Arena District, Fourth Week of February 2324
Almost four months had passed. It was enough time for the Young Master to prove he was the most lethal insurance policy. Now, in Santino's forcibly acquired study, Ren sat behind the enormous mahogany desk, the seat that should have been Santino's throne. He wore a sharp, elegant dark grey Italian-cut suit, reflecting his new identity as a fully integrated elite, the Young Master.
The old man was now forced to hunch on the Chesterfield leather sofa across from him, surrounded by the expensive, stifling scent of leather. Santino's personal guards, now more loyal to the Young Master's shadow, waited in stiff silence outside the room.
Ren leaned back against the high chair, exhaling slowly. Not from fatigue, but from pure disgust.
"I admit, it's a miracle how your dilapidated illegal business has kept running all this time," Ren said, his voice calm, almost like a teacher correcting a lazy student's assignment. Ren did not wait for Santino's answer; he had seen it in every ledger he dissected. "You are a man who dislikes complications. Every problem—be it internal defiance, route disputes, or hidden smugglers—you solved with a briefcase full of cash."
Ren lightly tapped his finger on the desk surface. "You didn't invest in a system; you merely bought silence. No wonder your business stagnated, Santino. It's not bankrupt, but it's not significantly expanding either. You are simply slowly becoming a fossil."
The fact slapped Santino. Under Ren's piercing gaze, he couldn't deny it. He was indeed a man who chose the path of least resistance, and now he bore the consequences. Santino tried to find an opening, using the only piece of information he hoped might mitigate Ren's criticism.
"That... that is not an alibi, Young Master," Santino said, his voice slightly trembling, forcing the title past his throat again. He leaned forward, trying to appear more certain. "There is external interference, from a party I cannot buy with money. Someone from the Loyal Faction is involved in this business."
The name—Loyal Faction—managed to ignite a cold spark in Ren's orange eyes. As if the word was the trigger code he had been waiting for these four months. His focus instantly shifted, the concealed dagger feeling sharper beneath his clothes. This was the sole reason Santino was allowed to breathe.
Ren straightened up, leaning across the desk boundary. "Elaborate," Ren commanded, the single word colder than the air conditioning in the room. Santino knew this was no longer about business efficiency, but about cold-blooded intent.
Santino swallowed heavily. He used this moment to straighten his back on the sofa, trying to reclaim some residual dignity, but his efforts were futile under Ren's frigid stare.
"They are not regular customers," Santino began, his voice slightly shaking before he managed to steady it. "For the last two years, they have been utilizing my First Class distribution network."
"For weapons?" Ren asked, his tone flat.
Santino shook his head gently, the reflection of light on his thinning hair clearly visible. "No. If it were just weapons, I wouldn't mind. They are using my secret network and distribution routes to move components, Young Master."
Ren tilted his head slightly. It was the only movement he made since the Loyal Faction was mentioned, but it was enough to make Santino shrink again. The movement hinted at impatience, like a predator bored with its prey.
"What components?" Ren pressed.
Santino edged forward, speaking in a whisper as if the walls of the study had ears. "I don't know the details, and I never asked. They move outside the normal manifest, managed directly by one of their couriers. I only know the items are small, extremely sensitive, and very expensive. They pay me three times the market price just to guarantee confidentiality and secure transportation."
"Courier." Ren repeated the word slowly, as if tasting it. "Who is she?"
"A woman," Santino answered, his fear now mixed with hatred. "A woman who doesn't look at all like an elite Loyal Faction agent. Deep red hair, calculating eyes, and she never speaks more than necessary. She appears like a shadow, picks up the item at Point A, and disappears at Point B. She is the only bridge between this dilapidated business of mine and the powerful force in Rich City."
Behind the desk, Ren smiled faintly—a smile as cold as a dagger's edge. Santino saw no satisfaction in Ren's eyes; all he saw was cruel certainty.
A ticket into the inner circle of Rich City's elite.
"Give me the contact details and the location of the next pickup," Ren ordered, his voice returning to a deadly professional level. "Starting now, the Young Master will handle that courier."
Santino nodded stiffly, with no fight left. With trembling hands, he entered the password and coordinate information into the data chip Ren extended. Ren received the data with a cold gaze, as if he had just received an accounting file, not a ticket to confront dangerous elites.
The next day, at the time and place of the next pickup, it was Ren who met the courier. Santino's designated Point A was an old church on the outskirts of the Steam District. Santino, with his bribe, had bought the silence of the priest. The meeting took place in the large, dark, silent sanctuary, illuminated only by the reflection of streetlights from the stained-glass windows.
Ren was already waiting in the shadows of the altar. His body was rigid, wrapped in a neat black suit complete with a tie, like a modern stain amidst corrupted sanctity.
Exactly at the appointed hour, the woman arrived. She wore a simple dark blue trench coat, which made her look modest and inconspicuous, like a late-night worshipper. Although neat, her clothes were functional utility wear, far from the haute couture standards of Rich City's elite. A stylish tote bag was slung over her shoulder, and her eyes held the wariness typical of a field agent.
The woman froze momentarily at the doorway, her alert eyes sweeping over Ren's figure sitting under the shadow of the altar. Perhaps she was confused because the person she met was vastly different from Santino's usual courier.
Her steps slowly brought her into the sanctuary. The shadow of a holy statue enveloped her. She did not approach Ren directly, but stopped a few steps behind him.
"Proverbs 4:18," she said, her tone low, concealed in the room's sacred silence. It was the entry code.
Ren did not move. His orange eyes reflected faintly in the darkness. He answered calmly, quoting the next line of the verse Santino had prepared: "The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day."
The woman sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She walked and sat on a wooden pew, next to Ren. She maintained a safe distance between them.
"You're... Santino's new courier?" she asked. She turned, looking at Ren's sharply dressed figure.
Ren turned, his eyes scanning the woman carefully, as if she were a data file being synchronized. "For today, consider me a special courier," Ren replied. A faint, humorless smile was etched on his lips.
The woman stared at Ren in disbelief, his sharp features and perfect posture. Far from the demeanor of a courier, she thought.
"Your face doesn't suit the Steam District," Ren continued the small talk. "Too clean for dirty work."
The woman slightly lifted her chin, accepting the compliment and the criticism. "I never choose the job, but I choose the client."
Ren nodded. "That's good. So, let's talk about the client you serve who happens to be severely burdening my client's business."
Ren's thinly gloved hand reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small ziplock bag containing a data chip. "I just cleaned up some hidden smugglers. It turns out Santino's business rottenness is much worse than I imagined. There are elite hands too greedy on this promising route."
"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman countered coldly. "I just carry the package, and I leave when the task is done."
Ren shifted his sitting position. Now close enough, his right arm was straight along the backrest of the woman's seat. He didn't intimidate with size, but with knowledge.
"True. You only carry the package," Ren admitted, raising the ziplock bag in his hand. "But a smart courier should know, when the risk of your job increases ten times over, you should demand the same pay, or find a better manager."
Ren paused, his gaze locking onto the courier's eyes.
"You know, Santino paid four times the agreed price for your package last month, just because you were ten minutes late at Point B. That's not a transaction, that's desperation. Santino is too weak and scared of your client, and his weakness puts you at risk of being caught. I am here to end that desperation."
Ren leaned in slightly. His tone dropped to a very personal whisper.
"I don't care about Santino's money, but I care about efficiency and confidentiality. You cannot maintain your secrecy if Santino keeps making fatal mistakes out of fear. Who are we really protecting? Who makes Santino tremble and pay dearly for a courier's mistake? I need to know who holds the strings, so I can cut the threat that endangers your work... and your life."
The threat worked. The woman stared intensely into Ren's eyes, realizing that the figure in front of her was far more dangerous and efficient than the corrupt Santino.
The woman introduced herself as 'Clarissa'.
Thus, in the sacred silence of the sanctuary, Clarissa spilled everything she knew. Not for loyalty to Santino, but for survival and efficiency. The clandestine drop schedules, the component delivery structure, and most importantly, the identity of her Great Master—all were revealed.
Ren no longer needed physical threats; he merely secured cold compliance. The ziplock bag was finally handed to Clarissa in exchange for the information he had obtained.
The next morning, Clarissa arrived at a luxurious Eye Tower office, layered with dark marble and adorned with holographic technology, high above the Arena District. The pulsating city light could not penetrate the expensive silence of the room.
Clarissa stood stiffly in front of the massive desk, maintaining her professional posture. The night before, she had leaked some information to Ren, but now she performed her duty: reporting and delivering the item at Point B.
"Recently, there has been an anomaly in Santino's route," Clarissa reported, her voice controlled. "A 'Young Master' is now monitoring our movements. He took over the transactions on Santino's secret mafia route." Clarissa cleverly withheld details about Ren's psychological leverage, focusing on the management threat.
Behind the desk, sat Baron Frey—the elite figure of Rich City who had been utilizing Santino's secret route. He did not respond with panic. Instead, a cynical and dismissive smile curled on his lips. Frey tapped the desk with his fingertip, his sharp eyes looking at Clarissa as if she only brought trivial bad news.
"That old Fossil Santino?" Frey laughed softly, a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "How pathetic. If he thinks sending a new clown in a black suit to threaten our route is a smart business move, then he truly has lost his mind."
Frey shifted his focus. The air in the room was thick with arrogance.
Clarissa did not respond, her heart wanting to scream from the psychological pressure she received from Santino's new courier last night. But she managed to hold on professionally; it was not her concern.
"Listen carefully, Clarissa," the Baron asserted, his voice now cold. "If there is any interference, no matter how small, on that vital shortcut of ours—it's the same as Santino officially raising a flag of war against the Great House of Baron Frey. And that war, he will never win."
Baron Frey then pointed at her. He ordered Clarissa to stay focused on the component delivery task. However, he wouldn't take risks.
"Continue your duties as usual. Meanwhile," Frey pressed the intercom button, his voice echoing with authority. "Call the Security Analysis Division. I want a detailed report on the 'Santino mafia' within twenty-four hours. I want to know who this Young Master clown is and how he dares to disrupt our assets."
Clarissa bowed briefly in compliance, then exited and left Baron Frey filled with self-confidence.
Arena District, First Week of March 2324
A week had passed since his cold meeting with Clarissa in the church sanctuary. During those seven days, Ren had barely moved from Santino's headquarters, focused entirely on analyzing the information he obtained from the courier and his own dark network.
The elite Rich City rat that had been burdening Santino's business had been identified: Baron Frey. The name was also listed on the roster Daniel had given him. After further investigation through the information brokers he visited, Ren confirmed that Baron Frey was quite an influential figure in the new Rich City order, his network extending far beyond Santino's power.
Ren sat at the desk, flipping a digital file on his tablet.
"I've found his soft spot," Ren said, his voice breaking the silence of the room. Santino, now always restless, was pouring coffee in the corner of the room.
"What?" Santino asked, his porcelain cup trembling.
"One of his biggest assets is the God Hands Art Gallery," Ren replied. His orange eyes stared straight at the empty wall, as if projecting the gallery's layout in his mind. "I will meet Baron Frey there."
Santino dropped the cup. Porcelain shards and hot coffee scattered on the thick carpet, but no one dared to move. Santino, pale-faced, rushed to Ren's desk.
"N-no! You can't!" Santino panicked, forbidding him with trembling hands. He knew Ren would not be gentle with a figure he considered detrimental to 'his' business. "Doing anything that harms Baron Frey is a declaration of war. He will destroy us, Young Master!"
Ren looked up, staring flatly at Santino. His expression showed no anger, only deep disgust. Now he truly understood. Santino was not only stupid, but profoundly so—he didn't realize that he had long been an irrelevant pawn.
Ren then leaned back, his smile as cold as a tombstone.
"I will face Baron Frey, but not as your insurance policy," Ren said, his voice calm, deadly, and full of authority. He pressed the power button on his tablet, ensuring the God Hands Gallery was the target lock.
"Don't worry, Santino, this is the Young Master's personal business."