CHAPTER 76: The Imperial Restaurant

CHAPTER 76: The Imperial Restaurant

The Imperial Restaurant shone like a palace in the heart of Vladslavia. Crystal chandeliers, white marble, and golden columns made it a temple of excess. Tables dressed in silk cloths, carved crystal glasses, and an atmosphere so refined it seemed lifted from another time.

Phoenix entered with a firm step, though discomfort burned within him. He wore an impeccable black jacket, a white shirt open at the collar, no tie. The light from the lamps reflected in his eyes, which never stopped observing everything with a certain wariness.

A waiter in white gloves bowed slightly.
"Mr. Roger, they are expecting you. Please, follow me."

Phoenix clenched his jaw and nodded silently. He followed the man down carpeted hallways, riding a private elevator up to the 24th floor, reserved only for the most exclusive guests.

When the doors opened, the first thing he saw was a long table by the panoramic window, offering a complete view of Vladslavia illuminated by thousands of lights. And there, standing, with a presence that filled the room even before he spoke, was Azazael.

He was dressed elegantly: a dark, perfectly tailored suit, a red shirt that stood out against his weathered skin, his hair swept back naturally. He smiled with a dangerous calm, like a predator toying with its prey before devouring it.

"You're punctual," said Azazael, his deep voice vibrating off the walls.

Phoenix didn't respond. He walked to the table, sat down stiffly, and fixed his gaze on the tablecloth as if every embroidered thread was more interesting than the man across from him.

Azazael settled into his chair, crossed his arms, and let out a low laugh.
"You know? I don't much care for these kinds of places, too... delicate for my taste. But I thought it would be appropriate. A dinner between father and son." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "I want to know you, Phoenix."

Phoenix barely looked up, his lips tight.
"..."

That silence was his answer.

Azazael watched him for a moment, not losing his smile.
"You're just like I was when I was young. Proud, stubborn... and with a fire in your blood that burns even when you try to extinguish it."

Phoenix clenched his fist under the table, trying to contain his rage. He barely murmured:
"We are not the same."

The waiter poured wine into crystal glasses, leaving an extremely expensive bottle on the table before retreating silently. Azazael calmly picked up his glass, swirling the dark red liquid as if assessing its weight.

"I must admit something," he said finally, with a half-smile. "You have style, Phoenix. Not everyone stands their ground in a place like this with such presence." He looked him up and down with an almost paternal expression. "You dress well."

Phoenix simply took a sip from his glass, showing no emotion.
"..."

Azazael raised an eyebrow, amused by the coldness.
"Always so serious, huh? Well... I want to know about you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What do you do when you're not hunting or working for Enid Corp? Do you have hobbies? Something you're passionate about?"

Phoenix set his glass down and spoke in a dry voice:
"I work. I train. I sleep. And I repeat."

Azazael let out a short laugh that echoed like thunder.
"That's a good one! Now that's dedication... though it sounds like a boring life."

Phoenix didn't react. His gaze was fixed on the empty plate in front of him, as if every word from Azazael was an extra weight he preferred to ignore.

The silence stretched for a few seconds until Azazael spoke again, a curious gleam in his eyes.
"Tell me something... why did you come without a tie? In a place like this, anyone would think you were missing a detail."

Phoenix looked up, finally meeting his gaze.
"Because Enid recommended it." His lips tightened into a dry smile, more from irony than affection. "She said I'd look better this way."

Azazael let out a deep laugh, tilting his head back.
"I see you listen to your woman. That's good... though I'd like it if you listened to your father from time to time as well."

"You know what I don't understand?" he began, his voice low but firm. "How the hell can you show up now, after all these years? After letting me grow up without a father, without even a damn name? What gives you the right to come looking for me as if nothing happened?"

Azazael watched him silently, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I grew up with the contempt of an entire village, with my mother breaking her back so that my brother and I could survive," Phoenix continued, hitting the table with his fist. "And now you come here playing the concerned father. You're a hypocrite. A monster who only thinks of himself!"

Azazael let out a deep, booming laugh that seemed to come from the bowels of the earth.
"That's it! That's what I wanted to hear... the rage in your voice. The fire in your words." He leaned forward. "You blame me for your misery, but look at you... you became strong thanks to that hatred. And that, son, you owe to me."

Phoenix couldn't take it anymore. He took his glass and, in a sudden movement, threw it directly at Azazael's face. The red wine soaked him, staining his shirt and his elegant coat. The silence on the 24th floor was absolute; even the waiters stood petrified, frozen in place.

Azazael slowly wiped his face with his hand, removing the drops of wine. His smile had vanished. He straightened up in his chair, and suddenly, his presence filled the air like an invisible weight crushing anyone who dared to look at him.

"I will allow it this time," he said in a grave voice, each word rumbling like contained thunder. "Because I understand you are blinded by emotion. But listen carefully, Phoenix... there will not be a second time. I will not tolerate another disrespect."