Three days later…
The morning sun finally rose over Little Italy, casting a golden hue on cobblestone streets and red-bricked buildings. Life continued as usual while the Five Angels split off to their respective tasks. Although Genco Pura's business had come to a halt, those who founded it remained undeterred, driven by resolve and legacy.
At the Empire's bustling harbor, Gauri assisted the carpenters in constructing a warehouse for whale oil storage.
One of the older carpenters, Marco, glanced over and said, "You handle that saw better than most of my apprentices. Ever think about changing careers, Gauri?"
Gauri chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. "If things don't work out with the Five Angels, maybe I'll come knocking. For now, I'm just glad to lend a hand."
Marco grinned. "Good hands are rare these days. Especially ones that aren't afraid to get dirty."
"We all do what we must to keep the wheels turning," Gauri replied, gazing at the fog lifting over the harbor.
Meanwhile, Josef convened with fellow olive oil traders and newly allied whale oil exporters to discuss potential collaboration.
"The market is shifting," said an exporter with a thick mustache and even thicker accent. "The Empire is hungry for whale oil, and we've got the docks. But distribution—distribution is where we need help."
Josef nodded. "Our routes are well-established. If we leverage them, we can move both oil and olives without drawing too much attention."
A sharp-eyed trader from the southern coast chimed in. "And what of the taxes? The Governor is sniffing around again. We may need more than smooth talking."
Josef glanced around the circle, his voice calm but firm. "Let me handle the Governor. We're not in the business of war—but we're not strangers to pressure either."
Genco wandered the streets of Little Italy, laughing heartily as he greeted vendors and longtime neighbors.
"Genco! You've been scarce lately," called out Rosa, the baker's wife, handing him a fresh cannoli.
"Business has been demanding," he replied with a grin. "But I never forget my roots. This cannoli might just be the reason I come back more often."
At the orphanage, Vito knelt beside a group of children playing with wooden blocks. One of the boys looked up at him.
"Don Vito, will you come back tomorrow too?"
Vito smiled warmly, placing a gentle hand on the boy's head. "As long as there are smiles like yours, I'll always find my way here."
A volunteer headmaster, watching from the doorway, nodded with approval. "The children look up to you. They feel safe when you're around."
"Then I'll do everything I can to keep it that way," Vito said, his eyes drifting to the horizon, as if sensing a storm no one else could yet see.
Tatsumi, on the other hand… had drawn the short end of the stick.
He was traveling to another district in hopes of getting another business permit. Ever since Tariq had been murdered a few nights ago, the team at Genco Pura had made the difficult decision to temporarily close shop. The loss of their key contact had put them under uncomfortable scrutiny, and Vito thought it wise to lie low and avoid drawing attention from Imperial investigators.
In the early hours of dawn, Vito had summoned Tatsumi for a quiet meeting.
"You're going to the Third District," Vito said, sipping his coffee. "Find someone cooperative enough to get us a new permit. Someone who doesn't have their hand too deep in Gamal's pocket."
Tatsumi had nodded, already understanding the delicacy of the mission. The road wasn't long, but the tension it carried made every step feel heavier.
Please be someone more reasonable, he mused as he arrived at a run-down apartment complex tucked between a quiet inn and a tanner's shop. The building looked older than its neighbors, but the faint scent of incense and paper suggested it was still active.
He stepped inside, greeted by the smell of ink and damp wood. A tall man with broad shoulders and a sharp gaze met him in the foyer.
"State your purpose here," the man barked.
"Business permit," Tatsumi replied bluntly, fishing a parchment from his satchel. The old document bore the official seal—and Tariq's signature, now a symbol of controversy.
"Please, follow me," the man said after a moment, stepping aside.
They moved through a narrow corridor lined with aging scrolls and dusty ledgers. The floor creaked with each step until they reached a modestly furnished study tucked at the end.
Not too glamorous, not too bland, Tatsumi thought, taking note of the sparse décor: a bookshelf half-filled with manuals, a ceramic kettle steaming in the corner, and a single window that let in pale morning light.
A man with a composed, almost scholarly demeanor sat behind a sturdy oak desk. He looked up from his writing and nodded courteously.
"Welcome to my office, Mister…?"
"Tatsumi. Representative for Genco Pura Oil Company."
"Ah, yes. The one with the olive oil products making waves at the market lately, right?"
"Yes, that's correct. We're actually here to renew our permit."
"Already? You've only just opened your doors to the public."
"To be honest, we still have our permit, but the overseer who granted it... is no longer with us. We want to avoid future complications and ensure everything's in order going forward."
Tatsumi handed over the old permit. The overseer examined it silently, his expression shifting the moment his eyes landed on Tariq's signature.
"Oh… so he's the one who signed off. From the looks of this, it seems you've earned the ire of some other oil merchants."
He rolled the parchment and handed it back with a sigh.
"As much as I want to help you bounce back, I just can't."
"Why's that?"
"To be honest, some Imperial officers have been routinely inspecting the logs and papers in my office. They've been relentless. It's really hard to get a permit processed when they keep pestering your work and digging into every little record."
Tatsumi immediately grasped the deeper implication. These weren't just random inspections. In his mind, there was no doubt: the soldiers were working under Gamal's payroll, their aim to keep Genco Pura from reopening.
It was a clever tactic—stifling competition with bureaucracy. But predictable. Tatsumi had expected as much.
He let a silence settle before stepping closer to the desk. His voice lowered to a calm but serious tone.
"Well, if you don't want them to keep pestering you, then I have a suggestion."
The overseer raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"You need to close down shop here."
The man leaned back in his chair, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
"Not literally," Tatsumi clarified, pulling out another folded parchment from his satchel. "Relocate your office—transfer your registry work to the southern harbor district. I've already spoken with someone who can assist. They're less likely to be influenced by Gamal's reach."
The overseer rubbed his chin, considering the idea. "That's a risky move. The harbor district is chaotic."
"Chaotic, yes. But it's independent. And you won't have soldiers watching every pen stroke. We're already building our own facilities there for future use. We'll help you with the transition, too."
He paused, then added, "Think of it as a fresh start. A place where your name isn't shadowed by whispers or questioned by every inspector that walks in."
A moment passed. Then the overseer leaned forward, scanning the new parchment Tatsumi offered.
"You've planned this out pretty well."
"Vito said we should be prepared. We don't act without knowing the pieces on the board."
The overseer smirked faintly. "You're sharper than you look."
"Thanks," Tatsumi said, bowing slightly. "So, do we have a deal?"
The man picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and signed.
"You have your permit. Just make sure this plan of yours holds up."
"It will," Tatsumi replied confidently.
With that, he tucked the signed document back into his satchel, offered a respectful nod, and exited the study. As he stepped out into the open air, the sound of the city waking up surrounded him—distant chatter, barking dogs, and the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. The sun had fully risen now, casting golden light over the narrow streets of the district.
He passed by the plaza, his steps slowing as familiar landmarks triggered old memories. He remembered the very spot where he had first met Vito. Back then, he had still been a naive country boy, easily deceived by smooth talk and false promises. Then Vito came into his life—older, wiser. Then he became shaped by the brutal loss of his childhood friends at the hands of a sadistic noble.
It was Vito who taught him how to survive. Who helped him see past surface appearances. Who turned him into the man he was today. Tatsumi paused to sit at a bench overlooking a fountain where he and Vito had once shared a loaf of bread and dreams of a better world.
"Time sure flies pretty fast," Tatsumi muttered, staring down the alley where they had first crossed paths.
As he continued walking, his eyes fell upon a weathered wanted poster plastered onto a wall—Akame's image stared back at him, serious and resolute. The ink was faded, but the bounty was still legible.
"Night Raid came into the picture right as we uncovered the truth... I wonder what things would've looked like if I had met them instead."
A sudden noise caught his attention—raised voices nearby, the clatter of overturned crates. Tatsumi moved toward the sound instinctively.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with someone.
A blonde woman in a hooded cloak stumbled back, nearly dropping a coin pouch she clutched tightly in her bruised hands. Tatsumi steadied himself and caught a glimpse of her face—swollen around the cheek, a faint cut by her brow. Her eyes were wide with panic.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked gently, concern creeping into his voice.
The woman said nothing. Her eyes darted past him, filled with fear, and without a word she scampered away, vanishing into a narrow side street.
Tatsumi blinked, then followed her gaze.
That was strange. What was she running from?
He considered going after her but decided against it. Drawing attention right now would only complicate things further.
Tatsumi stood still for a moment longer, brow furrowed, before adjusting the strap of his satchel and walking on. The city might've been waking up, but danger didn't sleep here. Not in the Empire. Not ever.
As he moved deeper into the winding streets, he noticed more signs of unrest—closed shops, patrols marching too stiffly. Genco Pura wasn't the only one feeling pressure. The Empire's grip was tightening, and the people were beginning to push back.
He arrived at the carriage stop where a familiar face greeted him—Gauri, clad in his usual work clothes, leaning against a post with a smirk.
"Took you long enough," Gauri said.
"Had to tie up a few things," Tatsumi replied.
Gauri raised an eyebrow. "That look on your face says something tied you up instead. Trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Tatsumi said with a faint smile.
The two boarded the carriage and set off, the wheels clattering against stone as the city receded behind them. The streets were bathed in the soft orange of early morning, shadows stretching long as the sun climbed higher. The horses' steady pace gave them a rare moment of quiet, a brief lull before the next storm.
"So, how's the talks going?" Gauri asked, glancing sideways at Tatsumi.
"Perhaps we've hit a gold mine with that benefactor," Tatsumi replied, a tired but satisfied look on his face.
Gauri smirked, folding his arms. "Do tell."
"He's more than willing to bring us back into the running," Tatsumi said, leaning back against the worn cushion. "But he needs help. Serious help."
"I'm listening."
"Ever since Tariq was killed, there's been a crackdown on all trade overseers, especially the ones who handle permits. Gamal's been quick to fill the void. Paid off a few key officials and now he's got leverage we can't ignore."
Gauri's eyes narrowed as he digested the news. "Figures. That bastard never wastes an opportunity. Took advantage of the closure and now he's tightening his grip."
"Exactly. So, I proposed something risky. And I need your help to pull it off."
"Okay. What's the plan?"
"We're relocating him to the port," Tatsumi said. "Within our own facilities. I want you to reserve an office inside for him, make it secure, make it fit for his own liking."
"Well, we do have space for more," Gauri said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "If he wants to stay full-time, we could even make it into a residence. A place he can operate from without eyes constantly on him."
"I'll talk to him about that," Tatsumi nodded. "We need to make sure he feels safe enough to keep working. If he folds under pressure, we lose our edge."
Gauri gave a slow nod. "Fair. I'll make sure our crew clears the space today. What about security?"
"Vito's having Josef coordinate with the harbor patrols. They'll look the other way and give us room to operate—so long as we don't draw too much attention."
"Harbor patrols, huh? I'll believe it when I see it. Those guys are just as crooked as the palace guards."
"They are. But everyone has a price."
A pause settled between them as the carriage continued to roll. They passed a market square where vendors were beginning to set up their stalls, the scent of fresh bread and spices drifting through the morning air. Children darted between crates, laughing, momentarily oblivious to the darker undercurrents running beneath their city.
"How are things on your end?" Tatsumi asked, breaking the silence.
"We've started reinforcing the outer walls of the warehouse," Gauri replied. "There's talk of a crackdown coming to the ports next. We need to be ready for anything."
"Smart. Better to be over-prepared than caught off guard. How are things going with Josef?"
Gauri pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he were sorting through a tangled thought.
"What's wrong?" Tatsumi noticed the shift in his demeanor.
"Well... Josef... they're bootlegging. Under Vito's advice."
Another pause.
"Bootlegging?"