Season 3 chapter 74
The Secretary's Estate
For three solid seconds, the executive suite was deathly quiet as the financial reality of the locked twelve-month compounding interest settled over them.
Then, Malesh let out a long, heavy sigh, aggressively rubbing his face. The furious deadpan mask melted into a theatrical, almost joker-like expression of pure, unfiltered defeat.
"Oh, what the fuck," Malesh muttered, looking at the ceiling as if God himself had written the contract. "I cannot even yell at you for this, Kniya, because we literally both sat there and signed the fucking paper. We just handed Mantouse a blank check for our souls."
Kniya casually polished the golden barrel of ANYTHING with his sleeve, entirely calm and peaceful. "Exactly. So there is no reason to panic."
Malesh dropped his hands, tilting his head and looking at Kniya with the detached, highly dramatic curiosity of a stage actor.
"Okay," Malesh asked, gesturing broadly toward the spiked wooden bats on the mahogany desk. "So, skipping past the sixty-trillion-credit debt... why exactly are you going to a property division right now?"
Kniya set the golden pistol down, leaning forward with a deeply calm, peaceful, and ridiculously confident smile.
"It is a highly profound, logical thing, Malesh," Kniya explained softly, like a master philosopher. "I think you won't even understand this level of corporate strategy yet. But it is really, really important."
Malesh stared at him. He let out a short, theatrical laugh, adjusting his dragon-themed tie as he completely embraced the absurdity of their lives.
"You know what?" Malesh announced, acting like an analyst who had just solved a useless equation. "Upon thinking this much, I realize that wasting our time stressing all day about how we are going to pay back a sixty-trillion-credit loan is terrible for my health. It's useless to panic now. So, the best thing is to just go on this property division. If you are saying it is logical, yeah, I am also coming with you."
"That is the spirit!" Kniya cheered, grabbing his spiked bat and resting it over his shoulder. "Okay, let's go."
Just as the two billionaires turned toward the heavy double doors, they swung open. Salesh walked into the suite, holding a stack of corporate files. He took one look at Kniya holding a spiked bat and Malesh adjusting his cuffs like a hitman.
"Wait, wait," Salesh frowned, stopping in his tracks. "Where are you guys going?"
"For the property division, obviously," Kniya replied cheerfully.
Salesh blinked. "Whose property division?"
Kniya pointed the spiked bat directly at him and let out a massive, highly obnoxious, entirely fake laugh. "Ha ha ha! Your property division, Salesh!"
Salesh's face went completely flat. "Don't talk shit to me, Kniya. Don't talk logicless right now. Where are you actually going with a medieval weapon?"
Kniya rolled his eyes, dropping the fake laugh. "Let me explain the thing to you, Salesh, though I don't think you'll be able to understand the sheer brilliance in this short span of my speech. We are going to a property division for one of my employees."
"An employee?" Salesh asked, thoroughly confused.
"Yeah, the management secretary of the company," Kniya explained smoothly. "His dad just died, sadly. And now, there is a massive property division required to take place between him and his brothers. He asked me for my help to mediate. And honestly, without me, how could it be happening fairly? But here is the genius part: in this property division, we might get a cut of some land. We can use that land to help repay the syndicate loan! It is a kind of great idea."
Salesh stared at Kniya, his brain completely short-circuiting as the profound stupidity of the plan registered.
"Are you fucking serious right now?" Salesh exploded, throwing his hands in the air. "You are talking absolute shit! How are you going to pay off a sixty-trillion-credit loan after getting a small fucking piece of land from a secretary?! If you get one or two hectares, you are not going to earn trillions of credits out of selling that dirt! It's a logical impossibility! How much land does he even own?! How rich is he?!"
Kniya scoffed, highly offended by the doubt. "He is a secretary in our company, Salesh. I think he would be kind of rich enough to own something valuable! Anyway, we are going for a short span of time. Till then, you can handle the office work, I think so."
"Kniya, that is not how real estate works!" Salesh shouted, chasing them as they casually walked past him.
But Kniya and Malesh completely ignored Salesh's logical tantrums. With their weapons in hand, they marched straight out of the executive suite and headed directly for the private elevator to ride down to the ground floor.
Salesh was left standing in the middle of the empty office, fuming and yelling at the closed elevator doors.
A few seconds later, the side door to the executive lounge opened, and Filoska walked in, holding a cup of black coffee. She looked at the scattered weapons left on the desk, then looked at Salesh, who was actively pulling his own hair out in frustration.
Filoska let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh. She aggressively rubbed her temples, completely drained by the baseline insanity of her bosses.
"What are these two guys even doing?" Filoska muttered to the empty room.
The Mediator's Swag
The high-speed private elevator smoothly delivered Kniya and Malesh down to the massive, heavily fortified underground garage of Kavilson Steel. The space was filled with rows of sleek, armored steam-sedans and bulletproof luxury transport vehicles.
Kniya adjusted his bespoke tailored coat, casually tossing the heavy spiked bat over his shoulder. He marched directly toward his massive R-12 luxury sedan, pulling the heavy brass keys from his pocket.
"Alright, Malesh, let's go," Kniya announced eagerly. "We are going to roll up to this property division in absolute luxury. They will instantly know we are the apex predators."
"Hey, Kniya. Stop, stop," Malesh interrupted, grabbing Kniya by the back of his collar and physically steering him away from the armored car. "We are absolutely not taking the sedan. We are taking a bike."
Kniya stumbled backward, staring at his best friend in pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"What the fuck?!" Kniya squawked, gesturing aggressively at the luxury vehicles. "Why the hell are we going on a bike?! We are multi-trillionaire corporate warlords! We don't ride exposed motorcycles to a legal settlement like a couple of broke delivery boys!"
Malesh walked past him, heading straight for a sleek, highly modified, heavy-iron cruiser motorcycle parked in the corner of the garage. He threw a leg over the thick leather seat, grabbing the handlebars with a perfectly calm, deeply theatrical expression.
"Kniya, you entirely lack vision," Malesh deadpanned, acting thoroughly invested in his new roleplay. "It is really important. We are officially going as third-party mediators. We need to project a highly specific aura. A bike gives us the feel. It provides the exact level of street-level swag that is completely required to intimidate rural landlords. We need to act like absolute professional enforcers."
Kniya blinked, staring at Malesh trying to act cool on the motorcycle.
"Okay, fine!" Kniya groaned, gesturing wildly to the weapons he was carrying. "But where the fuck are we going to put all these weapons?! I have a golden pistol! You told me to bring three heavy spiked sticks! How are we going to balance a medieval armory on a two-wheeler?! If we took the car, we could just throw them in the trunk!"
Malesh casually reached down and kicked a massive, heavy-duty canvas duffel bag across the concrete floor toward Kniya's feet.
"I have a bag for that," Malesh stated smoothly, tossing Kniya a spare leather helmet. "Take it and fill that thing to the brim. Put it on your back. I am going to drive this bike, and you are going to hold the weapons. It is going to be incredibly great."
"Whatever the fuck this is," Kniya grumbled, aggressively stuffing the jagged spiked bats and his golden pistol into the duffel bag until the heavy canvas was practically tearing.
"Malesh, these rusty nails are literally poking straight through the fabric!" Kniya shrieked, frantically adjusting the heavy canvas strap. "If one of these tetanus-infected spikes pierces my bespoke tailored coat, I am billing the entire medical and tailoring expense directly to your personal account!"
"It just adds to the overall aesthetic danger," Malesh replied flatly, completely ignoring the complaint. "A few drops of your blood will only enhance our ruthless mediator aura."
He threw the massive bag over his shoulder, strapped the helmet onto his head, and climbed onto the back of the heavy motorcycle, wrapping one hand awkwardly around the grab bar.
"If I fall off and break my spine on the federal highway, I am literally going to sue you," Kniya yelled through his visor.
"Hold on tightly to your swag, Kniya," Malesh smirked dryly. He aggressively kicked the ignition lever, and the heavy iron motorcycle tore out of the underground garage, screaming up the exit ramp and merging violently into the capital traffic.