Bashnikov finished preparing the evening meal and walked back into the main cathedral chamber to fetch Rina. He pushed open the heavy oak doors at the back of the church. The sun had completely vanished from the tall glass windows, leaving the vast hall bathed in the creeping shadows of the night. Rina was still standing there, staring silently up at the towering center statue of Celeste.
"Hey mafia, let us have dinner," Bashnikov called out, laughing awkwardly and scratching the back of his head. "Your body will need food if you want to recover."
Rina stopped staring at the pristine marble figure. She turned her head and locked her apathetic blue eyes onto the young apprentice. She did not say a single word. She simply closed her eyes, let out a quiet breath, and began walking toward him.
Bashnikov led her through the heavy doors and into the private corridors of the clergy. The moment they stepped inside the living quarters, a deeply comforting aroma wrapped around them. The rich smell of hot stew and baked bread filled the air, a stark and sudden contrast to the metallic scent of blood Rina was so completely used to. They entered a modest dining room featuring a long, sturdy wooden table surrounded by multiple empty chairs.
"Have a seat anywhere you like," Bashnikov said, gesturing toward the empty chairs.
Rina silently scanned the modest room. She let her gaze fall back onto Bashnikov and simply stood there, waiting for him to make the first move. The young apprentice hurriedly finished setting the table, placing the hot stew, plates, and utensils down before finally taking a seat at the near end of the long wooden table. Only then did Rina move. She walked over to the opposite side but intentionally chose a chair one seat away from directly facing him. She quietly pulled her plate and utensils over to her new, distanced spot.
Watching her deliberate and calculated movements, the young apprentice felt a sudden wave of embarrassment and insecurity wash over him. The silence in the room grew unbearably heavy. To escape the awkward tension, he quickly bowed his head, closed his eyes, and began to loudly recite a prayer of gratitude over the evening meal. Rina did not close her eyes or bow her head. She simply sat there in absolute silence, her expression completely flatlined, patiently waiting for the apprentice to finish his holy words.
Bashnikov picked up his spoon and began to eat, but Rina remained perfectly still. The young apprentice glanced up, deeply concerned by her refusal to touch the hot food. The heavy silence in the room was suffocating, so he finally gathered enough courage to speak.
"Why is the Black Fang not looking for you?" he asked, his voice timid. "The most influential and largest organization in the city should be tearing the streets apart to find you, especially since you were so severely injured."
Rina heard the question and slowly shifted her cold gaze down to her empty plate. She hesitated for a moment, silently debating whether she should even bother answering him. Finally, she reached out.
"A Morozov's Fang acts as an independent clause within the main organization," she said, her voice completely flat and devoid of emotion. She calmly scooped the steaming hot soup and poured it into her wooden bowl. "We are allowed to build our own teams within the guild. There are only two members in mine, including me."
Upon hearing her finally speak a normal sentence, Bashnikov felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him. But as his brain processed the actual words she just said, a look of absolute shock took over his face. His jaw dropped, and the metal spoon slipped entirely from his grip, clattering loudly against the wooden table.
"What?" he stammered, his eyes going wide. "What is a Morozov's Fang doing in a place like this?"
He pushed himself back in his chair and frantically scanned her facial features, putting the terrifying pieces together. "Golden blonde hair, pale skin, cold blue eyes..." he muttered under his breath, his voice steadily rising in panic. He stopped abruptly, his gaze locking directly onto the side of her head. "And the famous golden hairpin that everybody buys at the official Black Fang merchandise store!" he shouted, pointing a visibly shaking finger at her face. "All of it checks out!"
Rina did not express a single ounce of emotion. She slowly raised her right hand and gently touched the metal hairpin resting in her golden hair.
Viktor will do absolutely anything to generate a profit, she thought to herself. Though her face remained completely blank, a deep wave of genuine annoyance rippled through her chest.
While Rina was lost in her own internal complaints, the young apprentice sat across from her, clearly flustered and shifting nervously in his wooden seat.
Rina noticed his obvious panic and decided to change the subject to ease the tension.
"Why did you choose to become a bishop?" she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet room.
Bashnikov looked up at her, but the words seemed to die in his throat. The entire atmosphere in the small dining room instantly changed. The nervous, awkward energy completely vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy gravity. He slowly looked back down at his steaming plate, his gentle features hardening into a deeply serious expression.
Rina instantly realized her mistake. It felt as if she had just casually poked an old, bleeding wound out of nowhere.
"You do not have to answer that," Rina added quietly.
Rina silently placed her wooden spoon onto the empty plate. The soft clinking sound echoed briefly in the quiet dining room. Without a single word, she stood up from her chair and started to head back to her room.
"I wanted to be a mafia," Bashnikov muttered.
Rina stopped walking. She stood perfectly still for a moment before slowly looking back over her shoulder. The young apprentice was gripping the edges of the wooden table, his knuckles turning pure white.
"I am weak," he continued, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "I have a frail body and a pitiful mana pool. Even worse, my mana core is far below average. My passions and my dreams died a long time ago. No one supported me, but I still tried. I gave it everything I had, and reality still slapped me right back into the dirt."
He let out a jagged, desperate breath.
"If the world was not so cruel, I wish I could be in the mafia. Even just for one day."
A sudden wave of memory violently flooded Rina's mind. The cold, bloodstained training grounds of the Mafia Academy flashed vividly behind her eyes. She saw young Dima standing beside her, the gleaming steel of his blade pointed directly at her throat, his face twisted in deep resentment.
"A monstrous talent like you would never understand such a thing," his bitter voice echoed clearly through the years.
Rina snapped back to reality. She stood in the quiet church corridor, her pale hand resting on the heavy wooden door.
"Believe me, you do not want to be in the mafia," she said softly, never turning around to look at him. "Because if you were, we would never have had a meeting like this."
Rina pushed the door open. Behind her, the heavy weight of years of frustration and absolute inadequacy finally broke the young apprentice. Bashnikov buried his face in his hands and began to weep aloud, releasing the overwhelming sorrow he had carried entirely on his own for so long.
"Thank you for the food, Bashnikov," Rina added quietly.
She stepped out into the dark hallway, gently closing the door behind her and leaving the broken boy to cry in peace.