System Mission: Seduce the Final Boss [BL]-Chapter 20: What a cold mountain

The next morning, far earlier than Blake would’ve preferred, he was shoving clothes into his backpack with all the enthusiasm of someone packing for jury duty.

"Do I even need to pack? It’s not like I own anything formal anyway..."

He paused mid-stuff, stared at his pile of very un-formal clothing, then stretched and zipped the bag shut. Slinging it over his shoulder, he muttered, "Better to have it and not need it."

Another location had come in overnight. Unknown number. Again. The place pinned on the map was secluded, practically hiding from civilization.

"They really wanted him tucked away somewhere no one would look. What was he, some secret love child? Which would be ridiculous. You don’t hide someone and then invite them to a party."

Spoon still hadn’t replied. No missions. No cryptic instructions. No passive-aggressive nudges.

Not that Blake was complaining, but with Spoon, silence was never a good sign.

Especially now.

He needed to keep Myles’ favorability steady. Maintain it. Nudge it upward if possible. A few texts. Maybe a call. Something had to work!

Blake pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen longer than he’d like to admit before he typed:

Myles, I’m going to be gone for a while. Family stuff. Sorry for the sudden disappearance, man... I’ll text you later.

He reread it once.

"Okay. Good enough. He’ll probably ignore it for a bit anyway. That works."

Across the street, a black car idled at the curb. Two men sat inside. One stepped out as Blake approached.

Reluctantly.

Blake’s heart skipped a beat for now reason, he tried to ignore it.

"Hi...?"

"Good morning, young master."

Blake froze.

That voice. No mistaking it. The same one from the phone.

The man looked exactly how you’d picture a personal secretary: hair slicked neatly back, thin-framed glasses, crisp black suit. Composed. Immaculate.

And clearly overworked.

’Those bags under his eyes definetly are something. What is this man surviving on? Vibes and caffeine?’

Blake slid into the passenger seat and immediately inhaled a violently floral scent.

’What is that? A funeral home exploded?’

Trying to be subtle about it, he cracked the window open and casually leaned his face toward the fresh air.

The secretary noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes flicked sideways, just briefly, before returning to the road.

"Is the temperature uncomfortable, young master?"

"No, no," Blake replied quickly. "Just... oxygen is important."

The secretary gave a polite nod, the kind that acknowledged a sentence without acknowledging the content of it.

The car pulled away from the curb smoothly, gliding through the quiet streets of the city. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the muted hum of the engine and the faint rustle of expensive fabric every time the secretary shifted gears.

Blake leaned his head against the window.

The buildings slowly began to thin out. Brick and concrete turned into wider roads. Wider roads turned into long stretches of near emptiness.

He watched as the city faded behind them.

Yet that weird feeling didn’t disappear. He was definitely too tense.

’This is just road, what am I even worrying about...’

And then, gradually, scenery.

The flatlands began to rise. Hills first. Then slopes.

Then mountains.

Blake straightened slightly.

The trees were different tall, full, almost unnaturally symmetrical. Perfect rows of deep green framed the winding road like something out of a brochure titled Wealth and Isolation: A Lifestyle Choice.

Flowers dotted the landscape in bursts of color, soft pinks, bright yellows, rich violets, too evenly spaced to feel accidental.

’It’s so obviously fake...’

Blake frowned faintly.

’Do rich people scare wildlife away too? Why do rich people always build their mansions on mountains, anyway?’

He thought about it for a moment.

Then answered himself.

’Oh, right, it’s because they don’t have to take the bus, they have drivers!’

He glanced sideways at the man in the suit.

The car turned onto a narrower road that curved upward more steeply now. The trees thickened, forming a corridor of green and gold. The flowers grew more elaborate, arranged in patterns that had no business existing in the wild.

And then the gates appeared.

They swung open automatically as the car approached.

Beyond them stretched a long driveway, paved in smooth stone that looked like it had never experienced a single crack in its life. The mansion stood at the top.

Blake stared.

And kept staring.

The word house felt almost insulting.

White stone walls gleamed in the sunlight. Massive windows reflected the sky like mirrors. Balconies curved elegantly around upper levels. The architecture blended classical columns with modern glass in a way that screamed generational wealth and extremely confident interior designers.

Blake’s mouth opened slightly.

’...That’s not real, how is that even possible?’

Blake swallowed.

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the entrance. Before Blake could even reach for the door handle, it was opened for him.

He stepped out slowly.

The mansion loomed above him, casting a long shadow that felt less like shade and more like a quiet reminder of his current insignificance.

Blake blinked, covering his chest with his hand, trying to stead such an unreasonable heartbeat.

"Okay," Blake muttered to himself. "Don’t fret."

The doors opened before he could knock.

An old woman stood in the doorway.

Her posture was straight despite her age. Silver hair pulled tightly into a bun. A dark, modest dress with long sleeves and lace at the collar. Her face held no warmth.

No hostility either.

’I bet on everything she’s the housekeeper.’

Her eyes scanned him once.

Assessing.

"Welcome," she said, her voice level and detached. "We have been expecting you."

Blake nodded once.

"Of course... thanks."

The woman stepped aside without another word.

He entered.

The inside was quieter than he thought it would be.

No echo of chatter.

No distant laughter.

Just soft footsteps against polished marble floors.

The ceilings stretched high overhead, adorned with intricate molding and chandeliers that looked like they had their own insurance policies. Paintings lined the walls, landscapes, portraits, abstract pieces that probably cost more than his entire education.

Blake kept his hands firmly at his sides.

They reached a lift at the end of the corridor. Its doors were gold-trimmed, reflective enough that Blake caught sight of himself.

Backpack slung over one shoulder.

Slightly wrinkled hoodie.

Hair still not cooperating.

’Damn, I look completely out of place.’

The lift doors slid open.

They stepped inside and when the doors opened again, they revealed a long hallway.

Longer than necessary.

Soft carpet absorbed their footsteps. Doors lined both sides, identical in size and design. Tall windows at the far end allowed sunlight to spill in, illuminating the corridor in pale gold.

They walked all the way to the end.

Of course.

Blake glanced at the length behind them.

’Last room at the end of the hallway,’ he murmured internally. ’And on the last floor, at that.’

He wasn’t surprised, of course, but it was a little baffling.

’Unacknowledged heirs must occupy the furthest possible space from everyone else, I suppose.’

The old woman stopped at the final door.

She opened it.

"If you need anything, call."

"Thanks."

Blake stepped inside.

And paused.

It was enormous.

Larger than his entire apartment.

A king-sized bed stood near the center, draped in immaculate white sheets. A sitting area by the window featured plush chairs and a small glass table. Bookshelves lined one wall, though they were sparsely filled. A walk-in closet stood open to the side, already stocked with clothes that looked suspiciously tailored.

The air smelled faintly of something neutral. Clean. Expensive.

And yet it felt empty.

Like a showroom.

"Just why am I so..."

His gaze moved slowly across the space, as if forgetting to say the next words.

And then stopped on the bed.

Sitting neatly against the pillows was a stuffed bear with brown fur and button eyes. Slightly worn around the edges, as if it had been handled at some point, but not recently.

Blake stared at it.

"...You’ve got to be kidding me."

The room was otherwise pristine.

And then there was the bear.

He walked over slowly and picked it up.

It was soft.

Well-made.

Not new, but preserved.

He turned it over in his hands, searching for... something.

Because then, why would he feel this relieved to see it?

He placed it back down carefully.

"Is this actually Blake’s stuffed toy?"

But at the same time, the more he stared at it, the more he felt dreadful.

He walked to the window.

From here, the view stretched across the mountains he had just driven through. The perfect trees. The curated flowers. The unsettling lack of wildlife.

It was beautiful.

And completely isolating.

Time passed.

Blake didn’t know how long.

He unpacked slowly. Examined the closet. Tested the mattress. Opened drawers. Closed them again.

Everything was provided.

Toothbrush.

Slippers.

Even a watch sitting neatly on the desk.

Prepared.

It made his skin crawl.

’What did Blake even do in this boring room...’

Eventually, a knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?"

The door opened slightly, revealing a different person this time, a younger servant. Expression neutral. Eyes trained just past Blake’s shoulder.

"Lunch is being served, young master," the servant said. "You are expected downstairs."

Blake involuntarily flinched.

"Right. I’ll be there soon."

The servant simply stood there, not moving.

"...Um, you can leave."

"I have to escort you, young master, let’s go."

Blake wasn’t sure how to reply, couldn’t he see that he hadn’t changed his clothes?

"No. I’ll be changing first. Wait for me outside."

"Young master—"

Before letting the servant continue, Blake gently closed the door.

’Who do they think I am?’ he thought. ’Everyone knows that at a wealthy family’s table you’re expected to look flawless.’

And right now he looked worse than the servants.

"Come on, Blake," he muttered to himself. "You’re a good-looking guy. This is entirely possible."

***

"I’m ready."

When he opened the door again, the servant was still standing there.

The man looked up at him, and visibly flinched.

Blake now wore a light-brown suit with silver accents, polished black shoes, and an expensive watch at his wrist. His hair was neatly combed, swept half back from his face.

The servant paused for exactly half a second longer than necessary before saying, "Please follow me."

Blake stepped out and followed him toward the lift, the quiet mansion once again swallowing the sound of his footsteps.

The only thing he couldn’t ignore was the persistently annoying heartbeat. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

It had already been quick before, fast enough to notice, but easy to dismiss. Now it pounded so hard it almost hurt.

Lunch with his supposed family.

How curious.