SSS-Ranked Demon Hunter: The Prodigy
Chapter 88: Aruya, Part 2

Chapter 88: Aruya, Part 2

Night. 34th Street.

On the second floor of a modest building, hidden behind a rear staircase, sat a private bar. No signs, no unnecessary eyes — just a heavy door and a grim-faced guard who let a certain guest in.

Inside, shadows reigned. The bar was empty, manned by a lone bartender. Candles crackled overhead, casting a soft flickering glow.

At the center stood a round table, surrounded by three men in long coats — like figures cut from a noir film.

"We were starting to think you wouldn’t come, Dmitriy," rasped a voice from a man with a gray beard and a shadowy fedora.

The guest took off his coat in silence and sat at the empty chair. A waiter approached — said nothing, simply began to deal cards and chips for a poker game.

"We have serious business to discuss," said one of the men.

Dmitriy gave a faint smile.

He was unremarkable in many ways — lean, composed, with short black hair and a light stubble. His brown eyes didn’t smile with him — they shimmered with calculation.

"Well, well. Not that I expected a casual drink invitation, Mister X," he said calmly, with a trace of irony.

"Still calling me Mister X?" the silver-haired man raised a brow.

"I like nicknames," Dmitriy smirked. "Yours fits. Instills a sense of control. Hard to forget. Wouldn’t you agree?"

"Not exactly flattered... but no, not foolish."

Tension hung in the air like smoke. The bar’s atmosphere turned dense — the kind that made the air feel heavier.

They all knew each other by face — but that only made things worse.

Volkov leaned back in his chair, casually spinning a chip between his fingers.

"Let’s get to the point."

"Last night, some of our people were killed," Mister X began. "In one of the clubs. By a girl. Likely... a demon."

Volkov smirked faintly.

"Well, that’s unfortunate. Sounds like someone just declared war on us."

One of the men produced surveillance printouts from his coat. A young girl, a white tiger, a club soaked in chaos and blood.

"She summoned a white tiger. We have footage."

Volkov glanced at the photo, raised a brow and gave a dry chuckle.

"Hm."

"A witness claimed she was looking for you, Volkov," Mister X said, eyes locked on him. "Any idea what that’s about?"

Volkov allowed a crooked smile.

"Sounds familiar. What a shame. Looks like there’s a bounty on my head now."

There was no fear in his expression — in fact, a spark of anticipation.

"But why is she after you?" one of the men asked, suspicion in his voice.

Volkov stared into the flickering candlelight reflected in his glass.

"A girl with a pet tiger... There’s been talk online. Only one name comes to mind."

Cards were dealt. Chips moved slowly, methodically. The game began in the background — quiet, like the ticking of a hidden clock.

"This girl’s been hunting me for years," Volkov said, calmly.

"Strange," Mister X said, pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket.

A flame lit up his tired eyes as he lit one.

"We’ve heard nothing."

Volkov glanced at his cards, still idly rolling a chip.

"Three years since I arrived here. People in this country... charming, but vengeful. One of them vanished during an assignment I carried out — under your orders, I might add. I suppose she never forgave me for her family’s death."

Mister X exhaled smoke slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"So... a mission you failed to finish. Pity. I considered you one of our best."

The flop. Three cards face-up. One player folded. Another called.

"From a hundred massacred families, one is bound to survive," Volkov continued, voice low and thoughtful. "It’s just math — ninety-nine to one. I... like humans. Though my blood says otherwise. Demons were made to kill. That’s our nature. But I believe nature can be outwitted. Who knows... maybe I’m different."

His lips curled in a faint, unreadable grin. One that the Mafia had always hated.

"Isn’t that why you brought me in, Mister X?" He met the man’s gaze directly. "As a Mafia leader, you must always be ready for consequences."

The turn. One more player folded. Final bets. River.

Volkov revealed his hand — a winning combination. The others simply nodded in defeat.

He inhaled slowly.

"Even in the best, flaws remain. I failed to finish the job... and now I’m reaping what I sowed — in the form of a vengeful girl."

Mister X crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Find her. Kill her. Before this comes back to us. You know the rules."

"Well damn, and here I was hoping for a peaceful life in this country," Volkov chuckled. "But it seems I have unfinished business. Only way I’ll know peace again."

He rose to his feet, glancing once at his empty cards — like old sins laid bare.

Mister X raised a brow.

"And still, we pay you for contracts. Why rather insist on winning money from us through poker?"

Volkov picked up his coat without turning back.

"I like risks. And I’ve never lost against you."

He tossed a parting grin over his shoulder and walked out.

"No money brings me as much joy as adrenaline."

The door closed behind him. Silence settled in the bar. Only a glass of untouched whiskey remained.

Outside, the night air was thick — like oil in the lungs. Volkov descended the metal stairs at an unhurried pace, opened the door of a black car parked below... and stopped.

He felt it.

Someone was watching.

Across the street, perched on a rooftop, sat Aruya and her white tiger cub, Yuma. The girl kept her eyes on the bar’s front entrance, while Yuma lazily turned to watch the back.

When the tiger spotted Volkov, its perception flowed directly into Aruya’s mind — and for a moment, their shared vision locked on him.

Volkov slid into the driver’s seat and dialed a number.

"It’s me again," he said, glancing at the rearview mirror. "Just thought I should let you know — someone’s already watching us. Though I suppose... it’s already too late."

From the other end of the line came the sound of a door slamming — a crack, a scream, chaos breaking loose.

Aruya had entered the bar like a storm.

Volkov smirked faintly.

"Seems, Mister X... you’re no longer among the living."

He ended the call.

The city outside remained quiet — but the silence had already been broken.

The Next Day.

Sunlight seeped through the sheer curtains, scattering golden rays across the living room floor.

A tall, well-dressed man closed the front door behind him, hung his jacket neatly on a hook, and paused for a moment.

Children’s laughter echoed through the house. Quick footsteps. A tiny domestic storm of joy.

He smiled quietly and walked further inside.

Two twin boys — no older than seven — ran past him in a blur, too absorbed in their game to notice their father.

The living room was alive with warmth and motion.

On the couch sat his eldest daughter — grown, confident. To him, though, she would always be his little girl.

Beside her, her husband — slightly nervous, but beaming — cradled a newborn wrapped in a soft blanket.

The man stopped at the doorway, eyes locked on the scene. Something inside him trembled.

"Dad!" his daughter beamed. "Come meet him. Your first grandson."

He stepped closer. The room felt quieter. He looked down at the sleeping child — so unaware, so innocent.

He knelt beside the couch, hesitating for a moment before touching the baby’s small hand.

"His name’s Dayeon," the daughter said gently. "We thought we’d name him after your grandfather."

The man nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Welcome home, little one."

For the first time in what felt like forever, a piece of his armor cracked. Something warm settled in his chest.

The house was full of laughter, soft light, and the scent of home.

His family was large — eight children. His wife stayed home, keeping the household running with patience and love.

He, meanwhile, was the head of a business empire — though lately, it was crumbling.

And yet, every time he stepped into this house... all that seemed to disappear.

They all gathered at the table for lunch. His phone buzzed.

"Work again, dear?" his wife asked softly.

"Yes, just a quick call. I’ll be right back."

[Caller: Dmitriy Volkov]

He stepped into another room and answered.

"...Hello?"

"Hey hey. How’s family life, Family Man?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that..." he whispered nervously.

"Sorry, can’t help it. I just love your little paradise. A house full of love, joy, laughter. Makes me jealous."

"..."

"But I’m calling for very important reasons. You know, the Mafia’s happy to work with you, but lately, we’ve been... disappointed. Two months now. No payments. You know taxes are rising, don’t you?"

"...I told you, I’ll pay by the end of the month."

"Better hope you do. I can hear kids laughing in the background. Let’s hope those sweet sounds don’t fall silent... by some unfortunate accident. Time waits for no one."

"I-I’ll pay!"

"You’ve got two days."

"What..? B-but Dmitriy—"

The line cut.

Volkov had just delivered an ultimatum to the head of the family.

The man’s trembling hands slipped the phone into his pocket. His breathing turned heavy, fear sinking into every breath.

Two days.

Time he didn’t have.