Chapter 7. Trio (1)

Translator: Lili

Do you know about Zone 452, Lot 32, once hailed as a paradise for real estate investors amidst a redevelopment boom?

Once famous, but now infamous—three sinkholes later, all the investors cut their losses, leaving it as a peculiar place only known to the initiated. Hidden in its dark, damp depths lies an underground market, teeming with things unfit to exist under the sun.

Of course, unlike ordinary markets, there were no fools here openly displaying their wares. Smugglers, dealers of illegal drugs, discontinued products, and banned flora and fauna prowled the streets with their hands in their coat pockets. They would only approach customers who appeared to be searching for something, discreetly offering their goods.

These sellers prided themselves on being able to procure almost anything. But this case was different. When a group of three women approached a broker asking for forged IDs and official documents, he assumed they wanted something mundane like a medical license or an academic diploma.

The broker led them to his workshop and pulled out a drawer filled with all kinds of certificates: medical credentials, admission letters from prestigious academies, and more. As he began explaining prices, the shortest woman of the trio, who had her hair tied into charming pigtails, shook her head. Her voice, like her appearance, was sweet and playful.

“Sorry, but we don’t see what we’re looking for here.”

“I’m the most versatile operator in this area. Fine, tell me what you want.”

The broker, holding a notebook and pen, leaned in with a cocky smirk, underestimating the petite woman. This was Logwin, not a country to mess around with fake documents, so he was ready to throw them out if their request was ridiculous. But then he froze at her response.

“A criminal ID and a prison admission order.”

“Sure, a cri— Wait, what?!”

Midway through writing, the broker’s pen hovered in the air. Thinking he had misheard, he looked up, eyes wide. But the woman, unperturbed, repeated herself,

“A criminal ID and a prison admission order. I’ll take a five-year sentence, this one’s for five years too, and that person over there…”

The cheerful pigtail woman pointed at the red-haired woman who had sat uninvited in one of the workshop’s chairs. Before she could finish, the redhead interjected in a low voice.

“It would be better to add a life sentence and a history of mental illness for the person at the back. That lunatic really needs to be locked away.”

Her fiery gaze bore into the broker, emphasizing the seriousness of her words. But the broker, overwhelmed, could only gape at the three women. Their outrageous request felt like someone casually ordering ice cream,

— I’ll take two scoops, strawberry and vanilla. She’ll have three, chocolate and cheesecake, and please add some almonds on top.

The redhead pressed the broker to quickly add the ‘mental illness’ detail, while the tall woman who had been silent until now took a step forward. Her sudden movement drew attention. From the moment she entered the workshop, she hadn’t uttered a word, but now she approached the broker for the first time.

“Ten months.”

Even though it was just two words, the broker felt a chill run down his spine. Maybe it was the workshop’s airless environment, but her husky voice carried a commanding weight. Up close, he noticed her face—half-obscured by a hood—was strikingly beautiful. Her long platinum-blonde hair was equally unusual.

“For her, a five-year sentence.”

The tall woman added, pointing to the pigtail-haired one. Then she motioned toward the redhead.

“This one gets eleven months.”

The peculiar phrasing, calling the redhead ‘this one’, made it clear to whom she was referring. The redhead gave an awkward smile.

“Wait, isn’t that a bit short? And why do I get one extra month?”

As they argued about the length of their fabricated prison terms as if it mattered, the broker stared at them, dumbfounded. The platinum-blonde woman let out a low laugh and placed a firm hand on the redhead’s shoulder. The broker saw her shudder. It was the trembling born of fear.

“Because I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

***