Extra's Ascent-Chapter 148: A Choice To Make

Standing at the threshold of his opened door, Eric found himself face-to-face with two unexpected visitors, as if they had been patiently waiting for him to open the door all this time.

A man and a woman. Two officials, equally persistent, each bearing the same goal to recruit him, or rather, to wrest him away from the other and claim him for their side.

What was he supposed to do?

First, he responded in the most conventional manner possible. He stepped aside, inviting them into his home with polite gestures, offering them seats while he disappeared into the kitchen to prepare refreshments.

Moments later, Eric returned carrying a tray bearing two glasses and a single bottle of fruit juice. He placed it carefully on the coffee table and lowered himself onto the opposite couch, seating himself where he could face both guests simultaneously.

"Sorry for the delay," he apologized, settling into his chair with a faint wince from his still-recovering body.

"Don't worry about the small things, Mister Aldaman. I should be the one apologizing for dropping in without notice," the man said, brushing it off with a casual wave of his hand.

"Same here, Mister Eric," the woman chimed in smoothly, crossing one leg over the other with effortless grace. "I had intended to inform you beforehand, but ultimately, I thought it best to arrive unannounced." She offered a charming smile as if that somehow justified the intrusion.

Eric, inwardly, was less than amused.

'Why though?' he wondered, resisting the urge to say it aloud. Wasn't it basic courtesy to inform someone before showing up at their home? At the very least, to confirm if they were available?

The question nagged at him, but Eric decided to let it slide. There was no point in dwelling on etiquette when the real issues were still ahead.

"So then," Eric began, donning a formal tone to ensure neither of them mistook him for someone easily handled, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

The man, Gerald answered first, his deep voice carrying a sense of finality.

"I'm here, as usual, Mister Aldaman. To formally invite you to join the Executive Arms of the Mystic Order. It's where you truly belong."

"I see," Eric replied coolly, shifting his gaze from Gerald to the woman sitting opposite him, Marvellous Kennedy. His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice still composed. "And you, Miss Kennedy? What brings you to my door uninvited?"

Of course, he already knew why they had come. Their intentions were transparent. Both had chosen to ambush him today, at the same hour, no less. Whether it was a coincidence or a coordinated effort, Eric could not say. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, it made little difference.

"I'm here for the same reason as him," Marvellous declared with a confident air, her hands clasped loosely over her knee. "Except I come bearing an offer. One hundred thousand dollars!" Her voice was proud, her demeanour that of a seasoned negotiator accustomed to getting her way.

Eric almost laughed right then and there.

This was the same woman who, not too long ago, had been more than willing to leave him to die while she saved herself. And now here she was, sitting in his home, dangling a fat check before him in a bid to secure his allegiance.

The irony was almost too much to bear.

"Ridiculous," Gerald spat, his patience wearing thin. "Isn't he already working under someone you claim to know? Yet here you are, attempting to steal him away. How selfish can you be?" His voice dripped with disdain, barely concealing his contempt.

'Well said, Mister Gerald,' Eric praised silently, clearly siding with him but outwardly, he maintained a neutral facade.

In situations like this, neutrality was paramount.

"Dravin Ramprandt is not a friend," Marvellous corrected coolly, her tone devoid of shame or apology. "He's merely a business associate. Nothing more, nothing less." She allowed a small pause, ensuring her words sank in. "And as for this situation, it's not selfishness. It's business. A straightforward deal between a willing client and a willing employer."

There was no guilt in her voice, no hesitation. Just the plain, cold calculus of a professional mind.

Of course, she didn't see this as betrayal. People like Marvellous lived by different codes. In their world, loyalty was fluid, alliances shifted like sand, and betrayal was nothing more than a strategy to maximize profits and minimize losses.

Marvellous Kennedy had not breached any unspoken trust with Dravin Ramprandt because, in her eyes, there had never been trust to begin with, only an alignment of interests that happened to serve both parties, temporarily.

That was her reality. That was her truth.

"What do you say, Mister Eric?" she pressed on, her voice smooth and enticing. "If a hundred grand isn't enough, I'm willing to offer two hundred." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Or better yet, name your price. Let's negotiate."

She left the offer hanging between them like bait on a hook.

"Money?" Gerald interjected, his voice rising sharply. "That's what this comes down to for you?"

He didn't give Marvellous a chance to reply before forging ahead.

"You don't understand, Miss Kennedy," Gerald continued, his chest swelling with pride. "Eric Aldaman is a mystic. And if there's one thing true mystics are known for, it's that we aren't swayed by money."

Prideful words, noble words.

If only they were true.

'No, no, no,' Eric mused inwardly, suppressing the smirk threatening to curve his lips. 'I absolutely can be swayed by money.'

Gerald had made the fatal mistake of painting all mystics with the same brush, assuming that honour and pride were the universal currencies that governed them all. Yet Eric knew himself better than anyone, and he knew that, given his current situation, money spoke louder than any empty notion of dignity.

Perhaps, once, in his reckless teenage years, Eric might have placed ideals over income. But now?

Now he was a man with responsibilities. Two children who depended on him. Dreams that demanded funding. Bills that never stopped coming.

Honor was a luxury he could no longer afford.

Mystic pride be damned. In the real world, it was cold, hard cash that kept the lights on.

Gerald's fantasies about Eric are totally off the mark here. Not like he would say that out loud.