The Diamond Mask

Chapter 5: The Hostess Known as "36"

The underbelly of the capital was alive, pulsing, and entirely lawless. Inside the concrete belly of the Black Star Club, the oppressive bass from the massive speaker arrays rattled the bones of everyone on the floor. The air was a thick, intoxicating haze of expensive imported perfume, spilled liquor, and heavy, sweet smoke. High above the chaotic sea of twisting bodies, exclusive VIP lounges shielded by one-way glass overlooked the madness below like opera boxes for the corrupt.

Deep in the shadows of a secondary service hallway, Su-Bin adjusted the velvet, pink butterfly mask covering the upper half of her face. At the restaurant, she was just a broke, underpaid waitress struggling to make rent; but here, she was Hostess 36—a high-earning, elusive fixture of the nightlife known for her sharp wit and zero-tolerance policy for unruly guests. The mask was her shield, a vital barrier keeping her double life completely separate from her harsh reality.

"36! Over here!" Mr. Hook, the club manager, snapped, sliding a polished silver tray across the VIP service counter. On it lay a premium selection of imported cigarettes, a heavy gold lighter, and an assortment of high-end lounge amenities. "Take this to VIP Room 10. High-profile client. Do not keep him waiting."

"Got it, boss," Su-Bin replied, her voice dropping effortlessly into a smooth, professional cadence.

She lifted the silver tray, navigating seamlessly through the crowded, neon-drenched corridors. As she reached the exclusive deep-blue and crimson corridor reserved for the elite, she froze. Standing guard outside the door marked VIP 10 were two massive, heavily armed security guards. Their sleek tactical gear looked entirely too military, too lethal, for a standard nightclub.

"What do you want?" the first guard growled, shifting his weight and blocking her path with a cold, unblinking stare.

Su-Bin kept her composure, tilting her tray slightly to show the amenities. "Room service delivery for the guest inside."

The guards exchanged a brief, calculating look, checking the glowing credentials on her lapel badge before pushing the heavy, soundproof door open. Su-Bin stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind her with a definitive thud, plunging her into a luxurious, dimly lit private suite.

Sitting on the plush velvet sofa in the center of the room was a single man. He was draped entirely in shadows, a crystal glass of amber liquor swirling lazily in his gloved hand. But it wasn't his incredibly expensive clothes that made Su-Bin’s breath suddenly hitch in her throat.

It was the crimson-and-diamond mask covering his face.

Oh, holy s**t, Su-Bin thought, her heart hammering violently against her ribs like a trapped bird. It’s the Angel of Death. The Prince.

Yeon didn't look up immediately. He sat in an absolute, chilling stillness that exuded an aura of pure, unadulterated danger.

"Sir, your requested items," Su-Bin said, keeping her voice low, steady, and thoroughly detached as she stepped toward the low glass table.

Yeon’s head snapped up. Through the elegant, sharp openings of his diamond mask, his dark, piercing eyes locked onto her. For a split second, a bizarre, violent jolt went through his chest. An unexplainable sense of familiarity—a phantom spark of recognition—surged in his mind, causing his fingers to tighten around his crystal glass until the ice rattled.

"Why are you wearing a mask?" Yeon demanded. His voice was a deep, gravelly purr that echoed commandingly in the quiet room.

Su-Bin carefully placed the silver tray on the table, keeping as much distance between them as possible. "It is standard club policy for exclusive hostesses, your Highness. If that is all, I will take my leave."

She turned on her heel to exit, but before she could take a single step, Yeon moved with supernatural, terrifying speed. In a seamless blur, he was on his feet, his gloved hand clamping firmly around her wrist. The exact moment his fingers brushed her bare skin, a jolt of pure static electricity seemed to snap between them, causing them both to gasp softly from the shock.

Yeon’s grip tightened, his eyes darkening behind the mask with a sudden, possessive intensity. This feeling... who on earth is she?

"Take off the mask," Yeon commanded, stepping closer until she was effectively trapped against the broad expanse of his chest. "I want to see your face."

Su-Bin’s internal panic flared into a roaring fire. If he took off her mask and recognized her later in the city, her life would be forfeit. In this kingdom, seeing the prince’s face meant death—but keeping her own identity secret was her golden rule of survival.

"I-I cannot do that, your Highness," she stammered, pulling desperately against his iron grip to free her wrist.

"I don't take no for an answer," Yeon growled, his free hand reaching up, his fingers clawing for the edge of her pink butterfly mask.

Su-Bin didn't think. Her street-fighter instincts took complete control of her body. With a sudden, explosive burst of force, she pivoted on her planting foot and drove her heel directly up between his legs, connecting squarely with the one precise spot the prince's advanced body armor failed to cover.

Thud.

"Ugh—!"

Prince Yeon’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated agony. The terrifying, legendary "Angel of Death" instantly dropped straight to his knees on the velvet carpet, his hands frantically clutching his crotch as the color drained entirely from his face.

Su-Bin gasped, her own eyes widening with horror at the astronomical scale of what she had just done. "Oh my god... Oops! I am so, so sorry, your Highness! I swear I didn't mean to kick your royal balls! See you later!"

Without waiting for a response, she turned and sprinted toward the door, tearing it open and throwing herself headfirst into the crowded, chaotic hallway.

Just as she escaped, the private elevator doors at the end of the hall burst open, and Lee rushed into the VIP suite, his sidearm drawn and eyes alert. He stopped dead in his tracks at the bizarre sight of Prince Yeon kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily through the vents of his mask.

"My Prince! What happened?! Are we under attack?!" Lee yelled, scanning the luxurious room for hidden assassins.

"Ahhhh!" Yeon roared out in sheer, unbridled fury, the blinding pain in his groin radiating through his entire torso. "Get that b***h! Find her and bring her to me! I am going to skin her alive!"

Lee blinked, utterly perplexed by the command. "Which... which girl, sire?"

Yeon stood up, shaking off the surging agony as he forced his rigid body upright. His leather-gloved knuckles cracked with lethal intent. "The hostess. Number 36. Find out who she is, where she lives, and who she works for. I am going to rip her throat out with my bare hands."

Lee swallowed hard, recognizing the terrifying, unhinged look of a man possessed in the prince's eyes. He bowed deeply and stepped back out into the blue-lit corridor.

He looked at the two guards standing outside the door, both of whom were visibly trembling in their tactical gear. "Did you see the girl who just sprinted out of this room?" Lee asked, his voice entirely deadpan.

"Y-Yes, Captain," the guard stammered, sweating beneath his helmet. "She disappeared straight into the main dance floor crowd."

Lee shook his head, a mixture of profound awe and deep pity washing over him as he stared down the empty hallway.

"Whoever that girl is," Lee muttered to himself, a grim, amused smirk touching his lips, "she just became the most wanted woman in the empire."