Last Mission ABO Dimension.

With Beatrice and Clarice's departure, the atmosphere in the Kadman Mansion still carried the warmth of a successful visit. Elizabeth felt satisfied; the meeting had unfolded exactly as planned, with productive conversations and a touch of renewal in family bonds. Yet, the day wasn't entirely free of tension, as delicate matters had been discussed. Still, with her characteristic composure, Elizabeth understood that such challenges were part of the path to strengthening relationships.

Damián, ever discreet, approached Elizabeth in the hall. Mason followed a few steps behind, as vigilant as always. Although he hadn't directly participated in the visit, Damián knew he should make an appearance—something Elizabeth appreciated as his unique way of showing consideration for the family.

Before speaking with Elizabeth, Damián glanced toward the winter garden. Taylor remained there, seated beside Greta, engaged in a calm conversation. Despite her slow recovery, Taylor exuded a palpable resilience that didn't go unnoticed by him. Spontaneously, Damián changed direction and walked toward her, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor.

As he drew near, a brief but genuine smile softened his features. "It's good to see you doing better, Taylor," he said, his voice low but carrying a rare gentleness.

Taylor lifted her gaze, surprised by his attention. "Thank you, Damián," she replied, her voice still fragile but tinged with gratitude. "I'm taking it one day at a time."

"Keep it up," he encouraged, offering a small nod. His presence left a subtle trace of silent support before he returned to the hall.

Elizabeth awaited him with a welcoming smile, and as he approached, she embraced him briefly but sincerely. Despite his natural reservations about showing emotion, Damián didn't hesitate to reciprocate. The Kadman Mansion had a peculiar way of softening his defenses.

"I'm heading to the Campbell Mansion to visit Aster," he announced, releasing her gently. His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes that hinted at deeper intentions. "I want to learn more about the preparations for the Golden Leaf Tournament."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment before smiling. "Ah, of course. But remember to be courteous. Sarah values tradition, and we both know how particular she is about these details."

"I know," Damián replied, a faint, playful smile tugging at his lips. "I promise to behave."

"And I'm going with him," Mason added, stepping forward with quiet enthusiasm. "I've heard the preparations are quite the spectacle."

Damián gave him a look that blended camaraderie and intrigue. "Exactly."

Mason hesitated for a moment, curious but opting not to press further. He had learned by now that Damián always revealed his intentions at the right time. Even so, curiosity made him eager to follow every step.

Elizabeth watched the exchange between the two and chuckled softly. "Well, go on, then. Before I change my mind and keep you both here for a longer tea."

"We promise not to take too long," Damián assured her, offering a final smile before heading out, with Mason close behind.

As the two walked away, their voices fading down the corridor, Elizabeth lingered in the hall for a moment. The discreet smile on her lips reflected a quiet satisfaction.

The car glided smoothly along the long, imposing private road leading to the Campbell Mansion, flanked by tall, dense trees that filtered the sunlight into soft beams. The mansion soon emerged on the horizon, its towering gray-blue stone walls exuding an almost cavernous grandeur. Though it lacked the golden and red opulence characteristic of the Kadman Mansion, the refined blue tones and subtle elegance of its architecture created an undeniably luxurious and majestic atmosphere.

"They really have a peculiar taste," Mason remarked, his eyes roaming over the intricate details of the tall windows and the wrought-iron gates. "It's more... restrained, but still impressive."

Damián, at the wheel, remained silent, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His expression revealed nothing, but his mind was already calculating the next steps. The Campbell Mansion was familiar territory, yet it never failed to carry an aura of introspection and caution.

The car came to a gentle stop at the entrance. As they approached the door, Aubree, the impeccably dressed butler, was already waiting. With fluid movements, he opened the door for Mason, followed by Damián.

"Mr. Mason, Mr. Damián," Aubree said, bowing slightly with almost military precision. "Welcome to the Campbell Mansion. Please, follow me."

The interior of the mansion was a seamless continuation of its exterior: discreet and traditional elegance. Blue hues dominated the soft rugs, heavy curtains, and upholstered furniture, while antique lamps cast a warm, amber glow that added to the almost ceremonial ambiance.

As they crossed the main hall, Aubree announced in a clear voice, "I will inform Mr. Aster and Madame Sarah Campbell of your arrival."

Aster appeared first, a reserved smile on his face, as though he were trying to balance informality with the protocol expected by Sarah. Behind him, the matriarch Sarah Campbell entered with the upright posture of someone who never let her guard down. Her navy-blue dress, simple but impeccably tailored, reinforced her traditionalist aura.

"Aster, Madame Sarah," Damián said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand that Aster promptly accepted. "Thank you for receiving us. I hope we're not intruding."

"It could never be an intrusion, Damián," Aster replied, while Sarah evaluated the visitors with a sharp but polite gaze.

"It is always a pleasure to host guests, especially during times of preparation," Sarah said with a slight nod.

They were led into a high-ceilinged room, where a table with light refreshments and small snacks awaited them. Sarah took her place at the head of the table, with Aster beside her, while Mason and Damián seated themselves across.

"The tournament," Sarah began, her tone firm but unhurried, "has a special significance. It is not merely a celebration of the strength and agility of alphas, but also a reminder of what defines us as leaders in this world."

"A reminder that transcends generations," Sarah continued, casting a meaningful look at Damián. "The partnership with the Phillips family has been essential to preserving these traditions."

Damián leaned forward slightly, his fingers brushing his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "It's fascinating how something so ancient still resonates so deeply. Alphas have always had this... inclination to demonstrate supremacy in ways that are subtle, yet unmistakable."

"It is not supremacy," Sarah corrected, though her tone carried a trace of pride. "It is a celebration of who we are—a reflection of our gifts."

"Of course," Damián replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips, conveying more than his words. "And an opportunity to showcase those gifts to the world."

Aster chuckled lightly, relaxing a little. "Always so direct, Damián. But you're right. The tournament is a display—strength, speed, instinct. Everything that sets an alpha apart."

Mason, who had been silent until now, joined the conversation. "And the logistics? It sounds like this year's event will be quite spectacular."

"Yes," Aster replied with enthusiasm. "We're planning something special. The hunts will feature challenging terrains, the matches will be well-structured, and, of course, there will be observers. It's important to show the audience that the participants are more than just brute strength."

Sarah folded her hands on the table. "The tournament is not meant to prove anything to anyone. It is for us. A reaffirmation of who we are and what we can achieve."

Damián leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes fixed on Sarah. "A reaffirmation that few can ignore."

The atmosphere remained carefully balanced, with measured words and significant glances exchanged among the group. Though unspoken, the notion of alpha superiority lingered as an undeniable undercurrent, woven into every thread of the conversation.

The atmosphere in the sitting room remained balanced, with Sarah leading the discussion on the tournament preparations and Aster contributing logistical details. Mason listened attentively, while Damián maintained a relaxed posture, though his eyes followed every nuance in the words and expressions around him.

At an opportune moment, Damián leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the table with a calculated casualness. His tone was amicable, but there was an undeniable subtext in his words.

"Given that the tournament is such an ancient and significant tradition, I believe involving the Phillips more closely in the planning would be ideal, don't you think?" He paused, allowing the suggestion to linger in the air before continuing, his gaze fixed on Aster. "After all, Aster, you are a Phillips too. This family needs to move past the past, stop looking back, and start anew."

The room fell into a brief but heavy silence, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock. Aster raised his gaze, clearly caught off guard by the directness of Damián's statement. His posture stiffened, and he opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. The implications of Damián's words were deep and complex.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Damián spoke again, adjusting his tone to something more conciliatory but still purposeful. "I believe we were always destined to be together from the beginning. This tournament, more than a test of strength, could be an opportunity to start building something new—as a family."

Sarah, who had been unperturbed until now, raised an eyebrow. The idea surprised her, but her expression remained composed. Her mind worked quickly, assessing the consequences of the proposal. She was not a woman to dismiss possibilities that could strengthen the Campbell's' position.

"It's a bold idea," Sarah finally said, breaking the silence. Her tone was neutral but carried weight. "The Phillips have been close… We can't change that, and perhaps we shouldn't."

Aster, however, looked uneasy. He knew more than anyone in the room about Beatrice's involvement in matters that could jeopardize this rapprochement. Yet he couldn't simply dismiss the logic behind Damián's words.

Sensing the moment, Damián pressed forward gently. "I understand this may seem like an unexpected suggestion," he said, his tone now more relaxed, accompanied by an almost imperceptible smile. "But the tournament is a chance to unite our strengths. I believe this would show others that we are aligned and committed to the future."

Sarah clasped her hands in her lap, her eyes carefully studying Damián. After a moment, she tilted her head slightly, as if weighing the proposal. "Are you suggesting we pay them a visit?" she asked, now turning her gaze to Aster, as if seeking his reaction.

Aster hesitated, clearly torn. "That would be… unexpected," he said, choosing his words carefully. "The Phillips? I'm not sure how to approach this."

"Precisely why," Damián interjected, his tone friendly but incisive. "The sooner there's dialogue, the better. They're already involved in the tournament, and a show of unity would be symbolic as well as strategic. Aster, if there's a time for this, it's now."

Mason, who had remained silent until then, nodded in agreement. "Damián is right. Besides, it would be interesting for everyone to see the families working together on something so important."

Sarah tapped her fingers lightly on the table, her gaze distant as she pondered. Finally, she nodded in agreement. "Perhaps you're right, Damián. The history between our families hasn't been easy, but if there's a chance to start rebuilding, this tournament is a good beginning."

Before Aster could respond, the door to the sitting room opened quietly, revealing the imposing figure of Lord Mallet. He entered with the commanding presence of a man accustomed to leadership and, after an evaluative glance around, took his place beside Sarah.

"A reasonable idea," he said, his deep voice resonating in the room. His eyes lingered briefly on Aster before turning to Sarah. "Visiting the Phillips would be a strategic move. They need to see we are willing to rebuild familial bridges. And, Aster," he continued, now addressing him directly, "this will be an opportunity for you to meet your grandfather, Robert—my dear friend."

Aster took a deep breath, the weight of Lord Mallet's words pressing on him. He knew there was no room for objections. "If that's what you think is best, Grandfather," he replied reluctantly, "I'll agree."

Damián allowed a satisfied but restrained smile to cross his lips, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. "Excellent. Then Mason and I can accompany Sarah, Aster, and Lord Mallet. I'm certain it will be a… productive meeting."

As the conversation drew to a close, Aster couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine. He knew exactly what Beatrice was capable of and that any rapprochement came with significant risks. Still, with Sarah and Lord Mallet on board, retreating seemed impossible. Something was set in motion, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't end well.

As the meeting wound down, Damián leaned slightly in his chair, adjusting his tone to something more casual. "Aster, since I'm here, how about showing me around the Campbell Mansion? I've only been here a few times, and you're always at the Kadman Mansion. It would be good to see more of this place."

Mason, catching Damián's friendly tone, smiled and added, "It's truly an impressive property. Sarah, your home is magnificent. Every detail reflects exquisite taste and tradition."

Sarah allowed herself a subtle smile, her expression softening. "Thank you, Mason. The Campbell Mansion carries our history in every corner."

Aster hesitated for a moment before nodding, maintaining his composure. "Of course, Damián. There's plenty to see. Let's go."

Damián and Mason rose, both offering careful compliments about the house that only seemed to heighten Sarah's satisfaction. "It's truly fascinating how everything here carries an air of solidity and history," Damián remarked, casting an appraising glance around before following Aster out of the room.

As the three left, the sound of their footsteps and voices faded, leaving the room in a comfortable silence. Sarah remained seated, smoothing the folds of her dress with calm gestures. Lord Mallet, seated beside her, watched her with a slight smile.

"Good children," he finally said, his deep voice breaking the silence. "Each of them, in their own way, has something special. Damián is sharp, Mason is loyal, and Aster... well, Aster has potential."

Sarah chuckled softly, shaking her head. "They're a peculiar group, but perhaps that's exactly what we need. This tournament could be more than just a tradition. It might be the start of something greater."

"Indeed," Lord Mallet agreed, folding his hands in his lap as he gazed toward the corridor where the young men had disappeared. "If all involved play their cards well, we could have something truly significant on our hands."

Sarah nodded, allowing the comforting silence to return to the room. Both of them knew much was at stake, but for now, there was a sense that the pieces were beginning to align.

The library was shrouded in an almost supernatural silence, as if the towering, polished dark wood shelves were holding time itself still, waiting for Damián's confession. The soft light streaming through the windows created shifting shadows that danced across the spines of the books—a perfect reflection of the unease hanging in the air.

Damián walked to a side table, each step echoing on the marble floor like the ticking of a clock, marking the seconds before an irreversible moment. He placed his hands on the polished wood, his fingers pressing hard enough to make it creak. His eyes were dark chasms, fixed on Mason and Aster, who sat in opposing armchairs. They watched him as if sensing that something terrible was about to be said, yet neither dared to interrupt.

"I need to tell you something," Damián began, his voice low but charged with an intensity that cut through the air like a blade. He paused, long enough for the two men before him to exchange uneasy glances. "At the Kadman Mansion, during Beatrice and Clarice's visit... I saw someone. Someone who shouldn't be alive or even exist."

Aster furrowed his brow, leaning forward. "What are you talking about, Damián?"

"I saw Tetsu Sakae."

Those words fell like a Stone into a still pond, sending ripples of disbelief through the room. Mason didn't immediately grasp the significance, but he instinctively knew it was something bad. Aster froze, his eyes darting as if trying to make sense of it.

"Tetsu Sakae?" Aster stammered, disbelief tearing through his voice. "Are you sure? That… that doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm sure." Damián's voice was resolute, like a final verdict. He straightened, crossing his arms, his expression unwavering. "I killed him. With my own hands. I checked the body. I saw the blood and the emptiness in his eyes. He was dead. That was years ago… back when I was Josh Smith."

Mason leaned back slowly in his chair, his face pale, as though all the blood had drained from it. "You're telling me you saw… a dead man? A man you killed in another world? Here? In our dimension?" He let out a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to dispel the growing terror. "That's impossible. It has to be a mistake."

"There's no mistake." Damián's voice rumbled like a restrained storm. "I would recognize that face anywhere. It wasn't just his face; it was the way he walked, his presence. It was him. Alive."

Mason ran a hand through his hair, looking to Aster for some rational explanation, but found only a reflection of his own confusion. Aster sank deeper into his chair, visibly shaken.

"Do you have any idea what you're saying, Damián?" Aster asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "If this is true… this is a nightmare. Tetsu wasn't just anyone."

"Exactly," Damián continued, leaning forward, his presence dominating the room. "He was a so-honbucho. Taking him out was one of the most brutal missions of my life. I killed that bastard. And now he's back, as Beatrice Phillips' bodyguard."

The mention of Beatrice made Aster sit up straighter, tension radiating from every movement. "Beatrice? She knows about this? She… she's involved?"

Damián laughed, but it was a dry, humorless sound. "Involved? Do you think someone like Tetsu comes back from hell to work for just anyone? No, Aster. This is a game, and Beatrice is at the center of it."

Mason shot to his feet, pacing back and forth, his footsteps pounding against the floor like a hammer. "This doesn't make sense! How can someone who was already dead just… show up? Not just alive, but here? In another dimension? This isn't… it can't be real!"

"And yet, it is," Damián replied, his gaze steady and unyielding. "I know what I saw."

Silence fell over them again, a silence that seemed to press against their lungs. The shadows in the library grew darker, almost oppressive, as if the room itself were listening.

"If Tetsu is here…" Mason murmured, his voice trembling, "Who else could be? How many others have crossed over? And what does this mean for us?"

"It means," Damián said, his voice firm, like a stone dropping into an abyss, "that nothing is certain. We could be in danger—both from him and from the secrets he carries. We need answers, and we know where to find them."

Aster blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. "The Phillips Mansion?"

Damián nodded, determination burning in his eyes. "We have no choice. We need to uncover what Beatrice knows and what's happening. And quickly."

Mason stopped pacing, turning to Damián as if still struggling to process it all. "Do you really think this… this might Just be a misunderstanding? Look at us—we are a misunderstanding of fate!"

Damián locked eyes with the two, his gaze heavy with an almost predatory seriousness. "The Phillips Mansion is the next step. And, believe me, we need to be ready for anything."

Aster leaned forward in his chair, his expression serious and tense: "If Tetsu is alive… then what else might be lurking?" he murmured, barely realizing he had spoken aloud. The phrase reverberated through the room, heavy with the weight of a verdict.