Chapter 114When it came to gang matters, Aguang clearly knew far more than Yoren. He'd once hustled for protection fees as a small-time thug, but could bluff like he commanded a whole army of brothers. Everyone knew his act. For a moment, Yoren almost believed he was the head of the Gsgow Gang.

  Though Yoren tried to put on a fierce front, it was mostly for show. The whole thing made him uncomfortable, but he had to act like a professional.

  This wasn’t about grabbing power. Rich had spelled it out pinly—Yoren was fully in charge of the casino. That alone said enough. Rich didn’t care much about the pce. His attention was locked on the Eastern District and the light manganese ore business.

  In that case, Yoren had to seize what Rich disregarded, establish his authority, and carve out time to handle the real work.

  That night, Yoren returned to Aguang’s pce again.

  From how things looked, Rich wouldn’t be sending anyone to investigate him anymore. Even if he went back to the Bck Feather BBQ, it probably wouldn’t raise arms. Still, he decided to wait a bit longer—until the time was right.

  "The right time" meant when no one in Happy City could threaten him. And if all went to pn, that time would be here soon.

  Back at Aguang’s, Yoren rinsed off with a cold shower.

  The wounds on his body had fully healed, leaving only faint scars. Lately, he’d been fighting more than usual. He had to admit—he’d doubted the effectiveness of white power at first, but it had saved him more hospital trips than he could count.

  After the shower, Yoren walked into the room to find Aguang sitting on the bed, looking uncharacteristically gloomy.

  "What’s with you? You were fine just now. Got your heart broken or something?"

  Aguang lit up at the sight of Yoren and grinned sheepishly.

  "No, no! Heh, not even close. I’ve never had a girlfriend."

  "Then what’s with the long face? Don’t like working in the casino?"

  Aguang shook his head rapidly.

  "No, no, this is a dream come true for me. I never thought I’d get to work somewhere like that, let alone be in charge of people. Brother Yoren, you’re my savior. I know you earned this position with your own strength, but you still chose to lift me up. That means everything to me. I won’t say more—my life is yours now."

  Yoren sat down beside him.

  "Don’t be so dramatic. I just felt like we clicked. If you’re willing to stick with me, I’ll take you on bigger adventures."

  "Absolutely. Just say the word—I’ll follow you into the darkness."

  Over the past few days, Yoren had figured Aguang out. The guy didn’t have much of a backbone, but he was loyal, like an overgrown muscle-headed nerd. That kind of realness was rare. And realness, he thought, was essential in a true companion.

  Still, Yoren hadn’t forgotten that distant look Aguang had earlier.

  "So, what were you thinking about just now?"

  "Nothing."

  "Come on. Don’t keep stuff from me."

  Aguang scratched the horn on his head, clearly uncomfortable.

  "Brother Yoren, you saw it... I wasn’t gonna bring it up."

  "Tell me. I’m not a god, but if I can help, I will. And if I can’t, begging won’t change that. Just say it."

  Aguang exhaled slowly.

  "Alright, to be honest, I might need some money soon. If I’d pulled off the Area A demolition, Mr. Tang De would’ve paid me. That would've covered it. But then the factory burned down, and the whole thing fell through."

  Yoren felt a wave of guilt. That fire? He and Ifrit had set it.

  Even if he hadn’t lit the match himself, just staying at his second uncle’s pce meant the demolition was never going to happen.

  He cleared his throat awkwardly.

  "What do you need the money for? Wasn’t the 5,000 I gave you enough?"

  Aguang looked pained.

  "Nowhere near. I need at least 180,000. It’s not an emergency, but I’ve got no idea where to get it."

  "180,000? You borrow from a loan shark or something?"

  "No."

  "Then why? You said you don’t have a girlfriend."

  For a moment, Aguang’s face shifted into an expression that didn’t suit his usual goofy tone.

  "It’s for Aina."

  "Aina?"

  "Yeah. She’s studying at the Royal Victoria College. Tuition’s paid once a year, and the new semester starts next month."

  That caught Yoren’s attention. He knew all about Royal Victoria—Nancy had graduated from there.

  "What’s Aina studying?"

  "Same as me—she’s always been into combat training. Now she’s at the Royal Guards Academy."

  Yoren’s mind started to turn.

  Aguang was bald with a single horn on his head. That marked his race clearly.

  "You’re ghost tribe, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "That’s rare in Victoria. Ghost tribe’s homend is in the East Kingdom, isn’t it?"

  Aguang nodded.

  "Yeah. All ghost cns trace back to the East Kingdom."

  Yoren wanted to ask why Aguang had come to Victoria, but held back. He’d seen the flicker of pain in his friend’s eyes. Some questions didn’t need answers.

  "Any other family besides Aina?"

  "No. Just her."

  Yoren reached into his coat pocket and tossed an envelope at him.

  "Take it. 200,000."

  "Brother Yoren..."

  "Use 180,000 for tuition. Spend the rest on something Aina would like."

  It was the red envelope Rich had given him. All the money he had left.

  The finances at Bck Feather BBQ were hanging by a thread. Nancy could probably count their remaining funds on one hand. But somehow, Snowsant and the others still lived joyfully.

  Giving away 200,000 wasn’t him pretending to be rich. He knew the value of money. But to Yoren, money was just money. When it came to his people, he never hesitated.

  Aguang held the envelope like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  "Brother Yoren... I..."

  "Save it. This is just 200,000. You’ll see much more in the future. Get some sleep—we’ve got big things ahead tomorrow."

  Yoren y back, thoughts already drifting to what tomorrow might bring.

  Taking the casino got him a red envelope and a busted car from Rich. Which made him wonder...

  What would Rich give him if he took over the East District?

  Lying there, he pulled out his phone.

  The call connected almost immediately.

  "Brother ACE, it’s me."

  "Yoren, what’s up?"

  "Things are going smoothly. Where’s Ifrit?"

  "Grilling skewers."

  "Good. Tell her the Bck Feather BBQ is closed tomorrow. I’ve got a big move pnned for tomorrow night. Might need your help.

  Canvas - Happy City, East District, inside a bar.

  Simon's white sports car had just had its windshield repced. The cost was outrageous, but it wasn't the money that kept him seething — it was the humiliation. The rage cwing at his chest was far worse than any financial hit. Every time he recalled Yoren's smug grin, it was like swallowing a stone.

  Snap!

  The delicate wine gss shattered in Simon's bare hand, the red liquid spilling like blood across the table.

  "Damn it. That bastard Yoren... he really had the guts to smash up my car."

  A grizzled man beside him leaned in, voice low.

  "Brother Simon, want me to find someone... deal with him quietly?"

  Simon waved him off.

  "No. Boss Richie seems to have taken a liking to that kid, like he's been drugged or something. Gave him the whole damn casino in just a few days."

  "What if we break his legs? Just a warning."

  Simon exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t stupid — not if he had climbed this high.

  "I killed someone from the Blood Harbor Gang not long ago. Richie didn’t say anything, but I know he noticed. If anything else happens, my weight in Richie’s eyes might shift. You should know by now — my ambitions aren’t limited to the East District."

  Richie had ruled Happy City for years, with Reddy as his right-hand man. But the two were ancient — they should’ve retired long ago. Still, the light manganese ore trade was too important. The Chamber’s headquarters insisted Richie remain in control.

  Now, with the Leaf family’s chemical pnt under attack, the Security Bureau may have the official responsibility — but everyone knew: anything that happened on Happy City’s turf was Richie’s business.

  And Mr. Fredo, the true head of the Chamber of Commerce, was coming to Happy City soon. Simon could feel it — a storm was brewing. He couldn’t afford to get swept away.

  He needed to rise with the flood.

  "How many guests?"

  "One."

  "Perfect. There’s plenty of space. Come on in."

  "Thanks."

  It was early evening. The bar was high-end, but still quiet — not yet peak hours.

  Simon barely gnced at the man entering. He just motioned for another drink.

  But the newcomer, ignoring all the empty seats, walked straight to Simon’s table. Under the shifting bar lights, his bald head gleamed with an almost otherworldly glow.

  "Boss Simon, you’re drunk already?"

  Simon jerked his head up, eyes narrowing the second he saw the speaker.

  "You?! You’ve got some nerve showing your face here!"

  "Come on, isn’t this our turf? Why shouldn’t I come by? Oh, and you should drop by the casino sometime. It’s on me."

  It was Yoren.

  For a moment, Simon was stunned. Yoren walking into the East District like this? Was he insane? Maybe he figured Simon wouldn’t dare touch him. Maybe he was right.

  True, Simon couldn’t openly make a move — not with Richie watching — but this was still his district. The kid had guts, but he also needed a lesson.

  Simon’s men, loyal and experienced, read his silence. One quietly reached behind his back, fingers brushing the handle of a machete.

  Simon clenched his fists. Yoren could fight, sure — but Simon had cwed his way up through grit and blood. He wasn’t going to be shown up in his own bar.

  "You little—"

  Thud!

  Yoren suddenly dropped a round object onto the table.

  Startled, Simon pushed his chair back instinctively. One of the boys took a cautious step backward.

  "What the hell is that?!"

  Yoren casually wiped sweat from his bald head, then exhaled.

  "Man, this thing's heavy."

  Simon squinted. Under the dim lights, the object became clearer.

  "Wait... is that a watermelon?"

  Yoren grinned.

  "Exactly. Just a watermelon."

  Everyone was still confused — especially the guy who had half a bde drawn. They exchanged gnces, unsure what game Yoren was pying.

  With a dead-serious expression, Yoren spoke again.

  "No need to be nervous. I came to apologize. Yesterday, I smashed your car. That was on me. I got impulsive, acted like a kid. When I went home, I couldn’t sleep. Felt awful. Look at these dark circles — see them?"

  Simon blinked, totally thrown off.

  "What are you getting at?"

  "I’m saying I was wrong. You’re a senior figure in the gang, I’m just a newbie. What was I thinking, challenging someone like you? Boss Richie reminded me we’re all on the same side. We should point our guns outward, not at each other."

  Yoren bowed deeply.

  "I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have smashed your car. As an apology, I brought this watermelon. Not much, but I carried it all the way here. It’s my sincerity."

  Simon sat frozen. Was this for real? The whole thing felt surreal. Yet... that watermelon looked juicy.

  "You really came here just to apologize?"

  "Absolutely. If you're still upset, my car’s parked outside. Feel free to rip it apart. Or hit me. Punch, kick, whatever. I won’t fight back."

  Yoren's face was the picture of humility. It was oddly disarming.

  Simon leaned back, conflicted.

  "Fine. Just be more careful."

  "Of course. I hope you’ll keep an eye on me, Boss Simon."

  Yoren beamed like a kid, then turned and called out.

  "Hey, anyone got a knife? Let’s cut this thing up. Everyone, have some!"

  One of Simon’s boys — the same one who had been ready to strike — raised his hand.

  "I got one."

  "Perfect. Thanks."

  Yoren took the machete and expertly sliced the watermelon into dozens of neat pieces.

  Crack crack crack.

  He offered the first piece to Simon, then took one for himself and took a bite.

  Juice ran down his chin.

  "Alright, dig in, everyone! If it’s not enough, I’ll go buy more."

  And just like that — in the most upscale bar in the East District — a group of hardened gangsters stood around a table, eating watermelon like it was a backyard picnic.

  Meanwhile...

  Elsewhere in the East District, a bar named Ghost sat under flickering neon.

  A small figure, cloaked and quiet, slipped through the door. In her hand — an Origin Stone.

  A trembling voice, almost too excited to contain, whispered:

  "Hellfire... ready to reload."

  "