Six months had passed since Youri first set foot in Las Peas, and in that time the city had carved itself into him as deeply as any scar. Vegas didn't just change people—it stripped them down, broke them apart, and rebuilt them into something sharper, meaner, or stronger. For Youri, it had done all three. He had arrived with little more than a name, a past he refused to talk about, and a body that had already known too much pain. Now, he moved through the city like he belonged to it.
Las Peas had taught him survival in its rawest form. It taught him how to read eyes instead of words, how to sense danger before it announced itself, and how to gamble not just with money, but with reputation, blood, and willpower. In six months, he had gained allies who trusted him with their lives and enemies who whispered his name with clenched jaws. He had learned that respect in Vegas wasn't given—it was taken, earned, or beaten into existence.
In that short span of time, Youri had won seven underground fights. Not clean wins. Not easy ones. Each fight had taken something from him—skin, bone, or breath—and given him something in return: experience, fearlessness, and a growing legend. He had also done something far more dangerous in the eyes of the powerful—he had beaten the odds at the tables. Blackjack, roulette, high-stakes private rooms. He didn't cheat. He didn't hustle. He simply won. And men who were used to always winning noticed.
Big names now watched him closely. The kind of men who didn't clap or shout, who didn't care about spectacle. Men who placed quiet bets worth more than most people's lives and waited patiently to see if the world bent their way.
Tonight, it would.
Youri was scheduled for another underground fight—one that had been whispered about for weeks. It wasn't just another bout. It was a statement. Some of the highest figures in Las Peas had already placed heavy bets on him. Malkom. Sincron. Carter. Names that carried weight, power, and blood behind them. If Youri won tonight, his name would be etched deeper into the city's underworld than ever before.
Earlier that evening, Lux was alive as always.
Youri sat at the bar, a low glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. The amber liquid caught the neon lights as he tilted it slightly, watching it swirl. The music thumped through the walls, the bass steady and familiar. Leo sat beside him, leaning forward with his elbow on the counter and his head resting on his hand, half-watching the crowd. Behind the bar, Gloria wiped down glasses with practiced ease, her sharp eyes never missing much.
She glanced up at Youri. "Aren't you supposed to have a big fight tonight?"
Leo answered before Youri could, his voice casual. "Yeah. Second rematch."
Gloria paused mid-motion. "Second rematch with who?"
Leo straightened, turning slightly. "Zeus."
Gloria froze for half a second before slowly turning to Youri. "And you didn't tell me?"
Youri raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip before answering. "Why? You wanted to bet too?"
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Maybe. You're on a winning streak. Would've been a good way to make some extra money."
Youri smirked faintly. "It's not too late."
He finished the whiskey in one smooth motion and set the glass down. Standing up, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, the familiar sounds grounding him. "Time to go get ready."
But before he could take more than a step, something shifted.
The entrance to Lux opened, and a man walked in wearing a Terrian High Command uniform. His presence cut through the noise without effort. He moved calmly, confidently, as if the chaos around him didn't exist. His boots hit the floor in steady rhythm as he approached the bar.
Youri turned—and stopped cold.
Barnaby.
For a moment, the club faded. The music dulled. The lights blurred. Barnaby wore the same calm, infuriating smile Youri remembered. He removed his cap and placed it on the counter as if this were just another casual reunion.
"It's been a while," Barnaby said lightly.
Youri stared at him, then sat back down slowly. "I can't say the same."
Barnaby chuckled and turned toward Gloria. "Rum, please."
Gloria raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but professional. "Sure."
She poured the drink and slid it toward him. Barnaby picked it up, took a slow sip, and exhaled. "I missed a good glass of rum."
Youri leaned forward, placing both hands on the counter. "So what are you doing here?"
"Nothing special," Barnaby replied. "I brought my daughter. She's never been to Las Peas. Thought she deserved to see it."
Youri scoffed softly. "You've turned into a family man now?"
Barnaby smiled. "I've always been one."
"That's news to me," Youri said.
Barnaby didn't rise to it. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a tablet, sliding it across the counter. "There's something you need to see."
Youri picked it up. The headline hit him instantly.
A rebellion uprising in Volar.
His jaw tightened. "What is this?"
"A few years after you left, there was a shift in power," Barnaby said evenly. "The far-left party won the election. Changes followed. Slowly at first. Then they started openly opposing the Empire. Today, they declared full autonomy."
Youri looked up sharply. "What does that mean?"
Barnaby took a deep breath. "It means Volar is about to be erased."
Youri shot up from the stool, anger flaring. "I have to get Liam and Emma out of there."
He turned to leave, but Barnaby caught his arm.
"Wait."
Youri stopped, muscles tense.
"Even if you boarded a ship right now," Barnaby continued, "you wouldn't make it. The only landing station open to outsiders is the far-east Terrian base. It's under constant attack. Locked down. Only military personnel are allowed through."
Leo finally spoke, his voice careful. "Youri… you still have the fight tonight. Aren't we going?"
Youri looked down, fists clenched. The weight of everything pressed down on him—Vegas, Volar, blood, bets, destiny.
After a long silence, he lifted his head.
"I'll deal with that first," he said quietly.
Tonight, the fight came first.