The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the ambulance wheels on uneven asphalt felt distant and surreal. For Umbra, the world flickered in and out of focus, a hazy, disjointed blur of motion and sound. The pain in his stomach was a dull roar, drowned out by the sheer exhaustion dragging him under. His head lolled to the side, and his vision caught the frantic dance of overhead lights.
"Stay with me!" Myco's voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate. He could feel her hand gripping his, tight and trembling.
"Hurts…" she mumbled, though she wasn't sure the word made it out.
"Don't talk—just hang on," Myco's voice cracked, her usually steady demeanor slipping.
The world tilted again. Voices blurred together. A paramedic barked orders. Someone's hand pressed down on her wound, and the pressure sent a wave of fire through her body.
"…BP dropping fast—"
"—jejunum's hit—"
The words didn't make sense, but the panic in their voices did. The ambulance screeched around a corner, and the pain finally dragged her fully under.
- Meanwhile -
The bar´s backroom was dim and smelled of antiseptic and sweat. Hisori's muffled scream filled the air, his teeth clenched around a plastic tube as the veterinarian worked. The old man's face was pale and set, his hands steady despite the crude conditions.
"Hold him down," the vet ordered.
Kaoru and Riku pinned Hisori's shoulders as his body arched in pain. Blood soaked the makeshift operating table beneath him, pooling on the floor.
"Almost there," the vet muttered.
Hisori's leg was a ruin — shredded muscle and splintered bone. The slug had torn through his fibula, and the damage would never fully heal.
"He'll live," the vet finally said, voice grim. "But he won't walk the same again."
No one spoke. Hisori's breathing was ragged, his face drenched in sweat. Kaoru squeezed his hand, his own face pale.
"Thank you," Kaoru whispered.
The vet just nodded, already cleaning his tools.
- at the bar itself -
Hector sat across from the Orisa supplier, a man so-called "Doctor" with weathered skin and sharp eyes. The mood should have been tense — Hisori's blood still stained the bar's floor — but Hector was calm. Unshaken.
"You've got guts," the supplier said finally. "And I respect that."
Hector didn't smile, but his eyes gleamed. "So we have a deal?"
"Twenty doses of Dustfire a month," the supplier confirmed. "We'll talk about more when you prove you can move it."
Hector wanted more. But he knew better than to push too hard — not yet.
"Deal," he said, extending his hand.
The supplier took it. The weight of the handshake felt like the start of something much bigger.
-
And when the supplier left, Enoro emerged from the back room with a bucket of water and a wet rag, ready to clean the blood.
The bar was a battlefield of silence and tension. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic scrubbing of Enoro cleaning the blood from the floor — Hisori's blood. The bitter scent of iron still lingered in the air, mixing with the stale odor of beer and sweat. Hector stood by the counter, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Across from him, Muwara paced like a caged animal, her boots striking the floor with sharp, angry steps. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes burned with frustration. Finally, she spun to face him.
"This isn't what we agreed to!" she hissed, her voice low but furious. "When we talked about getting back into the game, I thought we were talking about moving stolen goods — not drugs. Not this. I knew this was a bad idea." She gestured to the bloodstained rag Enoro wrung out into a bucket. "There's a reason the Orisa, my father, got out of this business. And now look at us — Hisori's leg is ruined, and the heat on us is worse than ever. We've done nothing but lose."
Hector didn't flinch. He let the words hang in the air, waiting for the room's quiet to press down on them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.
"You all knew what we were getting into."
Muwara's eyes flashed. "Did we? Because I don't remember signing up for this mess. Hisori could've lost his leg — or worse, died. And for what? A handful of drugs and a promise of more money and violence?"
"Power," Hector corrected. "You think the Orisa got out because they were scared? They got out because they got comfortable. Weak. That's not going to happen to us."
"Comfortable? You call not bleeding out on some old vet's table — who only did this because he owed me — comfortable?" Muwara's voice rose. "You're playing with our lives, Hector!"
"I'm building something," Hector shot back. His voice never rose, but the weight behind it made the room feel colder. "And that takes risk — and loss. Hisori knew that when he joined."
"Maybe he did," Muwara snapped, "but the rest of us didn't sign up to be cannon fodder in your war."
A heavy silence fell. Kaoru watched from the edges of the room, his eyes darting between them like he was waiting for the next explosion.
Muwara's jaw tightened. "I'm giving you one more chance, Hector. One more. After that, I'm done. Don't screw this up, Hector — I don't want more death or violence, or the Orisa are out. And my contacts go with me."
She turned on her heel and walked out, the door slamming behind her. Enoro followed without a word, but not before casting Hector a long, hard look — one filled with anger and something far more dangerous: doubt.
As the silence settled again, Kaoru stepped forward, his voice hesitant. "Hector… we're all thinking the same thing. After what happened to Hisori — maybe it's time we walk away too."
Hector's face remained unreadable, but his mind raced. He needed them. He needed their loyalty and manpower.
"Y'all want out?" he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Fine. But before you make that choice, I'll give all of you something no one else will: the one who did this to Hisori. Let's settle that score first. Then you can decide if y'all are still ready to walk away."
Kaoru nodded. "I'll tell the others — we'll see how they feel then." That was enough for Hector, who motioned for him to leave unless he wanted to stay and see what happened next.
Kaoru hesitated. He didn't want to die, but the money had been good — and maybe Hector wasn't so bad after all.
"Alright," Kaoru said slowly. "Let's see what you're planning next."
"Before we lost our tempers, Enoro did me a favor and found some new recruits. They were meant for you, but if you're planning to walk away, I'll keep them aside." Hector's voice was smooth, but the undertone was clear.
The air in the bar shifted when they walked in — a slow, deliberate wave of presence that even Hector couldn't ignore. Ten figures entered, each one carrying their own kind of weight. Hector leaned back against the counter, eyes sweeping over them, already sizing them up.
The leader stepped forward first. He was broad-shouldered and moved with the confident, measured steps of a man who knew he didn't need to prove anything. His dark eyes locked on Hector's with a calm, calculating sharpness that sent a flicker of recognition through him.
"Esen Boge," the man said, extending a hand. His voice was steady, his grip firm. "I'm 22, if that matters."
Hector's lips twitched for a moment. The resemblance was there — strong features, commanding presence. Genghis Khan had seemingly returned from the grave, in the form of a young adult — and that same cool cunning Hector had seen before in men who were dangerous not because they were loud, but because they knew exactly when to strike.
"Hector," he replied, taking the hand. "Let's see if you're as good as your reputation."
The introductions began, and Hector made sure to pay attention.
"Ome" was next. He stood just behind Gengis, a step to the side — the position of a second-in-command who knew his role. Serious, sharp, and with an air of quiet menace, his words were few and his tone dry, laced with a biting sarcasm that made it clear he didn't suffer fools.
"You'll like me," Ome said without a hint of a smile. "I get things done. Oh, and I'm 21."
Then there was "KK." The moment he stepped forward, Hector felt the shift — manic energy practically radiated off him. Covered in tattoos, his grin was wide and a little too sharp, the black expander in his left ear stretching his lobe. He bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for the nearest fight.
"You need something burned down? Broken? Buried?" KK asked, voice high and fast. "I'm your guy."
"Good to know," Hector murmured, already keeping one eye on him.
"Ginger" followed, and his name was well-earned — his hair was a riot of red, his features a blend of Credino and Kyonese heritage. He also didn't offer his age, and there was a quietness about him that felt intentional. He watched more than he spoke, and Hector recognized the type: the observer, the one who saw everything and said little.
"Baby" stood out for a different reason. At 19, he was the youngest, and it showed — not in his build, but in the way he carried himself. Eager, a little too stiff, his eyes flicking to Gengis every time he spoke.
"I'm ready," Baby said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. "I'll pull my weight."
Hector nodded but didn't miss the way the others rolled their eyes.
"Mon-Mon" was the odd one out visually — glasses perched on his nose, slouched posture, and an awkwardness that felt out of place among the others. But there was a sharpness in his eyes that hinted at something more.
"I can handle the numbers," Mon-Mon said, his voice clipped. "And I know how to keep books that don't get anyone arrested."
That got Hector's attention, as if the boy had read his mind.
"Spiky" was next, and his name was no joke — his hair was a jagged mess of gelled spikes, and his personality was just as erratic. He twitched as he talked, his words fast and sometimes half-finished, his body in constant motion.
"You look at me weird?" Spiky demanded suddenly, eyes narrowing on Hector. "I'll fight you right now — swear to god!"
"Stand down," Gengis said calmly, and Spiky immediately fell silent, though the glare didn't fade.
"T-Bone" was quiet and massive, his presence heavy without him having to say much. When Hector asked about the nickname, the story that followed made even him blink.
"Steak came out raw," Gengis said with a shrug. "Cook didn't make it."
"With the bone?" Hector asked, one brow rising.
"With the bone," Gengis confirmed.
Then there was "Goro" — polite, soft-spoken, and clearly out of place in his neatly pressed clothes and calm demeanor. But Hector had learned not to judge by appearances a long time ago.
"Good with people," Goro said simply. "And sometimes that's what you need."
Finally, there was "Go-Go." The only woman in the group, and Gengis's half-sister. She was all sharp edges — sunglasses kept on despite the dim light, arms crossed, and an air of defiance that made it clear she was ready to prove herself.
"Don't expect me to take orders just because you think you're in charge," she said.
Hector smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."
The introductions done, Hector surveyed them all.
"You'll do," he said finally. And then he laid out the product — 20 doses of Dustfire.
"You'll sell from the corners I tell you," Hector said. "The price is non-negotiable. Some of those corners belonged to Oriken — but they belong to me now. If anyone has a problem with that, you call me."
He handed his number to Gengis and Ome.
"Your first day's pay, upfront," Hector added, sliding cash across the table. "Seventy-six each. Sell well, and there's more where that came from."
The deal was struck with a handshake.
And as the product was divided and the crew dispersed, Hector watched them go, already thinking ahead.
The empire was growing. And this was just the beginning.
"Sangre nueva," Hector murmured to himself. Kaoru heard him anyway.