On the other side, Valen—Obsidian Legion's lead hacker—sat before a wall of holographic screens that filled his dark room. Dozens of data panels spun rapidly, displaying world maps, satellite networks, global data traffic, and the flow of illegal financial transactions across borders. His eyes were unblinking. His fingers danced in the air, manipulating the system with a terrifying throb.

  Suddenly, a small window appeared in the corner of the screen.

  Absolute level encrypted messages.

  No return address. No data path trace. No digital fingerprint.

  It was as if the message was born directly from the darkness of cyberspace.

  Valen's brow furrowed slightly. His heart rate increased.

  He cracked the first layer, then the second, the third—until finally a simple line emerged:

  “Your movement is relaxing. Choose: continue, or perish.”

  For a moment, the room felt colder.

  Valen's lips curved slightly. Not out of fear—but rather, intrigued.

  “Interesting…” he muttered softly.

  But before he could analyze further, the room's door sensor beeped softly.

  Valen immediately closed all the sensitive screens, leaving only the routine data display. His movements were so subtle, they were nearly impossible to detect.

  The door opened.

  Orion Karel Draven entered with heavy, dignified steps, followed by Seraphin Noctis. An aura of death immediately filled the room.

  Orion stopped right behind Valen.

  "How's the plan for Japan?" Orion asked coldly. "Is everything well thought out?"

  Valen leaned back in his chair, turning his body slowly.

  "All routes are secure. Japan's immigration system, airports, ports, satellites, and security network are under our control. They won't even realize we're in the heart of their country."

  Seraphin) tipi.

  “How long until the entire army is ready?”

  Valen typed quickly. A map of Japan appeared on the large screen. Dozens of red dots appeared across various cities: Tokyo, Osaka, Yokohama, Nagoya, Kobe, Sapporo, and even remote coastal areas.

  “Forty-eight hours,” Valen replied calmly. “Two thousand Obsidian troops will enter as tourists, workers, foreign students, technicians, and logistics crews. Weapons will arrive first by sea. By dawn on the third day, we will have mastered the entire final strategy.”

  Orion stared at the map for a long moment, staring at it coldly, calculatingly.

  “Main target?”

  Valen zooms in on one area.

  "Port city. Drug route. Organ distribution. Human trafficking. And—" his glasses sharpened, "—access to Japan's dark political circles. If this works, the Obsidian Legion will rule East Asia."

  Seraphin laughed softly.

  “The country will not realize when it collapses.”

  Orion rolled slowly.

  "Good. This time, we're not just stealing. We're asserting power."

  He- saw Seraphin.

  "Gather all the best troops. Leave no one behind. I want every unit to move perfectly."

  “Ready,” Seraphin answered firmly.

  Without waiting for a second command, he immediately turned around and walked quickly towards the main base camp.

  Obsidian Legion Headquarters

  A silent siren echoed underground.

  Thousands of elite Obsidian troops moved in unison. There was no shouting. There was no chaos. Everyone moved like killing machines programmed since childhood.

  The armory is open.

  Shoulder-fired missiles. Combat rifles. Long-range snipers. Combat drones. Mobile hacking devices. Micro-explosives. It's all ready.

  Seraphin stood on an iron platform.

  “In two days, we move into Japan,” his voice boomed loudly. “This is no ordinary operation. This is conquest. You fail—you die.”

  Not a single troop budged.

  There is no fear. Only absolute fulfillment.

  Back to Control Room

  Valen looked back at the screen, but his thoughts lingered on the mysterious message.

  His hands clenched slowly.

  “If you think you can intimidate me…” he muttered softly. “You’re playing with the devil.”

  He reopened the message, decoding its code structure.

  His eyes narrowed sharply.

  “So fast… too fast.”

  For the first time, Valen—the world's most feared hacker—felt something that rarely appeared:

  A sense of alertness.

  Because he realized…

  there is only one organization in the world capable of sending such a demonic message.

  And the name began to echo in my mind:

  NOX AEGIS.

  The next morning, the military hospital still had a distinct antiseptic scent and silence. In the third-floor hallway, Arman, Mahendra, and Arga's footsteps could be heard steadily as they made their way down the corridor to the ward where Fikri and Reza were being treated.

  Arriving at the front door, Arman pushed it slowly.

  Inside, Reza was seen sitting leaning back, his arm still bandaged, while Fikri was lying half-upright with an IV in his hand.

  Arman smiled faintly.

  “How are you guys?”

  Reza replied casually, "I'm getting better. Although the doctor is still nagging me to rest. My body is itching to get back out on the field."

  Fikri was lifted slowly.

  "I still don't fully understand what happened. I only remember one thing—the explosion. After that, it was dark. Suddenly, I woke up here."

  He paused for a moment, then turned it around.

  "At first, I thought I'd arrived in heaven. But why does the angel who greeted me look like Mahendra?"

  The whole room immediately exploded with laughter.

  Mahendra darkly, approached Fikri's bedside.

  "That's who you are, Pikri. Even on the verge of death, you still have time to joke around."

  Arga added, chuckling as he did so.

  "Have you forgotten the time you practiced in the Amazon River? You fainted because you saw a leech the size of a mouse, even though it was just a practice prop."

  Fikri immediately protested.

  "That's not an ordinary leech! That's a monster!"

  Reza laughed.

  "Monster? You're an elite troop, my friend. But you lost to a rubber leech."

  Laughter filled the room again. For a moment, the wounds, blood and trauma of battle seemed to evaporate, replacing the warmth of friendship that had existed for decades.

  Arman stood with his back against the wall, looking at them one by one. His faint smile remained, but his eyes were serious again.

  "For the time being, the three of us are going to Los Angeles."

  Reza and Fikri answered spontaneously.

  “Los Angeles?” Reza asked.

  Mahendra nodded. "We have an important meeting. We'll be back as soon as possible."

  Fikri smiled slightly. "Be careful. Don't make us wait too long. We still have a lot of coffee that we haven't had time to drink together."

  Arga slapped Fikri's shoulder gently.

  “Take care of yourselves. Don't be careless this time.”

  Before the conversation could continue, the door to the room opened.

  A three-star general stepped in with an aura that instantly changed the atmosphere of the room. His gaze was sharp, his steps firm.

  Everyone immediately stood up straight.

  The general handed Arman a thin map.

  “International operating permit. Effective immediately.”

  Arman accepted the map respectfully.

  “Ready, General.”

  The general then looked at Reza and Fikri, who were still in bed. His gaze was cold, but beneath it was a tinge of pride.

  "This country doesn't have time to wait for your recovery for too long. But this time, your survival is already a victory."

  He turned to Arman, Arga, and Mahendra.

  "Do it now. Move to Los Angeles. Every second counts."

  “Ready!” they answered in unison.

  Before leaving, the general paused for a moment, looking at the five soldiers.

  “And one thing,” he said firmly, “you are not just carrying a mission. You are carrying the hope of this country.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.

  The room fell silent again.

  Reza circled the TV.

  “It seems the world doesn't give us much time to breathe.”

  Arman approached, slapped Reza and Fikri on the shoulders.

  "Because of that, we will live. We will come back. And when we do, we will have coffee together again."

  Mahendra appointment.

  “No leeches.”

  Fikri chuckled. "Deal."

  They exchanged glances—no words, no strings attached. Just the conviction that this path, however dark, was theirs to walk together.

  Upon arriving in Los Angeles, the city's atmosphere immediately greeted them with a never-ending hustle and bustle. Neon lights, the roar of vehicles, and the glare of skyscrapers combined to create a pulse of life that contrasted sharply with the dark world they were chasing.

  Outside the airport, they stopped an old, dull yellow taxi.

  “Where to?” asked the driver with a typical Latin American accent.

  Arga mentioned the name of an area.

  The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Are you sure? That area isn't a tourist spot."

  The taxi sped through the city.

  In the car, the atmosphere felt tense.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Arga broke the silence.

  "Meeting Melisa didn't bring up the obvious. She's not just a hacker. She's a liaison to the Anonymous network. Access to her is strictly guarded."

  Arman crossed his arms. “Then how are we shown?”

  Arga glanced out the window, staring at the city lights slowly growing dimmer.

  “The only way is through his cousin.”

  Mahendra turned his head. "Hurry?"

  Arga nodded. "Yes. Hurry."

  Arman sighed softly. "If he doesn't have direct contact with Melisa, how did we get to be located in a city this big?"

  The corners of Arga's lips lifted slightly.

  "Calm down. Rapid is…easy to find. If not at a gambling table, then in a dark alley. If not in a dark alley, then in a mob."

  Mahendra chuckled. “Sounds like a fun life.”

  Arga is intoxicated. “More precisely: a reckless life.”

  The taxi slowly entered the suburbs. High-rise buildings gave way to low-rise slums. Dim streetlights, narrow alleys, graffiti-covered walls, and the sound of loud music mixed with drunken shouts filled the air.

  This is Raven Hollow , an area known for illegal gambling, pickpocketing, stolen goods trafficking, and low-level crime. Police rarely venture too far. Here, the law is determined by money, knives, and courage.

  Street children were seen clustered around alley corners. Some pretended to busk, while others watched every passing vehicle with keen eyes, looking for an opportunity. On street corners, makeshift gambling tables stood under streetlights, surrounded by tough, tattooed men.

  Arman looked around. “Environments like this shape people in cruel ways.”

  “And Rapid is the most perfect product from this place,” Arga replied.

  Mahendra turned his head. “Tell me.”

  Arga leaned back in the chair, his breathing a little heavy.

  "Rapid, eighteen years old. Manipulative. Cunning. Untrustworthy. His main hobbies are gambling, stealing, and running away. He has light hands, quick reflexes. He can empty someone's wallet without the victim realizing it until they get home."

  Arman raised an eyebrow. “An elite level pickpocket.”

  "More than that," Arga continued. "He's also a master of disappearing. The local police know his face, but they've never been able to actually catch him. Once caught, he always escapes. Whether through bribery, trickery, or the chaos he creates himself."

  Mahendra sighed. “And this is our only path to Anonymous.”

  "Yes," Arga answered softly. "Although I'm not sure he'll help right away. Rapid only cares about one thing: himself."

  The taxi stopped in front of a row of shabby buildings. An old bar on the corner was packed, the sounds of rough laughter and the clinking of bottles could be heard outside.

  The driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror.

  "Raven Hollow. Be careful."

  Arman paid, then the three of them got off.

  As soon as their feet touched the cracked asphalt, the atmosphere changed drastically. The gazes of foreign eyes immediately scanned them. Rather than friendly, they were calculating.

  Arga stepped forward.

  "It usually appears in Rapid."

  Arman stared down the narrow alleyway before them.

  “Then… the hunt begins.”

  Beneath the darkness of Raven Hollow, a figure named Rapid is on the move, unaware that three of the world's most dangerous shadows are now hunting him.

  They walked straight through the bustling streets of Raven Hollow. The atmosphere grew increasingly crowded, filled with shouts, drunken laughter, and the sound of coins clattering. At a street corner, Arga suddenly stopped.

  “There,” he said softly.

  Arman and Mahendra followed his gaze.

  A small crowd surrounded a rickety folding table. On it, three crumpled cards and a silver coin spun rapidly between the fingers of a young man with disheveled black hair. His movements were so swift, they were almost impossible to follow.

  Three Card Monte.

  Find the queen.

  The most classic street game — and 99% of it is a scam.

  In the middle of the crowd, stood Rapid .

  His smile was relaxed, full of calculation. His fingers moved quickly, spinning the cards like a dance. Every time a player pointed, Rapid flipped a card with a fake expression.

  “Oops… wrong again.”

  The pile of money in front of him was getting bigger and bigger.

  Arman noticed the hand technique. “Her speed is insane.”

  Mahendra nodded. “High-level reflection and visual manipulation. He’s not just a pickpocket.”

  Arga smiled faintly. “That’s Fast.”

  At the table, five heavily built, tattooed men looked increasingly disillusioned. Sweat beaded on their foreheads. Hundreds of dollars had already changed hands.

  One of them slammed the table.

  "This is impossible! You're cheating!"

  He quickly shrugged casually. “Just luck, sir.”

  But the look in Cepat's eyes changed. In a split second, he read their facial expressions—jaws clenched, muscles tensed, hands clenched at their waists.

  Danger.

  Without warning, Rapid grabbed the stack of money and threw the cards into the air.

  “Game over!”

  He turned and ran away.

  “CHASE!”

  The five thugs went on a rampage, pushing people and attacking them brutally.

  Arman, Mahendra, and Arga looked at each other.

  "He's our target," said Arga.

  Without another word, they immediately followed.

  CHASE IN RAVEN HOLLOW

  Shoot quickly into a narrow alley, jump over a pile of rubbish, make a sharp turn, climb up the emergency stairs of an old building, then descend through the zinc roof into the back alley.

  Mahendra ran and pulled a small tablet from his jacket. His eyes moved quickly as he scanned the digital map.

  “He's heading towards the eastern sector. Dead end ahead.”

  Arman nodded. “We’ll cut it.”

  They turned onto a different path, entering a darker alley. Their breathing was steady—the elite body troops were still working perfectly even without weapons.

  From a distance, the sound of footsteps and shouts grew closer.

  It shot out of the alley and suddenly stopped.

  Dead end.

  A high brick wall blocked the way. He turned around—too late.

  Five thugs had already surrounded him.

  “Now you don't have to run anymore, rat.”

  The first blow hit him in the jaw. He was quickly thrown against the wall, blood gushing from his face.

  "You liar!"

  A kick hit him, followed by a flurry of punches. Rapid's body froze on the wet floor.

  But his eyes remained sharp. He was still searching for an opening.

  CONFRONTATION

  Suddenly there was the sound of quiet footsteps.

  "Stop."

  The five thugs worshipped.

  Arman, Mahendra, and Arga stood at the end of the alley, staring at them blankly, emotionless.

  Two thugs kept their grip on Rapid. The other three stepped forward to block him.

  “This is our business. Leave before you get beaten up too.”

  Arman raised his hand slowly. “We just want to take it. We don’t want to cause a fuss.”

  One of the thugs laughed sarcastically. "With what? Your sweet mouth?"

  Mahendra took a half step forward. “We’ll pay.”

  The thug was pictured. “A thousand dollars.”

  Without hesitation, Arman took out the cash and threw it.

  One of the thugs checked. His eyes widened.

  "Let him go," Arman ordered.

  Two thugs pushed Cepat's body forward until he fell at Arga's feet.

  “Consider today your lucky day, rat.”

  They left, disappearing into the darkness of the gang.

  UNEXPECTED MEETING

  Coughed quickly, wiped the blood on the edge, then looked up.

  his gaze met Arga's eyes.

  For a split second, Rapid's face froze.

  “…Arga?”

  Arga smiled faintly. "Still looking for trouble, huh?"

  Quickly chuckling despite the pain, "You came all this way just to be heroes?"

  Arman replied calmly. “We came for Melissa.”

  Quick's expression changed instantly.

  His relaxed face disappeared, the situation was totally chaotic.

  “That name… is not for just anyone to say.”

  Mahendra stepped forward. “We need Anonymous’ help.”

  Fast.

  Her gaze shifted from Arga to Arman, then to Mahendra. She took a deep breath.

  “You don't know what you're asking for.”

  Arga grabbed Rapid's shoulder. "That's exactly why we came to you."

  Amidst the seedy alleys of Raven Hollow, the destinies of five people begin to intertwine once again — leading them deeper into a shadowy world, where codes and bullets will determine who survives.

  Quickly looking at him to the side, patting his dirty clothes, then looking at them with disdain.

  “Do you think weaklings like you can meet him ?” he said coldly. “Don’t even think about it.”

  The sentence immediately ignited Arman's emotions. His jaw tightened, gleaming. The cold aura of an elite soldier seemed to emanate from him without him realizing it.

  “What did you say, boy—”

  Mahendra quickly grabbed Arman's shoulder. "Calm down. We're not here to cause trouble. We need him."

  Arman took a deep breath, holding back his anger.

  Mahendra took a half step forward, staring Rapid straight in the eye. “Explain what you mean by weak.”

  He quickly chuckled bitterly. “Weak because you wasted a thousand dollars on five cheap thugs.” He shook his head. “That amount of money… is worth more than your pride.”

  Arga reflexively tugged on the collar of Rapid's jacket. "We come in peace. Don't be so insensitive."

  He quickly slapped Arga's hand away, his eyes sharp. "That thousand dollars could be worth a week of my mother's life."

  That sentence made everyone freeze.

  The narrow alley suddenly felt quiet.

  Arman, Mahendra, and Arga looked at each other, their stern expressions slowly heating up.

  He quickly looked away. "Do you think I'm proud of scamming people? Pickpocketing jam? Playing cheap gambling games? None of this is for me."

  He held her hand. “I just don’t want to lose the only family I have.”

  Arga lowered his hand slowly.

  Mahendra sighed softly. “We didn’t come to judge.”

  Quickly, he laughed dryly. “But you people are clean. Your world is tidy. My world is… rotten.”

  He was about to leave.

  Arman stepped forward quickly, holding her arm. “Then give us back our watches.”

  Stop suddenly.

  He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Just realized?”

  He casually took out three expensive watches from his jacket pocket and threw them down one by one.

  Pluk. Pluk. Pluk.

  Arga caught his watch, gaping. “Crazy… when?”

  Mahendra smiled faintly. "When we're squeezed into the crowd."

  Arman examined his empty wrist, then looked at Rapid. “Your reflection is top-notch.”

  Quickly shrug. "Survival."

  Mahendra added, “Wallet.”

  He quickly opened it and took out Arman's wallet. "You guys are too confident."

  Arman shook his head with a small smile. “And you’re too fast.”

  For a moment, the tension melted.

  They continued to follow Rapid through narrow alleys, past graffiti-strewn slums, the distant sound of sirens, the smell of smoke, and the dim flickering streetlights.

  Rapid finally stopped at a small, shabby restaurant , with wooden tables and rickety chairs.

  He sat down, ordered some cheap soup.

  Arga sat down. “We don’t need an address.”

  A quick, sharp glance. “Then what do you want?”

  Mahendra leaned back. “We want trust.”

  Fast.

  Arman said quietly, "We know who you are doing this for. But we don't know yet."

  He quickly lowered his head. His fingers clenched the spoon.

  “It's none of your business.”

  Arga smiled faintly. “Maybe. But if you connect us to Melissa, then your life is now part of our mission.”

  Quick fire. “I never asked for it.”

  Mahendra replied calmly, “Destiny rarely asks for permission.”

  Silence.

  A few seconds passed.

  He stood up quickly. “Follow me. But don’t ask any further questions.”

  Arman stared sharply. “Until when?”

  A quick glance. “Until you prove you’re worthy.”

  Outside, the lights of Los Angeles shimmer faintly. Beneath the city's hustle and bustle, a mystery begins to unfold.

  But Rapid's biggest secret… is still tightly under wraps.

  As they ate, the atmosphere suddenly changed.

  Quickly, who had been restless all this time, suddenly stopped chewing. His eyes moved quickly, tracing the reflection in the window glass.

  “You better… go. Now.”

  Her voice was low, whispering.

  Arman's reflexes immediately kicked in. His gaze shifted toward the door.

  Two burly young men stepped in. Their movements were unnatural, too dismissive for mere customers. Loose jackets, light steps, cold, expressionless eyes.

  Arman recognized the pattern in a second.

  People pay.

  Suddenly he rose from his chair. “They’re from the casino…”

  Before the sentence could be finished—

  The first youth threw a straight punch at Rapid's face.

  In a split second, Arman moved.

  His hands gripped the man's chest, then slammed him onto the table with brutal force.

  BRAKE!

  The wooden table shattered. Hot soup splashed the attacker's face. His screams mingled with the sound of falling dishes.

  The second youth attacked from behind.

  Before he could reach his target, Arman's feet spun quickly.

  TWO!

  A powerful kick hit the opponent's stomach, sending his body flying through the window and flying out.

  The sound of breaking glass was deafening.

  It all happened in less than three seconds.

  Mahendra and Arga were still sitting relaxed, barely reacting.

  Arga took a sip of his coffee. “That was quick.”

  Mahendra glanced at his wrist. “Half a second slower than usual.”

  Quick stop.

  Her eyes widened, her breath hitched.

  For the first time in his life, he witnessed pure, uncompromising power.

  The restaurant owner stood trembling, looking at the destroyed table and the floor soaked in soup.

  Mahendra got up, walked over to the old woman, and handed her a stack of money.

  “Two thousand dollars. Enough?”

  The mother was shocked. Her hands trembled as she accepted the money. “More than enough, son… it can even be repositioned.”

  Mahendra smiled faintly. “Sorry for the mess.”

  Quick spit.

  The last fortress in his heart collapsed.

  “Okay…” he said quietly. “I’ll help. But… come with me first.”

  Arman took care of her. “Where to?”

  He quickly lowered his head. “The place I fear the most… and the place I protect the most.”

  The hospital stands isolated on the outskirts of town.

  An old building. The paint is peeling. The narrow hallways smell of cheap antiseptic and despair.

  Upon entering the treatment room, the rapid steps slowed.

  On a simple iron bed, lay a thin woman with an IV line and a simple heart monitor.

  "Mother…"

  The woman's eyelids slowly opened.

  When I saw Rapid, my eyes immediately fell.

  “Hurry…” her voice was trembling. “Are you… causing trouble?”

  The face collapsed quickly.

  He lay beside the bed, holding his mother's hand tightly. "No, Mom... I swear. I just... want you to get better."

  The woman sobbed. Her gaze shifted to the three well-built adult men behind her son.

  “Who are they?” he whispered anxiously.

  Wiping away her tears gently, she quickly said, “Calm down, Mom. They’re my friends.”

  That one word felt heavy coming out of his lips.

  Arman, Mahendra, and Arga stood silently.

  In front of them was no longer a street pickpocket.

  But a child who carries the burden of the world alone.

  Mahendra and Arga stepped out of the room, discussing with the doctor.

  Shortly after, the doctor explained in a deep voice, "Acute kidney failure. Needs intensive care and further transplantation."

  “Estimated cost?” asked Mahendra.

  The doctor mentioned the numbers.

  Ten thousand dollars.

  Arman stared at his cell phone screen for a moment.

  Without further ado, he transferred the money.

  “Do your best,” he said briefly.

  The doctor was shocked. “We will do our best.”

  In the room, Rapid saw a transfer notification come into his phone.

  His hands were observed.

  He looked at Arman, unable to say anything.

  For the first time, someone reached out to him without asking for anything in return.

  Tears fell.

  “I… I’ll take you to Melissa,” he said in a broken voice. “I swear.”

  In the quiet hospital hallway, a new bond is formed.

  Not because of money.

  But because of the same wound.

  After leaving the hospital, their steps crossed the sidewalk which was starting to become deserted.

  Arman stopped walking.

  "Promise."

  He quickly turned his head, then smiled slightly. “Come with me.”

  They walked into an old, nearly empty parking lot. The dim lights flickered softly, giving the place a shabby, desolate feel.

  Suddenly Rapid stopped in front of a black sedan.

  "Go on."

  Arman frowned. “We’ll take a taxi—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Rapid was already squatting by the door. His hands moved quickly and nimbly, as if he were playing an invisible instrument.

  Click.

  The car door opened.

  In a matter of seconds, the dashboard lights up.

  Vruuum.

  The engine is running.

  Arman observed.

  Mahendra raised an eyebrow. Arga couldn't help but chuckle.

  “A kid this young,” Arman muttered, “is already a vehicle theft specialist.”

  A quick glance through the glass. “This isn’t stealing. This is borrowing without permission.”

  Mahendra entered, shaking his head. “Our criminal record in this country is growing by the day.”

  Arga followed in. “Hopefully we won’t be deported before the mission is complete.”

  Quickly laugh, then step on the gas.

  The car sped away from the city, through the quiet country roads, towards the hilly region.

  Along the way, the city lights slowly disappeared, replaced by fields, gardens, and simple wooden houses.

  Mahendra broke the silence. “Where are you taking us?”

  Rapid kept his eyes on the road. “I can’t introduce you to Melissa directly.”

  Arman was taken aback. “And then?”

  “But I know who can guide you until you actually meet him.”

  Shortly after, the car turned onto a rocky road.

  A small village appeared in a miracle.

  Wooden houses are neatly lined up, surrounded by corn orchards and wheat fields. Oil lamps are hung on the terrace of the house.

  The wooden sign on the side of the road said:

  Hawkins Ridge Village

  Rapid parked the car near a large plantation.

  From the view, an old man was seen bending over, hoeing the ground with slow but steady movements.

  His body was thin, his hair was white, his face was hard and cold.

  Quickly pointing. “That’s my uncle. His name is Elijah Monroe.”

  Arman watched the figure sharply.

  “Is he Melissa's father?”

  A quick gulp. “Yes.”

  Mahendra asked, “Why is he the liaison?”

  "Because Melissa always comes once a week to visit her father."

  Arga glanced at the old man. “Then let’s talk calmly.”

  Quickly smile. “Don’t expect it.”

  They stole.

  "Since my wife died, my uncle hasn't spoken to anyone. He even runs away when he sees people. I rarely get close to him."

  Arman was willing, considering the situation.

  His gaze returned to the field.

  “That means we need a strategy.”

  He turned to Mahendra and Arga. "We'll stay overnight in this village. Make a plan to approach him."

  Hold your breath quickly.

  “And,” Arman continued, “we will train you during that time. If you want to stay alive.”

  Arga immediately turned his head. “Wait—”

  "Arga."

  Arman approached, leaning his face until their distance was only an inch.

  “That's your specialty. Do it.”

  Arga was intoxicated. “Headquarters, combat operations, global missions, and now I'm also a street kids trainer.”

  Quickly looked at Arga with sparkling eyes.

  "Seriously? I drilled directly with elite troops?"

  He jumped for joy. “Now no one can bother my mother!”

  Arga took a deep breath. "I haven't even had a chance to rest yet."

  Mahendra smiled faintly. “Welcome to the most exhausting vacation ever.”

  Arman stared at the village silently.

  Beneath the tranquility of Hawkins Ridge, he sensed a great storm was brewing.

  And meeting Melissa… was just the beginning of it all.

  (CONTINUED)