Hyálos Desmós

~Happy Reading~

Murmansk, June 21, 2019.

“When will all of this end?”

That morning, the sun did not show itself at all. The sky was a gloomy, blackish-grey, as if sympathizing with those in mourning. There were no signs of rain; this region was so rarely touched by sunlight, and by this month, there should have been at least a little light.

But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The sky remained dark, unlike yesterday when the sun had managed to break through. The heavy footsteps of men and women in boots passed back and forth, their chatter melding into a single hum. It was enough to disturb a small child of only fourteen years, even though he was in a corner on the second floor—a place far enough from the bustle downstairs.

The boy’s eyes held no sparkle at all. His clothes were neat, a black winter coat wrapped around his thin frame, while his shiny leather shoes marked the status he had held since birth. But this was not a place for expensive clothing; it was a funeral.

A butler, dressed in a frock coat and shiny black oxfords, walked towards him and spoke in a low tone, “Young master, the great master Hilbert has said he cannot come. He says you may begin the funeral of Mrs. Belyaev.” Markel only responded with a faint smirk at the corner of his left lip—almost a sarcastic smile.

‘Belyaev’, the butler had said, a word the fifty-year-old butler hadn’t emphasized. However, it deeply offended him. It should have been ‘Mrs. Hilbert’ in the butler’s sentence, but since the head of the Hilbert family had taken a new mistress who looked like a dairy cow five years ago, the daughter of the Belyaev family had been stripped of her status as Mrs. Hilbert.

At only fourteen, his emotions were commendable; he controlled his feelings well. “Very well, let’s begin now.” The butler merely bowed a few centimeters as a sign of respect for the young master he served.

Today, he had to lead his own mother’s funeral.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs made all the guests at the funeral fall silent, watching his every move. The eldest son and sole legitimate heir of Hilbert Corporation, young master Markel Grigory Hilbert.

Markel, standing at 165 cm tall, stood straight before the many guests. “I thank everyone—relatives, friends, colleagues, and all who have always supported the Hilbert family well—for attending Mrs. Hilbert’s funeral this morning. I extend my gratitude on behalf of the head of the family, who could not be present at this funeral.”

Markel caught the whispers and gossip of the people, but he remained silent—not that he didn’t hear, but this was a strategy he had been taught since childhood for socializing in public. First, he still called his mother, who was no longer Mrs. Hilbert, by that title—instead of the correct Mrs. Belyaev. Second, there was mockery and jeering directed at his mother, who had lost to his father’s mistress. So powerful was she that she managed to topple his mother from her status as ‘Mrs. Hilbert.’

Markel merely kept his mouth shut in silence. From the guests’ whispers, he could discern many praising his ability to maintain his composure and emotions well at such a young age. But there were also those who sneered at him as a son devoid of affection, even towards his own mother.

Time passed quickly. Floral arrangements lined the path from the entrance to the memorial altar. There was a photo of Markel’s late mother, a nameplate, candles, and the lilies his mother had loved in life. Markel simply chatted with guests, accepting their support.

The time came for everyone to leave the place of mourning. The funeral lasted two hours. Markel walked and stood gazing at his mother—no, at his mother’s photo, seated in a poised and graceful pose. She was so beautiful, her aura captivating. Anyone could be enchanted at first sight.

“Butler,” Markel called to the butler who stood not far away. Promptly, the butler walked closer.

His voice was normal, but a hint of worry was caught in Markel’s eyes. “Close all doors. Lock the gate starting now. No one is to come to this place, not even the head of the family or the new Mrs. Hilbert.” His tone was low but pressing and firm, implying no desire to be contradicted.

The aging butler wavered slightly, speaking gently, “Young master, overseeing the funeral is the duty of Mrs. Hilbert. Forgive me, but I cannot simply comply with your request.” His hair stood on end after saying it.

“Butler, have you forgotten that the head of the family is always above Mrs. Hilbert?”

Markel stared at the man before him, squinting slightly. The Belyaev family had initially wanted to bury their daughter, but the head of the family had suddenly arranged a funeral. He was not foolish enough not to realize that it had been planned by his stepmother to humiliate his deceased mother.

The butler replied in a neutral tone and normal voice, “Young master, you are quite right. The great master is currently healthy and robust, so it is he who decides everything.” Markel was utterly dissatisfied with the butler’s statement, but that was simply the rule of the Hilbert family. Not continuing the topic was also right; pressing the butler would also be wrong. It would achieve nothing.

“Mother, if only... you hadn’t given up.”

15 years later.

Moscow, June 6, 2034.

Music played at a light-to-moderate tempo, the club’s lights shining bright. Encouraging everyone to enjoy the intoxicating alcohol. It was a difficult place to get into, so only important people were here. It wasn’t wild, nor excessive; everyone still maintained their image. The reason was simple: every pair of eyes here also served as ears.

Actions determined outward image, in cooperation, even with colleagues. It could be called an information market. Hence, the SOP for this elite club was very strict and the selection process for those wanting to work was extremely difficult. Fortunately, it wasn’t as strict when it came to the VIP rooms—rooms more expensive than the entry fee, even the menu.

The room itself was ordinary, like any club, but all actions, words, and even information were guaranteed secure without a single word leaking. This was the place sought after by many high-class individuals. It was not uncommon for them to torture or even kill people for entertainment.

This morning, the young master of the Hilbert family received a call from his close friend, Dmitri. He said there was important information that would pique his interest, especially since it was information Markel had been waiting for over two weeks. Dmitri was no fool; his information was almost always valid and rarely off the mark.

His only shortcomings were that he wasn’t very cautious and tended to lack ambition, but he was always present for every rumor. Two weeks prior was the last time they met, in the same place, the Zerkalo club. Today marked the end of a long wait for rare and costly information.

The Bentley Flying Spur carrying the legitimate young master heir descended after the driver parked the car in the lot. His steps were slow and firm as he reached the room labelled ‘VIP A00’. Entering, he found his friend Dmitri being embraced by two men larger than him.

Dmitri was his close friend, a gay man. Dmitri often hired larger men to accompany him to bed or just as playmates. His other friends were also there, Boris and Leonid. The three of them were both playmates and close friends of Markel’s who always helped him.

Even this Zerkalo club belonged to Leonid, the result of his hard work over three years since the club opened. Truly remarkable progress for a Moscow club that managed to outperform many other famous ones. Boris greeted him first, casually.

“Markel, we’ve been waiting a long time. Why are you just getting here?” Boris, the legitimate successor of the Inigo family—his family had an underground business quite famous in Moscow, dealing in illegal weapons and rare alcohol. Markel did not like the underworld, much less murder and violence. Being friends with Boris was both a coincidence and a miracle.

Boris’s lover was an elite police officer obsessed with justice and security. Although he was in the underworld, Boris’s business was arguably the most humane Markel had ever known. Maintaining good relations with allies like Boris could be an advantage, and the security connections were also very helpful for Markel to gather information from the black market.

Markel sat next to Leonid, his face showing obvious exhaustion. His eyes were tired, he looked sleep-deprived, and his focus seemed diminished. He answered Boris’s question in a low, somewhat listless tone, “There was an emergency call from the hospital treating my father, sorry.” This made Leonid, who was sitting next to him, shift his position to listen more closely.

Leonid asked immediately, “Is there still no progress regarding Uncle’s health?” Leonid was also the quietest friend, like Markel, but the most secretly attentive.

Markel shook his head slowly after sipping the Belvedere Vodka that had just been poured by a male server standing nearby. The server was only there to serve in silence and was forbidden from saying anything unless asked.

Markel replied after a long sigh, “Not yet, it’s getting worse.” This short answer made Leonid even more concerned. Markel’s irritated tone made him more empathetic. It had been over two years since his father fell into a coma after a sudden car accident upon returning from a meeting in America with a colleague.

This made Markel, ready or not, have to take his father’s place. It put him in a pressing position now; his stepmother—his father’s mistress whom he had married—was cornered and silent. Markel’s position was one that could never be challenged, even by Mrs. Hilbert herself. It was a pitiful situation for his father’s mistress now.

Markel’s position was also not one he could enjoy. The reason was simple... Markel couldn’t be cruel. The mistress had children—three, in fact—from her relationship with his father, giving Markel half-siblings. Markel had never considered having other siblings in his life until the mistress gave birth.

Fortunately, Markel was very clever, intelligent, and reliable. The leadership crisis in the Hilbert family was quickly covered up in just a few months. It was truly amazing to many. More and more other prominent companies wanted to cooperate with Hilbert Corporation.

Dmitri, who had been listening all along, interrupted playfully, “Enough with the sadness. I bring good news for you, Markel. Want to hear it, or do you want to vent your feelings first?” The two men beside Dmitri shifted their seats, giving him time and space to speak seriously.

Markel nodded firmly and refocused. “Yes, what is it?” Dmitri, who was small in stature—only 166 cm tall—moved to sit beside Markel. His skin was very white, like porcelain, his lips pink, his hair blond, and he looked very slender, especially his waist, which was perfect for embracing.

Dmitri looked serious with his cute round eyes. “I got word from my brother. He said a big company from Spain, which we all know has been your main rival for the past year, is going to come to the Russian Trade Union meeting. It’s valid, my brother said so.” Dmitri’s biological brother was a state official handling trade flows in Russia, both domestic and international.

Markel furrowed his brow. “How did they get through?” Dmitri placed his right index finger on his chin, thinking.

“Maybe...” Dmitri dragged his sentence hesitantly, “...he’s not alone?” That silly expression just now emitted a danger signal for Leonid, because Dmitri could be right. A European energy consortium would find it almost impossible to operate in Russia without going through the Hilbert family.

Boris cut in quickly, “I’ve heard something too. He, or they... operate within a system controlled by one person.” Leonid nodded slowly and firmly. They seemed dangerous.

Leonid then said, “Markel, you shouldn’t move alone.” Even though Markel had an influential family, his enemy was still in a grey area, making it impossible to know who they were.

Markel just listened and slowly sipped the alcohol in his hand, not rushing to finish it. He savored it as much as possible, allowing the weariness in his body to slowly leak out. Hearing Leonid’s warning didn’t intimidate him in the least, yet his warning was not nonsense, and he was right.

The enemy coming relied on the weapons of the European energy consortium to fight him—who knows—to say they were fighting the Hilbert family seemed excessive but also accurate. A system that big was like a storm intentionally fired, disrupting the flow Markel had painstakingly maintained.

Since his father’s accident, Markel himself had barely slept and suffered from insomnia. His father’s past incompetence was the primary factor. Since the arrival of his new mistress, his father had been lovesick. Every day, he was always with his mistress, accompanying her shopping, traveling, and warming his bed. He no longer focused on expanding the Hilbert family’s reach. His 82-year-old grandfather was enraged by his son. Since childhood, Markel had received strict teachings from his grandfather.

That night, Markel and the others just fooled around afterward. Markel kept forcing himself to consume large amounts of alcohol, testing how far his body would go before losing consciousness. For the first time, the uncrowned prince of the Hilbert family let himself loose, drowning in the warmth of alcohol.

Over the past year and lately, many things hadn’t gone well. Problems came one after another, phone calls almost never stopped disturbing him, even at night—like ghosts. Look how well this young master tolerated alcohol. Leonid had only been watching Markel the whole time. Slowly, Markel began to grow delirious and mumble softly.

The watch on Leonid’s left wrist showed the shorter hand pointing to 2 and the longer hand to 5. 02:25 AM. The room was a mess. Bottles of various kinds of alcohol were scattered haphazardly. Plates of food and snacks were also demolished, leaving only crumbs.

Boris and Dmitri had already passed out two hours earlier. Leonid was the most sober here—only slightly tipsy. He reached for his phone in his right pants pocket, ordering his subordinates to escort these important people to their cars to go home. They clearly always had personal drivers, so Leonid didn’t need to order them too far.

As Leonid was helping Markel out of the room, a man taller than both him and Markel bumped into his shoulder, creating a jolt—Leonid nearly dropped Markel.

The man, who was hiding his face with a cap and mask, immediately apologized, “Sorry.” His gaze stopped on the drunk Markel. Leonid was annoyed, but seeing the pin on this man’s left chest—a VVIP guest—he just swallowed his anger.

Leonid didn’t answer at all. Leonid’s subordinate approached him, and at that moment, the large man walked away. Leonid’s subordinate took over Markel’s dazed body and guided him to the car in the basement parking lot.

VVIP Super Class Room 0000, the door was pushed open by two bodyguards outside. They allowed the large man hiding his face to enter. Inside, four people were seated around a large round table in the center of the room. On the table, there was only a rocks glass for each person.

One of them stood up, “Welcome, Boss.” The one he called Boss sat in the chair beside him without acknowledging the greeting. For him, it was unnecessary to respond to his secretary’s salutation.

A woman, seated with only one person between them, said softly, “Why are you late?” The one asked merely leaned back in his chair casually.

His deep, weighty voice, conveying an impression of coldness and arrogance, answered casually, “There was just something.” A lazy and childish sentence, but the woman was not offended at all. It was just a common response, as it had been many times before from this man.

Another man beside his secretary rolled his eyes, speaking sharply, “Even though you’re the leader here, aren’t you taking this situation too lightly? You’re about three hours late! Do you think we’re all robots who don’t need rest?!” His secretary called this man’s name once in a low voice as a warning. Fortunately, the boss had been in a fairly good mood lately—whatever had made him so happy.

The large man who had received his colleague’s outburst was so casual. He replied, “Why? Eager to see your new wife?” Like a step on his tail, the man wanted to lash out but couldn’t argue. His boss—also his distant cousin—was insane and selfish. If not for their blood relation, he would have left long ago. If not for the debt of gratitude between their families, he would never have endured such humiliation.

What had he just said? His new wife? A prisoner being called his wife? This guy was indeed a crazy bastard. Before the argument between them went any further, the secretary began the meeting with a report first.

“Boss, the bait you ordered to be placed has been sold. The reaction was according to your target, but many disliked it to the point of opposing our movement. Do you wish to start Plan B?” The one called Boss was silent. But it wasn’t empty silence—behind the black mask he wore, a faint, rare smile had formed. His eyes showed obsession and madness. A target that filled his feelings and stirred them up.

But this remark was addressed by the man who had been holding a Rubik’s cube, “Ehh... opposed? But they’re just small-time underlings. Our target is the Hilbert family. And the Hilbert family hasn’t done anything at all.” He looked like a child, never observing his surroundings, only focused on the Rubik’s cube in his hands.

The man offended by his boss’s earlier remark interjected with a cynical smile, “That’s already your responsibility, Peque. I suggest you focus more on your own task. Ever since you came here, why have you become so lazy?” The one called Peque fell silent. His never-idle hands stopped playing with the Rubik’s cube.

He stared coldly at him, “Ramon Adrian Ignacio de Valcárcel, I’m tired. You should also be helping me, instead of constantly attending to your wife.” Ramon was furious—maybe steam would start coming out of his head. Why did everyone call that prisoner his wife?!

Before Ramon could respond to the words of the person he called Peque, their boss spoke first, “This is our last meeting. You are not to contact me directly, as I’ve said before, unless it’s the most urgent matter. I will not forgive you for even the smallest mistake.” His brown eyes stared coldly and sharply, making everyone in the room suddenly feel a chill.

The movement that had been planned and anticipated for 20 years would begin today.

~See you next chapter~