time, pausing here and there to make small, natural stops. If they were going to follow her, she would make them work for it.

The first shop she entered was a modest silk store tucked between two larger buildings. It was a place she had visited before—a small establishment run by a woman in her late thirties, her hands always occupied with delicate embroidery work.

The shop smelled of fresh dyes and pressed fabric, and bolts of silk hung from wooden beams, their colors vibrant under the afternoon light.

"Mariko," the shopkeeper greeted, setting aside her stitching. "You don't usually come in this early."

Mariko smiled, moving toward a display of scarves. "Thought I'd indulge myself today. Business has been good."

The shopkeeper chuckled. "Then you've come to the right place. I have new shipments from the northern kingdoms—dyed with saffron and indigo, very rare."

Mariko ran her fingers along the fabric, feigning deep interest. She allowed her eyes to drift toward the shop's entrance—Shen's men hadn't entered, but she caught sight of two figures lingering just outside.

She turned back to the scarves. "I'll take this one," she said, selecting a deep crimson silk. "Something warm for the coming season."

The shopkeeper wrapped the scarf carefully and accepted her payment.

"You always did have good taste," the woman mused as she handed over the parcel.

Mariko smiled, tucking the package under her arm before stepping back into the street.

Her next destination was a spice stall further down the road, marked by baskets overflowing with dried peppers, star anise, and fragrant cinnamon sticks. The vendor, a short, bearded man with a booming voice, was in the middle of arguing with a customer when Mariko arrived.

"Three silver pieces for a single pouch? You insult me, old man!" the customer huffed.

"You insult me by asking for anything less!" the vendor shot back. "These are ground straight from the Si Wong Desert! You think quality comes cheap?"

Mariko smirked as she approached, letting the argument play out before interrupting. "Master Enji, still robbing customers in broad daylight?"

The old vendor turned, his scowl immediately softening. "Ah, Mariko! A familiar face is always welcome."

"I'm looking for saffron," she said, running her fingers along the baskets.

"Saffron? You trying to impress someone?"

"Maybe," she teased.

He pulled out a small wooden box and cracked it open, revealing deep red strands inside. The aroma was rich, earthy, unmistakable.

"This is the best you'll find," Enji boasted.

Mariko examined the strands before nodding. "I'll take a handful."

As she counted her coins, she glanced around again. The same shadows. Watching. Waiting.

She paid quickly, thanked the vendor, and continued on her way.

Her final stop was a tea house near the main road, a place where merchants and travelers gathered for quiet conversation. The scent of steeping jasmine and roasted barley filled the air as she stepped inside.

The owner, an older man with a long gray beard, greeted her with a nod. "Mariko, back so soon?"

She sat at the counter, pretending to scan the menu. "I need a blend for nerves. Something strong."

The old man raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he turned to his shelves, selecting a small pouch of dried herbs. "This should do."

Mariko took it, slipping a few extra coins onto the counter. "For your silence."

He nodded in understanding.

As she turned to leave, she spotted them again. Not just outside—but across the street, seated at another stall, pretending to drink tea.

Shen's men were growing impatient.

She tucked the tea into her sleeve and stepped outside, once again pretending not to notice them.

Her destination was still ahead—the city guards' building in the center of town.

She was getting closer and she had enough.

She had played her part well—lingering in the market, making stops, pretending to browse—but time was no longer on her side. If she wanted to disappear, she needed to do it now.

Without breaking stride, she moved toward her final stop: a blacksmith's shop nestled at the far end of the marketplace, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the breeze. The familiar scent of burning coal and molten metal filled the air as she stepped through the entrance.

The moment she entered, her gaze locked with the owner's.

Ruan.

A man built like a fortress, his arms thick with muscle, his skin darkened by years of working the forge. His sharp eyes studied her as he set down a hammer, feigning casual disinterest.

Mariko didn't hesitate. "Has my package arrived?"

Ruan wiped his hands on his apron and gave her a scrutinizing look. "When did you order a package from me?"

"When the rooster crowed," she answered without hesitation.

A slow nod. Then, a knowing glint in his eye. "Ah, yes—the bracelet." He turned toward the back of the shop, waving a hand for her to follow. "Just finished it earlier today."

She stepped behind the counter, moving past the display of finely crafted blades, daggers, and armor. The shop smelled of heated iron, sweat, and oil, the steady clang of metal against metal ringing from deeper within.

Ruan led her into a private backroom, where weapons in various stages of completion lined the walls, gleaming under dim lantern light. The moment the door shut behind them, the act dropped.

The blacksmith lowered himself to one knee.

"Princess," he said with quiet reverence. "We have everything ready for you."

Mariko exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "As soon as Kina received the signal in the casino, we went into action," Ruan continued.

"Thank you, Ruan," she said sincerely.

He nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty." Then he gestured toward a bundle resting by a shelf. "Your disguise and supplies for your departure."

Mariko stepped toward it, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a simple traveler's outfit—a hooded robe in dull gray/black, sturdy boots, and a small satchel of provisions. The fabric was worn and unremarkable, the kind of clothing that would make her invisible in a crowd.

"Good," she said, rolling up the package. "Now wait a few moments before exiting."

Ruan gave her a firm nod before stepping toward the far wall. With a grunt, he pushed aside a towering shelf filled with carefully placed weapons. The wood groaned as it shifted, revealing a dark hole in the wall—a hidden tunnel entrance.

Mariko gathered all her belongings, including the silk scarf, the saffron, and the tea, tucking them into the satchel before stepping into the passage. The air was cool inside, the space narrow but just wide enough for her to move through comfortably.

Ruan waited until she was fully inside before shoving the shelf back into place with a grunt, the heavy wood settling with a deep thud. He stepped back, studying the floor. There—faint skid marks where the shelf had been dragged. He quickly scuffed them out with his boot, blending them seamlessly into the dust-covered floor.

To anyone looking, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Satisfied, he exhaled, dusting his hands off before turning back toward the door.

He waited exactly one minute.

Then, with the calmness of a man who had done nothing more than check inventory, Ruan stepped out of the backroom and returned to his counter. He picked up a scroll, unrolling it like he had been reviewing records the entire time.

No rush. No hesitation.

Just another day at the forge.

Outside the shop, Shen's men waited.

They had been patient at first, watching as Mariko went from store to store, never letting her out of their sight.

But now?

Too much time had passed.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his cheek, shifted uneasily. His fingers drummed against the hilt of the short sword at his waist.

"She should have come out by now," he muttered.

Another, younger but just as tense, frowned. "Maybe she's just taking her time?"

The scarred man's jaw tightened. "Go check."

The younger one hesitated but stepped forward, pretending to browse through the blacksmith's displayed weapons. He cast a glance inside. Ruan was behind the counter, flipping through a scroll, barely paying him any mind.

Mariko was nowhere in sight.

A sinking feeling formed in his stomach.

He took another step inside. "Excuse me," he called out to Ruan, forcing a polite tone. "The woman who came in earlier—did she leave already?"

Ruan barely lifted his gaze. "A woman?" He frowned, scratching his chin as if thinking. "Ah, yes. She looked at some daggers but didn't buy anything. Left not long ago."

The young man felt his stomach drop.

He turned sharply and rushed back outside.

"She's gone."

The scarred man's expression darkened. "What?"

"She's gone. She must've slipped out another way."

Panic flared between them as realization hit.

They had been duped.

The scarred man cursed under his breath. "Shen's not going to like this."

The younger one swallowed hard. "What now?"

For a moment, they stood in tense silence.

Then the scarred man exhaled sharply. "We split up. She couldn't have gotten far. Search every alley, every street." His eyes darkened. "We find her."

The men scattered, moving swiftly through the market, weaving between carts and stalls, scanning every face.

But Mariko was already gone.

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