The Life of Aurelius Valemont: Missions (Part 2)
Two months after my seventeenth birthday, Father gave me another mission. He didn't say much—he never does. Just handed me another black file with a sealed red wax stamp, the symbol of the Valemont crest imprinted deep. That alone told me what it was: a high-priority task. One of his personal missions.
The target: a former associate of the estate. A Chinese drug lord named Liang Qiu, once allied with Father, now defected and on the run. He had escaped with sensitive information—likely names, routes, and details from the eastern branch of the Valemont network. And worst of all? He was still alive.
"Obsessed with women," Father said flatly, sliding the file toward me on his desk. "Disguise yourself."
I blinked, lifting a brow. "As a woman?"
He only nodded. "You're fluent in Mandarin. Use it. Don't fail."
Classic Victor Valemont. No praise. No further explanation. Just another order. Just another game of masks.
Later that night, I studied the file under the dim light of my bedroom. Liang Qiu: mid-30s, billionaire status in China's underworld, operates under the facade of a pharmaceutical magnate. Owns multiple clubs and a yacht that doubles as a floating palace for illegal deals. His weakness, circled in Father's handwriting: "Women. Especially mysterious ones."
I glanced in the mirror.
If I pull this off… I'll be dancing with a devil while wearing silk and perfume.
Yumi and Luciana were in disbelief when I told them about the disguise.
"You? In heels?" Luciana nearly choked on her tea.
I smirked. "Why not? I have the face for it."
"You'd be too tall for a Chinese woman," Yumi muttered, clearly distressed.
"I can hunch a little," I joked.
"You're six foot one! You'd look like an Amazon with cheekbones!" Luciana added.
Philip entered, leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. "Please tell me you'll let me do your makeup."
"No."
He sighed dramatically. "A waste of a beautiful canvas."
By the time I arrived in Shanghai, I was no longer Aurelius Valemont. I was "Li Mei," a half-Russian, half-Chinese high-class escort fluent in four languages. Father had arranged false documents, a forged identity, and a mansion rented near Liang Qiu's nightclub.
I wore a silk red dress slit to the thigh, raven-black wig curled at the tips, and subtle makeup that highlighted my sharp cheekbones. Matthew had smuggled custom weapons into my suitcase—poisoned pins in my earrings, hidden blades in the heels, and a syringe of serum in my necklace.
The mission? Get close. Earn trust. Eliminate.
The club pulsed with electric beats and glimmering lights, nestled in the heart of Shanghai's shadowed entertainment district. From the outside, it looked like a high-end establishment—velvet ropes, imported alcohol, private rooms—but beneath the facade was a hub of narcotics and arms deals, carefully hidden behind masked smiles and swaying hips.
I stepped out of the black car, one leg at a time, as if I had done this a thousand times. The bouncers barely looked twice, too distracted by the curve of the dress and the confident sway in my step. I had practiced the posture for days—graceful, alluring, dangerous.
Inside, the air was thick with perfume and smoke. I adjusted the choker on my neck, hiding the micro-communicator beneath it, then scanned the room.
Red velvet sofas. Gilded mirrors. Waitresses in silver heels. Men with eyes like predators. And there, on the far VIP balcony—Liang Qiu.
He sat in a semicircle booth, flanked by bodyguards, a cigar in hand, surrounded by women who laughed too loudly. But his eyes—cold, calculating—weren't amused.
I walked slowly past the bar. I didn't look at him, not directly. I simply existed in his periphery. Beautiful. Dangerous. Elusive.
He noticed.
The bartender handed me a drink—Father had already paid off three of the workers here to ensure I had no interruptions. I sat alone at a corner table, back straight, legs crossed. Every gesture deliberate.
Then, like clockwork, a voice behind me said in Mandarin:
"You're new here."
I turned slowly. Made eye contact. My lashes lowered slightly, feigning shyness.
"First night in Shanghai," I replied in fluent Mandarin, lips curling. "I heard this is where the real parties are."
Liang Qiu's eyes lit up—not with joy, but curiosity.
"Name?"
"Li Mei."
He smiled.
Hook. Line. Sinker.
Liang Qiu leaned forward, his perfectly tailored silk shirt revealing just a hint of toned chest, dark eyes trailing over me like I was the most fascinating puzzle he'd ever seen.
"You have the kind of beauty that makes men stupid," he said in Mandarin, lips curled in a lazy smirk.
I sipped my drink like I wasn't silently praying not to choke on the lemon peel. "Good. I like stupid men. They're easier to control."
He laughed—a rich, warm sound that made half the women in the club turn their heads. The man was stupidly handsome. Like, "Father-would-say-kill-him-but-I-kinda-wanna-frame-his-face" handsome.
Liang Qiu slid into the booth beside me, closer than necessary. He smelled like sandalwood and danger.
"You don't belong here," he said softly, brushing a strand of 'my' wig behind my ear. "Where are you really from, Li Mei?"
"Oh, around." I tried to play coy, but then accidentally knocked over the drink with my elbow. The glass shattered dramatically onto the floor.
Everyone stared. Liang raised an eyebrow. I froze.
"First night, huh?" he grinned.
I cleared my throat. "Yes. Very… first."
"Clumsy is cute," he whispered. "Don't worry. I've broken more things than that."
Like international drug trade laws, probably.
Somehow, the night turned oddly romantic. Liang took me to his private suite above the club, a ridiculous luxury space with silk sheets, mirrored ceilings, and an actual golden hot tub.
We sat on the couch. He offered me wine. I declined. He leaned closer. I smiled awkwardly. He kissed me.
I kissed him back.
Wait.
Wait.
"Holy hell, I kissed a criminal," I muttered, then blurted out, "I mean—it's part of my character. Li Mei kisses a lot of guys. She's very passionate."
"Mm," he chuckled. "I can see that."
We ended up cuddling on the couch like a weird rom-com. His head rested on my shoulder while he talked about his favorite dumpling shop and the time he almost got eaten by a tiger in Vietnam. I pretended to listen while plotting his downfall.
He fell asleep in my arms.
Mission progress: 80%. Emotional stability: 2%.
I woke up.
Something warm was wrapped around me. A muscular arm. A leg. And—was that… was that his chin on my head?
My eyes flew open.
Liang Qiu. Dead asleep. Hugging me like I was a plush panda from his childhood. He was shirtless. His hair was perfectly messy. He looked like a tragic love interest from a historical drama.
And I?
I was wearing a wig. Fake eyelashes. A bra. And the most horrified expression in the entire continent of Asia.
I did not sign up for this.
My body was stiff as a corpse. If I breathed too loudly, he might tighten the hold. I tried to move, but his grip only tightened.
"Mmm… stay," he murmured sleepily in Mandarin.
Stay?
STAY?!
Oh, hell no.
Carefully, I wriggled like a worm trying to escape a very affectionate python. It took ten minutes, some silent screaming, and one minor cramp in my lower back, but I managed to slide out of his embrace and roll off the couch.
With the stealth of a professional assassin (who also happened to be wearing eyeliner and heels), I grabbed my things and tiptoed toward the door—only for Liang to mumble, "You smell good… like danger."
I gagged a little. Inwardly.
Outside the suite, I collapsed against the wall and ripped off the wig.
"I kissed him. I let him spoon me. I need a shower. I need bleach. I need to burn this soul," I muttered.
Philip's voice crackled in my hidden earpiece. "Morning, sunshine. Mission report?"
"I hate my life," I groaned.
"Did you secure the data?"
"Yes. Also, he called me 'adorable' and compared me to a dumpling. I want to die."
Philip laughed for three minutes straight.
Yumi chimed in from the line, voice dead serious. "Did he touch you? Should I come stab him?"
"No. I got out. Just... remind me to never go on another mission that involves fake nails, lace, or emotionally damaged drug lords."
I heard a soft groan behind me. My soul left my body before he even opened his eyes.
Liang Qiu stretched like a smug, muscular cat and blinked at me.
"You're awake," he said, voice deep and husky from sleep.
Oh no.
He sat up, slowly, languidly—like he was about to seduce me in a perfume commercial.
I took a careful step back. "Y-yeah… Good morning."
"Come here," he said, patting the spot beside him.
I froze. I was a trained operative, fluent in four languages, had taken down two armed men in a warehouse once—but this was my greatest battle.
He tugged me forward before I could react. I squeaked. I actually squeaked. Like some anime schoolgirl caught by the male lead.
He chuckled. "You're so shy. I like that."
Kill me now.
He leaned in. "You don't need to wear all this anymore, do you?" His fingers brushed my fake lashes.
My heart dropped.
"Wait—"
Too late. His hand slid to the back of my wig. He yanked it off.
There was a pause.
A long pause.
His face froze, eyes slowly dragging across my bare forehead, the hint of my Adam's apple, the now exposed black undershirt flattening the fake chest pads.
"…What the hell?" he muttered.
I tried to laugh. "Surprise?"
But instead of attacking, Liang just blinked, and— TO MY HORROR —he slowly leaned back against the headboard… and smirked.
"Well," he said, "you had me fooled."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're not… mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious," he said casually, "but also impressed. You tricked me, got into my safe, and apparently kissed me… all while being a teenage boy in heels. Honestly, I don't know if I want to shoot you or hire you."
I gagged a little. "Can I leave now?"
He tilted his head. "Only if you promise to never wear that wig again. I'm traumatized."
I grabbed my stuff and stormed out.
Philip: "Status?"
Me, deadpan: "He almost undressed me. I've lost 20% of my dignity."
Yumi: "I'm going to kill him."
Liang's smirk faded.
Then he clicked his tongue and reached under the bed. "Guards."
Oh no.
An alarm blared through the villa like an angry dragon. Metal doors slammed shut. Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
I sighed and rolled my neck. "I really didn't want to stretch this morning."
Within seconds, six armed men burst through the door, aiming rifles at me like I was some kind of monster.
Which—well. Fair.
"Capture her," Liang spat, still sitting shirtless with my wig on his lap like it personally offended him. "No, him. I don't know what to call it."
"You can call me your worst mistake," I muttered, already moving.
I grabbed a vase and hurled it at the closest guard. It shattered on his helmet—didn't even faze him.
Rifles clicked.
They fired.
I flipped over the bed, kicked off the sheets, and launched a lamp like a discus. It took one man out cold. Two more charged.
I ducked, spun, grabbed one guy's wrist, and twisted until he screamed and dropped his gun. I kicked it up, caught it midair, and aimed with one hand while elbowing another in the throat.
Three seconds. Three men down.
Liang's eyes widened. "What the hell are you?"
I shrugged. "Just someone who survived 12,000 men with no weapons and a broken arm… last year."
One tried to sneak up behind me with a taser.
Rookie mistake.
I ducked, pulled his legs out from under him, then shoved him into the guy next to him, sending them both crashing into the dresser.
Another dropped his gun and ran.
Smart.
I finally turned to Liang, who had grabbed his own pistol.
"You wouldn't shoot a pretty boy, would you?" I teased, winded but smiling.
He aimed anyway.
I threw a throwing knife straight into his pillow, inches from his face.
He froze.
"You had that the whole time?" he whispered.
"Sweetheart," I said, walking backwards toward the window, "I had five. That was just to warn you."
Then I leapt through the window, rolled, and disappeared into the garden shadows.
Back at the estate:
Peter: "You're bleeding."
Aurelius: "Minimal. Just a scratch."
Yumi: "Are you okay?"
Aurelius: "Emotionally? No. Physically? I broke six ribs… none of them mine."
Philip: "So. Do we put mission successful or trauma acquired in the report?"
Aurelius: "Both."
Valemont Estate – Victor's Private Chamber
I stepped into the cold chamber that reeked of cigars, blood, and power.
Father didn't look up from his desk. "Report."
"Target is dead. Liang Qiu choked on a decorative dagger after attempting to strip me. Disgusting," I said flatly, tossing the black folder onto his desk.
Victor finally looked at me. Same sharp features. Same grey eyes. Same soul-dead stare.
"You didn't get emotionally compromised?"
"I don't do emotions. You made sure of that, remember?"
He gave a faint smirk. "Good. Next mission."
I blinked. "...Already?"
Victor stood, walked to a shelf, and pulled out a pink folder. Pink. That was never a good sign.
"You'll be infiltrating a cosplay cafe in Japan. Target: Akihito Sumeragi. Former information broker. Now hides among otakus. Obsessed with anime waifus." He tossed me the folder. "You'll be one."
I didn't catch it.
"What."
"You'll dress like one of those kawaii schoolgirls. You'll charm him. Get close. Extract intel. Eliminate if necessary."
I was silent for a full five seconds.
Then: "You want me, Aurelius Valemont—six foot one, trained killer—to wear… a sailor skirt and pigtails?"
Victor's cold smile widened. "Your legs are excellent. Matthew will be your bodyguard. He'll also dress up."
Matthew, standing silently in the shadows, twitched. "Sir, with all due respect—"
"You'll be the magical beefcake sidekick," Victor cut in.
"…Magical… beefcake?" Matthew whispered like he'd just seen his dignity leap out the window.
Philip appeared from a side door holding his laptop. "I already ordered your outfits. They're in your size. I had too much fun with the accessories."
I glared. "This is treason."
Philip snorted. "This is hilarious. I'm the hacker in the van. You two are the living anime."
Victor leaned forward. "You leave tomorrow. Failure is not an option. Succeed, and I'll give you three days off."
I narrowed my eyes. "You mean that?"
"As much as I love you, son. Which is not at all."
I turned to Matthew. "Well… magical beefcake, you ready?"
He groaned. "I'm gonna punch Philip."
"Stand in line."
Operation: Kawaii Assassin
Akihabara, Tokyo – Day 1
The flashing neon lights of anime girls with unnaturally large eyes greeted us as we stepped into Japan's ultimate nerd haven. Cosplayers, vending machines, and human-sized Pikachus surrounded us.
I tugged down the too-short skirt Philip insisted I wear. "I swear I'm going to poison him when we get back."
"Can I help?" Matthew grunted, his biceps straining beneath a silver-and-blue Sailor Moon x Dragon Slayer hybrid costume. His magic wand bent at a weird angle, clearly not made for someone over six feet tall.
"You look radiant," Philip said over comms, laughter dripping from every word. "Like a magical protein shake."
"Say that again and I'll hack your bones," Matthew growled.
I sighed and adjusted the heart-shaped hairpin that kept falling into my eye. My pink pigtails bounced with every step. "Let's just get this over with."
We walked into Neko Neko Dream Café, one of Akihito's favorite haunts. Waitresses in maid uniforms called out greetings while overly enthusiastic otakus clapped and took photos.
A man at the far end of the café raised his head. Akihito Sumeragi. Mid-40s. Black-rimmed glasses. Dressed like a villain from a romance anime. Perfect target.
He locked eyes with me.
I flipped my hair, forced a giggle, and sauntered over. "Nyaa~ Can I take your order, senpai?"
Matthew gagged.
Akihito smiled like a shark. "You're new here. And very… charming."
"Only for you," I said sweetly, already calculating the best angle to break his neck under the table.
Philip whispered through the earpiece, "He's falling for it. Just keep acting like a deranged anime protagonist for five more minutes."
I leaned in close. "Want me to sit on your lap, senpai?"
"Please do."
Matthew's eye twitched.
Akihito leaned forward to touch my cheek—wrong move. I caught his wrist, smiled sweetly, then twisted it under the table.
"You know, senpai, you've been a very naughty villain."
Before he could shout, I whispered in perfect Japanese, "Your game is over, Akihito. Say hi to Liang Qiu in hell."
He blinked.
Then he screamed.
And then all hell broke loose.
Day 2
Akihabara – Secret Floor of Neko Neko Dream Café
By now, the upper floors were abandoned. Akihito had fled into the "staff only" levels, not knowing we'd already planted Philip's spyware across the building the night before.
Matthew cracked his knuckles as we stood before a steel door. He was still wearing the magical girl costume. His wand now had a dent from knocking out two of Akihito's bodyguards.
"I swear, if another guy calls me 'moe muscle-chan', I'm blowing this place up."
"Focus, magical beast," I smirked, pulling a katana from under my frilly skirt. "He's cornered. Time to say goodnight."
Philip's voice crackled through our earpieces. "Security system disabled. But you've got five guards armed with tasers and one guy wielding a—uh—body pillow with knives taped to it."
"Only in Japan," I muttered.
We burst through the door.
"GET THEM!" Akihito shrieked, now wearing a makeshift samurai outfit. One of his guards hurled the weaponized body pillow. Matthew caught it mid-air and snapped it in half with one punch.
I darted forward, flipping and kicking one guard into another. My hair extensions whipped around like twin blades as I fought. Blood hit the walls. Screams echoed. In two minutes, the guards were down.
Akihito staggered backward. "W-Who are you people?!"
"I'm Magical Girl Death Kiss," I deadpanned.
"And I'm his emotionally exhausted sidekick," Matthew muttered.
I launched forward, slicing across Akihito's leg before knocking him to the floor. He panted, sweat and blood mixing on his face.
"You killed Liang Qiu!" he shouted.
"Correction," I said coldly, crouching down. "I killed Liang Qiu while dressed like a catgirl."
"No hard feelings," Matthew added before slamming his fist into Akihito's chest.
Crack.
Silence.
Valemont Estate – Briefing Room
Father didn't smile. He never did. Just nodded slowly as I dropped Akihito's insignia on the table.
"He's dead," I said. "Next target?"
Father slid a new folder across the table.
I glanced down.
Aurelius Valemont, age 17. Still in a skirt. Still deadly.
"Russia this time. Disguise yourself as a ballet dancer. You leave in two days."
I blinked.
"…You're joking."
Victor Valemont gave me a chilling look.
He wasn't.
End of chapter 51.