No Feelings

On the evening of October 29, 1949, Butler felt more wretched than ever before. Primavera, the organization once dedicated to fighting for their countrymen's rights, was no more. The die was cast. Madame, the symbol of Primavera, had left the stage, and it was unlikely she would return. Calm and level-headed Rose could have turned the tide, stopping the deadly machinery before it was too late. But without her, the new leader was unstoppable. Ensnared in a devil's web of false compassion, he had heeded its counsel and chosen the wrong path, leading to inevitable self-destruction. Who could have imagined Richard would end up like this—a broken, despairing soul, devoid of purpose? Now he's merely a puppet of vengeance, dancing to the cruel tune of a ruthless, mocking puppeteer. And what of Butler himself? Perhaps he would compare himself to a slave. A powerless creature, obliged to obey his master without question. A disgusting feeling that Butler seemed to have experienced before—it must have been in one of his worst nightmares. The kind of dream you try to forget as soon as you wake up, breathing a sigh of relief that what you saw wasn't real. But now the nightmare had become reality, and there was no end in sight. Drowned in contemplation, Butler was slow to notice the persistent, irritating sound filling his office. A phone call at such a late hour was definitely not the norm. However, Butler had a pretty good idea who it might be—and that made him even less inclined to answer. But... as if he could simply ignore the call with his personal guard watching him. “I'm listening,” Butler replied flatly and immediately winced at the chuckle that came from the other end of the line. “Took you long enough.” “How can I help you, Major?” Butler asked calmly, or rather indifferently, ignoring the remark. In response, he heard laughter again. “Drop by my office for a moment.” “Do you need something?” Butler clarified, although he knew perfectly well what the answer would be. “Nothing except your presence.” Gabriel's voice and intonation betrayed his mood—he was clearly amused. To be completely satisfied, he apparently only lacked a listener who would obediently listen to his delusional speeches. Butler once again felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat. “I'll come by as soon as I finish my work.” Gabriel laughed again. They both knew very well that Butler had practically no work left, and therefore such an excuse was nothing more than a way to stall. Nevertheless, Gabriel did not object. “Alright, I'll wait. But try not to be long.” The phone was hung up, and Butler let out an irritated sigh. In fact, by this point he had no more even of the tasks assigned to him for show, so he once again immersed himself in studying the long-signed papers. The guard kept casting suspicious glances at him, but remained silent—and that was enough for Butler to ignore him. Minutes ticked by slowly as he leisurely reviewed the documents—however, even so, he reached the end too quickly. There was no longer any way to pretend to be busy, and, rising from his seat, Butler headed to the major's office. The door was slightly open, and the sounds of a pleasant melody drifted out. The same classical music. Gabriel was sitting in his chair with his back to the door but reacted instantly to Butler's appearance as he said, “You certainly weren't in a hurry.” Contrary to expectations, there was no hint of irritation in Gabriel's voice; instead, Butler's tardiness seemed to have amused him. Sighing, Butler looked at his back wearily. “What do you need from me, sir?” He laughed and finally turned to face Butler—in his hand he held a glass filled with a blood-red liquid. “You don't need to call me that now—we're alone here. Come in and make yourself comfortable,” Gabriel said, gesturing toward the chair in front of him and beginning to search through the desk drawers. Butler obediently sat down and only then noticed a half-empty bottle of red wine on the table, next to which a second glass was placed right away. “You'll drink with me,” Gabriel declared firmly, filling a glass. Butler shuddered. He watched in horror as the dark red liquid poured from the bottle, realizing that this devil was now proposing a toast to the successful completion of today's part of his plan, which had turned into a merciless bloodbath. Butler recoiled. “I won't drink,” he managed to stammer out. “It seems I haven't asked you anything,” Gabriel sneered, his smile twisted. “You'll do as I say, Phil.” Butler gritted his teeth, swallowing all his objections. With a trembling hand, he took the glass meant for him, but as he lifted it to his lips, he realized he couldn't swallow a drop. Gabriel, on the other hand, drank deeply and talked incessantly. Butler tried not to listen to his chatter, catching only fragments of phrases—yet these formed complete sentences in his mind all on their own. Everything Gabriel said boiled down to speculations about the future of Primavera and the 'Golden Dragon' society: he seemed convinced that Richard was destined for a swift downfall and death in a pointless war. Gabriel grinned, his amusement evident, and Butler barely restrained himself from tearing that grin off his face. And yet, he couldn't deny to himself that the major was right. If everything was left as it was, Richard would inevitably meet such a sad fate. Pictures of possible future events, filled with the bloodshed of innocent people, involuntarily formed in Butler's mind, complementing the speech of the gloating demon. “However,” Gabriel sighed suddenly, sounding almost disappointed, “not everything is going as smoothly as I'd like.” “Oh?” Butler said, intrigued. “Really? Doesn't everything always turn out exactly as you expect? What could possibly be going wrong?” “The fact that I couldn't finish off Madame Rose.” At these words, something snapped inside Butler. His heart pounded, and it felt like boiling blood was surging through his veins. Meanwhile, Gabriel continued: “Besides, she's been hidden so well that I can't get to her. For now, she's helpless, but… who knows what she might do in the future. I really hope she doesn't decide to interfere and ruin my plan, otherwise… it will be very unpleasant.” Even though he spoke those words, a disgusting, sinister smile crept across his face, clearly revealing his intentions: if he somehow found out where Rose was hiding, he would kill her immediately. Butler flinched nervously, staring at Gabriel with a tense gaze. Noticing his reaction, Gabriel raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Is something wrong, Phil?” “Just leave Rose alone,” Butler hissed, his body trembling with rage. “Isn't it enough that your men almost killed her, that she's… practically dying now?” His chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat, and he fell silent, his hand clamped over his mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was quavering, “Forget about her, she clearly poses no threat to you anymore. It's uncertain if she'll even survive.” Gabriel scrutinized Butler from head to toe, then grinned and raised a glass of blood-red liquid to his lips. “Well, well. I know I once asked you about your feelings for Madame Rose, but now I'm starting to think you were actually in love with her.” Butler didn't answer. He didn't want to admit to any particular feelings for Rose, even to himself, and even less so to Gabriel. He couldn't manage to regain his composure—he was trembling so violently that his teeth chattered audibly in the silence. Unexpectedly, Gabriel's expression changed: his gaze softened slightly, and a hint of a benevolent smile twisted his lips. “No need to be so alarmed, Phil. I'm just considering the possibilities. If your precious Rose truly ceases to be a hindrance, then I won't harm her.” Though Gabriel spoke in a tone that seemed sincere, Butler knew better than anyone how skilled he was at lying with a straight face. “You haven't taken a sip yet,” Gabriel suddenly noticed, glancing at the glass Butler was still clutching. “It's like you're trying to find something in the wine,” he added, laughing. Butler set the glass down on the table right away, deciding it was time to give up on the futile attempt to drink the liquid. “I can't drink this,” he confessed, hoping the major would leave him alone. But… “What a shame,” Gabriel sighed dramatically, refilling his glass almost to the brim with the blood-red wine. “I was just thinking it would be nice to drink to the well-being of your sweet little sister, but you don't want to join me.” Butler gritted his teeth again in impotent fury. Of all Gabriel's remarks, he hated the mentions of Ange the most. They always struck a nerve, no matter how hard he tried to remain calm and ignore such obvious provocations. Now, he reached for the abandoned glass and, without looking at the contents, drained it in one gulp. He couldn't help but note that the wine tasted completely ordinary—what else could he expect? A smug smile played on Gabriel's lips as he drained his own glass, his eyes narrowed on Butler.