Cameraman Never Dies

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Noel. Truly, from the deepest pits of my soul, I didn't mean to insult your wife like that…" Victor dropped to the floor in a grand kowtow, pressing his forehead to the ground with the energy of a man auditioning for Desperate Idiot in Distress. The time was exactly 3:03 pm, and the entire hotel room seemed to hold its breath, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a butter knife.

Noel stared down at Victor with the calm disdain of a parent watching their toddler throw a tantrum in public. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know, we agreed on this ridiculous code, and yet seeing you grovel like that… I regret everything."

Victor, still on the floor, peeked up with a mischievous grin. "Regret? Oh no, my dear Noel. Regret is realizing your own genius in action! Look at us— alive, un-stabbed, and shapeshifter-free. You're welcome." Your journey continues with My Virtual Library Empire

"You're five seconds away from being stabbed, shapeshifter or not," Noel muttered, rubbing his temple. He gestured toward the closed door. "And next time, just knock. I was literally right here. We agreed on the knocks, too."

Victor sprang to his feet with surprising agility, brushing dust off his jacket as if his dignity could be salvaged. "Oh, come on, Noel. You'd have opened the door for a knock? Really? Don't lie to me. You'd have spent five minutes debating whether it was me or a shapeshifter and then blamed the delay on existential dread."

"That's not— " Noel began, only to stop, realizing Victor wasn't entirely wrong. He crossed his arms. "Sometimes I think your loose bolts have loose bolts, Master Victor."

Victor gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. "Loose bolts? Moi? Noel, you wound me. Just because I come up with the brilliant plan and you execute it flawlessly doesn't mean I'm the crazy one."

"Flawlessly?" Noel's eyes flicked to the knife he'd nearly drawn when Victor barged in. "You realize I was this close to testing how much blood you can lose before passing out, right?"

Victor plopped into a chair, waving dismissively. "Details, details. Besides, if a shapeshifter had tried this, you'd have been prepared. Admit it— my code was foolproof!"

Noel leaned against the table, glaring. "Your foolproof code involved me trusting you to remember to check the clock, perform an exact sequence of knocks, and then grovel like a lunatic. You're lucky I didn't think you were an idiot and stab you anyway."

Victor chuckled. "Oh, Noel. That's the beauty of it. If I were a shapeshifter, you'd have wanted to stab me, and the plan would've worked perfectly."

"Or," Noel said dryly, "I'd have stabbed you just because you're you."

Victor grinned. "And you wonder why I don't have a wife."

Noel rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass from the nearby counter, pouring himself a generous helping of malt beer. "Speaking of plans, what's so important that you dragged me into this circus act?"

Victor's playful demeanor faded as he leaned forward, his voice dropping. "You've heard about one of our gathering branches being destroyed, right?"

Noel nodded, his expression sobering. "Yeah. Same branch where I picked up that commission. Oddly enough"

Victor swirled his drink, staring into it as if it held answers. "We confirmed it wasn't random. The enemy's connected to the commissioner. Someone's tying up loose ends."

Noel downed his drink in one gulp, his brows furrowing. "To cover their tracks?"

"Partly, but there's more. The intermediary, Lester, still had his head intact when we found him... Although it had been long separated from the body."@@novelbin@@

Noel raised an eyebrow. "... What a weirdly specific detail."

Victor leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Pellen read his memories. The commissioner was a shapeshifter, but not just any shapeshifter. This one had divine power."

Noel froze, his glass halfway to the table. His violet eyes glinted faintly as he processed the information. "Divine power? You're sure?"

Victor nodded grimly. "Lester recognized it because he'd been exposed to yours before."

Noel stared at him, his thoughts racing. Divine power wasn't just rare— it was dangerous. For him, it was an anomaly, something he'd barely learned to control. The shadow domain principle that had changed his life— and his eyes— had brought both power and chaos.

Victor interrupted his thoughts, his tone unusually hesitant. "Noel, this is going to get messy. I can't promise your safety, but I still ask. Are you going to work for me?"

Noel smirked, setting his glass down with a faint clink. "Victor, I married someone who once threw a skillet at me for forgetting our anniversary. Do you think I care about safety?"

Victor laughed, his tension easing slightly. "Fair point. You really do have a death wish."

"No," Noel replied, raising an empty glass as if in a toast. "I just have priorities. And right now, they involve not letting you get yourself killed before this divine shapeshifter does."

"So does that mean you agree?"

Noel nodded in response, "Yes."

Victor grinned and took out a plain white mask with a smiley face, "Then wear this, it has something that would help master greatly." He then stood up. "Two days. The Capital. Be ready."

"As always," Noel said, giving a mock bow. "Try not to trip over your own genius on the way out."

Victor opened the door, turning back with a final grin. "You'd miss me if I did."

Noel raised an eyebrow, but his faint smirk betrayed him. "Only because I'd have to come up with a better plan without you."

Victor's laugh echoed down the hallway as he vanished. Noel sighed, pouring himself another drink. "Two days…" he muttered, his violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "Just enough time to regret everything. Perfect."

———

"Well, Master. How is it?" Judge asked, stepping out of his personal dimension, his crimson cloak swishing dramatically like he was auditioning for the lead role in a theater production no one asked for.

Seraphis barely glanced up, her finger pointing toward the chaotic jungle of papers strewn across the table. "I adjusted a bit here and there."

Judge squinted at the mess. "Here and there? Where exactly? It looks like someone detonated a library in here."

Seraphis didn't miss a beat. "Somewhere in the pile. The important bits are probably not on fire, so that's progress."

Judge crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "As much as it pains me to admit this," he said, with the reluctant tone of someone forced to compliment broccoli, "you might be a little… uh…" He paused, fumbling for the right word. "Manageable?"

"Manageable?" Seraphis repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Judge coughed, suddenly realizing he'd wandered into dangerous territory. "I meant reliable. Reliable, Master."

Seraphis smirked, clearly amused. "Good save, kid. Barely." She turned back to the paper battlefield. "Anyway, this scientist? Absolute genius. The principle he developed is so delicate and complex, yet easy to process. And you said he went mad in his later years? I think I know why."

"Do you want to know something even more interesting about the guy who created this?" Judge asked with the smugness of someone holding a juicy secret.

Seraphis rolled her eyes, heading for the door. "Hold that thought. I'm getting refreshments. Tea? Macarons? Or are you one of those people who drinks water like it's a personality trait?"

"Tea," Judge replied, then, after a pause, added reluctantly, "…Please."

Seraphis nodded and left, leaving Judge to confront the chaos. He surveyed the room with the solemn air of someone witnessing a minor disaster. Papers were everywhere— on the table, the floor, and somehow, wedged into the chandelier. A balled-up note missed the waste bin by several tragic feet, lying there as a testament to a throw that gave up halfway.

Despite the mess, Judge felt a strange warmth settle over him. Maybe it was seeing his master, whose life had been consumed by the search for her daughter, finally throw herself into something else— even if "throw" was the operative word in this paper-strewn disaster.

Unable to resist, he followed her to the kitchen, where she was already bustling about.

"Took you long enough," Seraphis muttered without turning around. "What was that 'interesting' thing you were about to spill?"

Judge slid into a chair with all the grace of a collapsing tower. "It's not confirmed," he began, his tone conspiratorial, "but it's definitely something to think about. I have a feeling— just a hunch, really— that the person who kidnapped your daughter…" He paused for dramatic effect, because why not? "…might be the daughter of the guy who created the nihility principle."

Seraphis stopped mid-tea-pour, her hand hovering over the cup. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Judge said, leaning back like he'd just delivered the punchline to a really good joke. "It's a wild theory, but think about it— what better way to use her father's work than to… you know… mess with yours?"

Seraphis set the teapot down with a clink, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she smirked. "If that's true, I'm going to need more than macarons to get through this."

"Same," Judge said, reaching for a macaron. "But hey, at least your mess of a life keeps things interesting."

She threw a kitchen towel at him. "Don't push your luck."

Judge caught it with a grin, savoring the macaron in his other hand. For all the chaos— literal and figurative— this was his other home, a place with his trusted master.

Trust...