Devil’s Music - Chapter 327: Move the EPL

Late at night.

Alisher Usmanov was in his study, having been walking around the garden and engaging in a lengthy conversation with Geon.

Knock knock.

“Come in.”

In response to the knock, Alisher Usmanov saw the butler enter and took off his reading glasses to ask.

“Is it confirmed?”

The butler spoke in a very cautious tone.

“The British Museum has taken the painting for examination and it came back as ‘date unconfirmed’.”

“Date unconfirmed?”

The butler clasped his hands together and slightly bowed his head, then began to sweat profusely.

“Experts say that the paper used for Oriental paintings is very fragile. Thus, they often sandwich another sheet behind it when painting. The sheet with the painting is called ‘front lining’, and the sheet added behind is called ‘back lining’.”

Alisher Usmanov, sinking deeply into his study chair, gestured for the butler to continue explaining.

“Over time, the paint from the front lining seeps into the back lining. When the back lining is removed for work, it’s considered a forgery,” said the butler.

Alisher Usmanov’s expression grew stern. The butler noticed the change and continuously wiped off his cold sweat.

“There’s a fake painting hanging in my house, and it was spotted by a guest?”

“I’m so, so sorry!”

Alisher Usmanov tapped his fingers on the table. The butler, noticing the quiet room filled only with the sound of his boss’s tapping, bowed his head and trembled, his sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him. After a long silence,

Alisher Usmanov asked,

“What was the route the painting took?”

“It came from… North Korea.”

“I see. Was it a direct transaction?”

“No, it went through a seller in China.”

“Was it Xingxiu?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Alisher Usmanov stood up from his seat in the study, took out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a drink. As he looked at the whiskey, more than half full in the glass, he suddenly gulped it down and tightly gripped the glass, glaring at the butler.

“Contact Wei from the Black Society. Tell him to erase Xingxiu’s name from the world by tomorrow morning.”

The butler, unable to respond and fumbling, was prompted again by Alisher Usmanov.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“No, I did! I will convey it!”

“Leave.”

“Yes, yes!”

The butler hurriedly exited as Alisher Usmanov poured himself another whiskey. With a fiercer look than when dealing with Geon, he sat back at the desk with the whiskey glass in hand, stopped his movement and looked up at the ceiling.

“Hmm… Kay, so this is why Gregory praised him so highly.”

While Alisher Usmanov was drinking alone in the study, Geon, who had been directed to a room on the third floor, was calling Gregory. The phone rang for a while before it was answered, not by Gregory but by Kiska.

“Kay?”

“Uh? Kiska?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Is Gregory out?”

“No, he’s in the bathroom.”

“Ah, I see. Have you eaten?”

“Why do you keep asking if I’ve eaten? Are you curious about my meals?”

“Ah… haha, it’s more like a Korean thing, you know? With the long history of wars, it’s become a habit to ask people if they’ve had their meal.”

“Yeah, I’ve eaten. What about you, Kay?”

“Oh, I’ve eaten too.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in England, in a village called Prestbury, just north of London.”

“Alisher Usmanov’s place?”

“Uh? You know it?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend of my dad.”

“Oh, I see.”

“My dad’s back. I’ll hand you over to him.”

“Thanks.”

“Call me again in an hour.”

“Haha, will do.”

From the other end of the line, Kiska and Gregory’s voices could be heard. Kiska, who usually sounded cold, seemed a bit closer to her father now, greeting him with a kiss morning and evening, as their conversation sounded like a typical father-daughter chat.

The rustling stopped, and then Gregory’s cheerful voice came through.

“Hello, Kay?”

“Gregory, long time no see.”

“Haha, indeed. I thought you’d forgotten me.”

“Haha, forget you? How’s life in Georgia? How’s your mother doing?”

“Well, she’s over ninety, so she’s not very well. She won’t last much longer.”

Though saddened, Geon quickly dismissed the contradictory thought that emerged in his mind—that Kiska would return after her grandmother’s passing—and responded,

“Ah, I see

.”

“Yeah, we’re planning to move her to a hospital soon. But enough about that, how have you been? I heard about your exploits in Liverpool. You’ve produced another remarkable piece of music.”

“Haha, just working hard. I’m currently in England.”

“England? Are you there for a performance?”

“No, I’m at Alisher Usmanov’s house.”

“…………….What?”

“Alisher Usmanov, a friend of yours, I heard.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Geon tilted his head at Gregory’s sudden quietness.

“What’s wrong, Gregory?”

“……..Why did that guy call you?”

“He’s a major shareholder of Arsenal FC, and we’ve agreed to create a new anthem for the team.”

“Hmm…”

“Is there something wrong, Gregory?”

“Listen, Kay. He is indeed my friend, but I don’t know what his intentions are. Try not to get too close.”

“Why? He seems like a nice guy.”

“That guy, he might be involved in business and investments now, but he’s not a man who lives in the light.”

“Not living in the light—what does that mean?”

“Kay, I’ve known him for 40 years. Can’t you guess what that means?”

“….What does it mean?”

“That he used to do the same kind of work as me.”

“You mean, the mafia?”

“Yes, and not just any mafia—he’s at the pinnacle of the Uzbek mafia, though the others might not know.”

“Oh…”

“I’m around, so he won’t harm you, but he’s a guy who hides a fiery temperament behind his smile. It’s better to be cautious. Anyway, why didn’t this bastard tell me he’d called you over? I’ll have to give him a call.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Head straight to the U.S. once you’re done in England. You wouldn’t want to get too close and end up seeing something unpleasant. Unlike me, who’s dealing with the natural gas business, he has connections that can move not just the Chinese underworld but even the Yakuza in Japan.”

“Ah… understood, Gregory.”

“Good. If anything happens, contact Miroslav immediately.”

“Thank you.”

At that moment, in the director’s office of the CIA in the U.S.

Bang!!!

“Damn it!! As if the Red Mafia wasn’t enough, now it’s the Uzbek mafia!!?”

The agent had brought in a file for a report, which Director Mitchell slammed onto the table.

“What the hell is this? How many of our agents are attached to this one musician? Get me connected to Secretary Matt Besler right now!”

After a security call was made to the chief secretary, Mitchell picked up the phone irritably.

“Hello, Secretary!”

Unlike the agitated Mitchell, Matt Besler answered the phone calmly.

“Yes, Director. What’s the matter?”

“Kay is in England.”

“Director, you don’t need to report that level of detail.”

“That’s not it! He’s met with Alisher Usmanov!”

“Alisher Usmanov? The major shareholder of Arsenal FC?”

“That’s just his public image, you know that, right?”

“Yes, he’s also a boss of the Uzbek mafia.”

“What are you going to do? Half of our agents in England are attached to Kay. How are we supposed to gather information with this setup? Should we continue like this?”

After a moment of silence over the phone, as Mitchell awaited Matt’s decision, he spoke up impatiently.

“Why the hell is the President making such a fuss about Kay anyway?”

“Is Kay alone?”

“No, young Master Kevin, Shizuka, and Mr. Lee are with him.”

“What? Young Master Kevin went there!?”

“Yes, he’s staying at Alisher Usmanov’s estate.”

“Damn, you should have started with that! Upgrade to maximum alert!”

Click.

Matt, having said only what he wanted to say, hung up the phone. Mitchell cursed a blue streak and banged the phone down on the table several times before throwing the now-broken phone and shouting.

“Damn! Get me a new phone! And contact our people in England to attach more agents!”

The secretary quickly opened the door and left as Mitchell clutched his head in frustration.

“Damn, I’m already swamped as it is.”

Abruptly

The door suddenly burst open, and Mitchell turned his head irritably.

“What now?”

“Di… Director!”

An agent with blond hair slicked back rushed in, almost tripping over, which made Mitchell sense a developing situation and he asked again.

“What is it, what happened?”

“Di… Director! The Chinese underworld has hit Xingxiu!”

Mitchell stood up abruptly.

“What! Xingxiu was our collaborator, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was a broker providing us with information from China. Also involved in smuggling art.”

“Why, what happened?

What’s become of Xingxiu?”

“Um… um…”

“Spit it out!”

“He… he’s dead. About fifty of his men were gunned down, and his warehouse and mansion have burned down.”

“What? Find out what happened! Is there a reason the underworld would hit Xingxiu?”

“Uh, that’s… uh, it hasn’t been figured out yet.”

“You incompetents! Go find out and report back!”

“Yes, yes!!!”

As the CIA worked through the night, dawn broke, and Alisher Usmanov, who had received a report that the underworld had eliminated Xingxiu, looked satisfied as he drank his morning coffee and gazed out the window. Then he furrowed his brow.

“What’s that?”

He spotted a strikingly fair-haired young boy sitting atop a dazzling white horse in his stables, stroking the horse’s mane. As Alisher Usmanov set his coffee cup on the table and hurried to the stables with a shovel handle in his hand, he shouted, pointing at the boy with the shovel.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

The blond boy, gently stroking the horse’s mane, turned his head. Seeing his piercing blue eyes, Alisher Usmanov dropped the shovel handle and wore a dazed expression as the boy dismounted and approached him with a slight smile.

“Alisher Usmanov?”

Alisher Usmanov, almost unconsciously, nodded in response as the blond boy smiled broadly.

“I’m Pyemon. Shall we have a talk?”

>

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