Chapter 1: Rain-Soaked Paris Pact

The rain in Paris carried the chill of November, seeping through the narrow cobblestone alleyways of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and penetrating to the bone. The rain did not fall vertically; instead, it was whipped by the cold wind, slicing the air diagonally and striking the damp stone walls with dull, muted taps. Beat was backed into a dead end, facing three debt collectors armed with stun batons. Their towering figures appeared especially distorted under the yellow glow of the streetlamps, resembling ill-suited black silhouettes. Rainwater dripped from Beat’s tattered coat, spreading dark spots on the moss, which seemed to be spreading and consuming his last shred of dignity. Despair, like cold ink, soaked through his taut nerves, making his breath short and ragged.

His gaze was locked tightly on the ancient parchment scroll in the hands of the leader, Marcus, which emitted a cold, faint silver glow. The scroll exhaled a stale and dangerous aura, as if it had come from some forgotten medieval secret chamber. His hand instinctively reached out to block the cold metal tip, but the moment he touched the edge of the parchment, something changed. His vision was instantly filled with countless golden lines. The obscure Latin clauses were no longer rigid text in his eyes, but circuit diagrams pulsating with magical veins. Every stroke and curve emitted a faint yet fatal fluctuation, like the heartbeat of some ancient creature in slumber.

Before his retinas, the magical structure of the contract spread like tree roots, clearly exposing the fatal logical gaps within it. The golden lines interwound and twisted, pointing toward the signature space at the bottom of the parchment, which looked casual on the surface but held hidden depths. Marcus let out a contemptuous laugh. Rain soaked his expensive grey top hat, water droplets dripping from the brim and sliding down his rigid jaw. "You think this is a game, Beat?" He waved his hand, and the stun baton crackled dangerously, the air filled with the smell of ozone. "Once you sign, you're stuck. A bankrupt ghost like you, still daring to dream of fairness?" A sense of superiority looking down from on high permeated his gaze, as if Beat were nothing but an ant to be crushed at will.

"Under Article 7 of the European Union's 2024 Revised Cross-Border Debt Law," Beat's voice sounded unusually calm in the rain, even carrying a coldness befitting not his age. He had not been consumed by fear; instead, he found a strange clarity in that moment. "This debt transfer has not been legally registered with the notary office, and the method of calculating the penalty violates the principle of proportionality in fairness. This parchment is legally void." His voice was not loud, yet it echoed in the narrow alley, bouncing off the wet, cold walls and creating a slight reverberation.

Marcus paused for a second, then flew into a rage, thrusting the stun baton toward Beat's shoulder. "Shut up! Go back to your apartment that’s going to be foreclosed on any day!" The tip of the metal rod flashed with electric light that made one's heart race, missing Beat's collar by a fraction of an inch. The air froze for a moment; the sound of the surrounding rain seemed to be muted at that instant.

Beat did not retreat. He reached into his soaked pocket, his fingers trembling as he lit up his phone screen. The faint blue glow of the screen was especially glaring in the darkness, its cold light illuminating his pale, tightly locked face. He dialed the number he had memorized long ago. When it connected, his voice was like the ceaseless rain outside the window, so flat it made one's heart sink. "Sophia, intervene immediately. Unlawful detention, and also... I've obtained a sample of a dark contract from the Hans family." He clenched every word tightly, as if digging for the last bit of hope from the ruins.

On the other end of the line, the family lawyer, Sophia, quickly sorted through the case details. Her voice was steady and rigorous, like an invisible barrier blocking out the noise outside. "Keep calm, Beat. Do not provoke them. The shadow of the Hans family looms over Paris's financial circle; any procedural flaw could lead to you being completely swallowed up. Remember, a contract lasts longer than a promise, but it is also more fragile than a promise." Her words, like precise code commands, reached Beat's ears clearly, driving away the last chaos in his mind.

At the mouth of the alley, a long-handled black umbrella swayed gently. The investigative journalist Viktor emerged from the shadows, his camera already aimed at the scene inside the alley. Raindrops slid down the umbrella's ribs, making tiny cracking sounds, like the ticking of time. He keenly caught sight of the silver button on Marcus's cufflink—a symbol of the emblem of a老牌 banking house, flashing with cold metallic sheen in the dim alley, forming a stark contrast with the surrounding dilapidation.

Viktor stepped forward, the rain splashing onto his leather shoes. He raised his camera, and the distorted facial features of Marcus were reflected in the lens. "What is happening here? A private debt dispute? Or does it involve the jurisdiction of the European Court?" Viktor asked, his tone carrying the specific curiosity and sharpness of a journalist, like a scalpel attempting to cut through this layer of hypocrisy.

Marcus violently waved his hand to drive him away, the stun baton in his hand swinging in an arc. "Get lost, journalist! This is a private matter, none of your business. Take one more step closer, and I'll smash your lens." His attitude, arrogant and disdainful of those of the lower class, treated the journalist before him as nothing but a buzzing fly that could be squashed at any moment.

Beat inhaled sharply. The mist of the rain blurred his vision, yet the golden veins before him remained starkly clear. He pointed at the parchment scroll in Marcus’s hand; his voice was quiet, but it carried just enough to reach the passing pedestrians who had stopped in their tracks. “That is not a standard loan agreement, Viktor. That is a dark contract vessel used by the Hans family to launder black money. The moment it is exposed, the entire board will face criminal investigation. Are you truly prepared to keep his secret?” His words fell like a heavy hammer, striking the heart of everyone present.

Marcus’s complexion changed in an instant. The stun baton in his hand trembled slightly, the arrogant fire within him freezing at the touch of ice. He lunged for the scroll, attempting to destroy it, but his movements were stiff, as if an invisible force had shackled his limbs. Viktor’s camera had already captured everything. The crowd of onlookers surged forward, phones raised high. The pressure of public opinion formed an invisible vortex at that moment, pinning Marcus firmly to the spot. The rain grew more intense, as if cheering on the storm about to erupt.

Sophia’s car cut through the curtain of rain. The wipers swept rhythmically across the windshield, making a dull thud like the heavy breathing of a giant beast. After stepping out, her high heels clicked crisply against the wet cobblestones, each step striking in time with Beat’s own heartbeat. She did not glance at Beat; instead, she walked straight toward Marcus, unfurling an emergency injunction document issued by the European Court of Justice. The paper fluttered violently in the wind, its edges sharp enough to slice through the air.

Sophia slapped the document into the puddle in front of Marcus. The rain soaked the edges of the paper, but it could not wash away the heavy seal stamped upon it. The red seal stood out sharply against the gloomy surroundings, like a single drop of blood. “Mr. Hans,” Sophia said coldly, her gaze like a blade. “The debt relationship is temporarily frozen due to procedural violations. Now, you will leave, or we will pursue the joint liability of everyone present.” Her voice carried no inflection, yet it held an unyielding authority, like a cold iron law.

Marcus looked at the document, then at the crowd of onlookers holding their phones, and finally at the evidence he could not destroy. He gritted his teeth; the stun baton slowly lowered. In that moment, the cunning and ancient nature in his eyes were laid bare, like a beast that had retreated for the time being, staring at its prey from the darkness. He took a step back. Rainwater seeped through his collar, bringing a bone-chilling cold. The commotion in the alley gradually subsided, leaving only the sound of the rain. In that silence, the shadow of the Hans family seemed to truly descend, shrouding every rainy night in Paris.

Marcus’s figure vanished into the depths of the rain curtain, but the chills of being watched did not dissipate; instead, they seeped into the marrow with the damp, cold air. Beat slumped against the wet corner of the wall. The fragment of the contract in his hand had been soaked through by the rain. The runes that had once flowed with a structure of golden magical power in his sight were now dimming into a dead, silent ash, as if their life had been drained away. He trembled as he lifted his head, only to find that Sophia had not left. She was standing with her back to him, beneath the hazy yellow glow of a street lamp at the alley’s entrance. Her silhouette was gaunt and rigid, the hem of her trench coat snapping in the wind, like a tattered flag.

“Do you think freezing the debt keeps you safe?” Sophia’s voice pierced the curtain of rain. There was no echo, yet every word was distinct. She turned slowly. Rainwater slid down her pale cheeks. Those eyes no longer held the sharpness of the courtroom; instead, they revealed an unfathomable fatigue and vigilance.

Beat wanted to explain, but his throat felt strangled by an invisible hand. He caught a fleeting emotion in Sophia’s eyes—it was not pity, but fear, an instinctive shudder in the face of a higher-dimensional power. She lowered her voice, speaking with rapid intensity. “The Hans family is not an ordinary creditor. Marcus is merely a hound they have raised. That injunction I just issued? I traded the lives of my entire legal team to buy this reprieve. They... they are watching you, Beat. Not just Marcus, but someone deeper in the dark.”

Suddenly, she lunged forward, seizing Beat’s wrist with a force that nearly crushed his bones. In that instant of contact, the Shadow-Print Vision within Beat activated uncontrollably once more. This time, he did not see magic. Instead, he saw fine black lines, slender as hair, extending from Sophia’s chest and disappearing into the darkness at the end of the street. Those black lines did not connect to Marcus; they pointed directly to several ancient mansions in the center of Paris. There, the shadows were so thick they refused to dissolve, seemingly possessing their own will, greedily devouring the surrounding rain and light.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Sophia’s voice trembled. She released him abruptly, staggering back two steps, her eyes filled with terror and resolve. “That thread is already coiled around your soul. The Patriarch of the Hans family has woken. He requires a new vessel, or a new scapegoat.”

Beat’s heart constricted violently. He realized that the legal weapon he had just used to repel the enemy was merely the tip of the iceberg. The true horror was surging beneath the surface, those black lines tightening. And his residence—that last sanctuary—was no longer just a physical space; it had become a cursed cage. Sophia gave him one final glance, her eyes carrying a touch of sorrowful urging. “Run, Beat. Run before dawn. Because after tonight, you will no longer be yourself.”

As she turned and vanished into the rain, the black thread bound to Beat’s soul emitted a near-imperceptible, bone-cracking snap amidst the downpour.