Heir Sion Testarosa -1-
The Reverse Praise Society and the Black Hand.
As the story in Abyss City progresses, these two organizations pop up periodically, getting tangled in quests here and there.
They're the crew behind those pitch-black coins—Judas's silver—that Rohan snatched from the elf elder and Doberman. Consumable, sure, but they're the ones who keep the entire underworld spinning under their overwhelming might.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the whole shadowy underbelly revolves around these two groups.
The bosses of those infamous crime syndicates? No matter how much they strut and flex, true freedom is a pipe dream.
Dig deep enough, and every single one has their lifeline gripped by one of these two.
Once a crime outfit grows a name and some bulk, a shadow from the big leagues shows up—untouchable, irresistible.
They get forcibly slotted as a subsidiary.
Some pledge loyalty willingly for what they crave. Others bow their heads just to survive.
But it's not all raw fear and brute force.
Refuse the offer from a Reverse Praise Society rep or Black Hand envoy, and yeah, you'll get mulched into meat paste and returned to the dirt. That's true.
But belonging doesn't mean blind exploitation from above.
Most of the time, the parent orgs play hands-off, like they're barely watching. And when they do call in a favor, they deliver something truly tempting.
Those temptations...
The man here holds psychological sway over folks crippled by bodily flaws or twisted desires.
His lab is a silent tomb where human voices might echo once a year, if that.
But today, by some fluke, the quiet shatters.
"Hex, sir."
A familiar subordinate's voice.
The gaunt man, fixated on the monster husk in the specimen jar, turns his head with agonizing slowness.
Cold features suit the glasses perched on his face, pointed ears marking his elven blood, but his expression is a void. Unreadable. Empty.
"Report on the Testarosa bloodline."
"..."
The subordinate kneels, proffering the report.
His hand reaches out to take it.
Hex's skin, visible beneath his clothes, flickers translucent with the motion—bone flashing, blood pulsing, then gone. Some spots show only muscle twitches.
Enough to guess the horror lurking under his outfit. Deeper than skin, organs laid bare.
"Hm..."
Hex accepts the report, polishes his glasses, slips them back on, and glances at the enclosed photo.
He skims the text, grasps the situation. Zero spark of interest.
Just boredom.
"I never expected much from those stiff-necked idiots. But dying without even hitting the bare minimum? That I didn't see coming."
"Just give the order, and we'll start tracking the Testarosa."
Hex stares blankly at his subordinate's loyalty, sets the report down.
No Testarosa among the charred corpses. Bodies with gunshot wounds. Killers who murdered but left valuables behind before fleeing.
The picture forms. One of the outcomes he'd anticipated.
"Let it go. If she's fled to Tigrova, she's under the Snow Tiger Emperor's wing. Even if she bounces to another nation, same deal."
"..."
Hex knows the drill if Sion Testarosa sets foot in Tigrova.
Reclaiming an unawakened Testarosa bloodline? Tempting, but provoking that monster—the Snow Tiger Emperor—isn't worth the math.
'If it plays out that way, it's a massive loss.'
The trash who'd boasted about grooming her into a weapon to exploit the Emperor's weakness? He'd half-expected their flop, tossed them in as bait.
But his own direct subordinates moving? That's heavier.
Provoking Tigrova's resident monster demands real payoff.
"Don't let emotions sway you. A failed side bet is inevitable in diversified plays—this barely qualifies as a loss. You know that, right?"
"Yes, sir!"
Hex pops open the specimen jar, prods the contents with tweezers.
His subordinate waits for the inspection to end before speaking.
"Hex, sir. And this is separate news."
"Report."
"The current first-years at Orion Academy are planning a trip to the uninhabited island."
Another report slides in.
Hex, utterly unmoved by the prior news, shows a flicker of interest.
A face saying this could be fun.
"Gesturing awareness of the Monolith anomaly. Fitting response."
The reason the Reverse Praise Society—too busy charging toward goals—still eyes the seedling academy is obvious.
Samhwa Nation's former top general, heir to the Cheonoecheon conglomerate, the Snow Tiger Emperor's youngest daughter, and more.
Vital targets to keep tabs on.
"Hm..."
The value of Orion Academy cadets dwarfs a powerless Sion Testarosa with no leverage family.
That's why they covet them.
'Reason they announced the uninhabited island trip publicly makes sense too.'
Perfectly controlling such intel is near impossible. Better to blast it wide open, draw the worried eyes of big shots onto their heirs—turns into invisible shackles on lawbreakers.
A declaration: We'll watch the shadows from the light.
The academy will fortify to the hilt, but looking ahead, it's exploitable.
"Good. This one's worth chatting with Omega about."
No need for Hex to step up personally.
The other head of the Reverse Praise Society.
Omega, with his grudge against Samhwa's ex-top general, might push forward even at a loss, dangling terms for Hex.
"Tell Omega the skin graft is ready."
"Yes, sir!"
At Hex's command, the subordinate dissolves into smoke.
—And stick to the main roads as much as possible. No late-night treks just to hurry. When the sun drops, find a lodge and crash early.
—You're treating her like a little kid.
'Yep, this part hits best. If only my voice wasn't in it, it'd be perfect.'
Sion plugs the charger into the outlet, replays the call recording on loop.
No count—pointless. Just keeps listening.
Of course, midway, Rohan called again after academy classes. Clara got one too, safe back in Academy City.
Most recent: Rohan and Clara calling together post-job.
"..."
Sion aches to be there. Sharing the same space, chatting.
Curious about Rohan's bookstore gig. Dying to see the historic shop firsthand where he met Clara.
Reminder she can't right now sends a strange shiver through her.
'Why's it so cold? Entering Tigrova?'
Train maintains steady temp.
But outside, the world drowns in white snow.
Psychosomatic chill. Sion pulls out Rohan's jacket—precious keepsake—slips it on.
Zips it, sniffs deep. Loneliness eases a touch.
Skyship Train arriving soon at Tigrova. Passengers, please take your seats and fasten seatbelts.
'Finally.'
Long-awaited announcement.
Sion double-checks her belt, waits still. Ground nears through the window.
Skyship Train has landed at Tigrova's Snow Fang Valley. Thank you.
Passengers rise, grab bags. Sion follows suit.
Joins the exodus, feet hit soil. Crisp, cool air fills her lungs—invigorating.
Click!
Arrival proof: station pic for the group chat. Then onward.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Trudging packed snow toward the building.
Architecture worlds apart from Academy City.
Slow stroll might delight, but Sion—who'd lived briefly in Tigrova—just hunts her path.
'To the White Tiger Palace in the capital from here...'
Another train needed. Building's vast—where?
Hunt an info desk?
Snow from soles melts on the floor amid passengers.
Squish-squish through puddles.
Then it hits her: this huge building is empty.
"..."
Click! Bag snaps open, weapon out—no hesitation.
Assembly: instant. Silence shifts.
KRAKABOOMCRASH───!!!
Ice erupts before Sion's eyes, blooming into a massive flower bud.
It unfurls naturally, spilling armored beastkin and a white fox beastkin with a fan.
'Those beastkin...?!'
Faces she'd memorized sick of researching Tigrova. Even outsiders know them.
The flashiest-armored man and fan-wielding woman approach.
"White Tiger Palace Guard Captain, Arhen Blizzard."
"Chief Administrator Yoho, at your service."
"!!!"
Sion, too stunned for words. Yoho studies her, smiles softly.
Nods acceptance to the captain, bows politely.
Steps aside. Gestures to the fully bloomed ice flower: your path.
"We've come to escort you."