It was a sunny morning in Brickville. Dew clung to the vegetation, glinting like tiny diamonds in the soft light, and a gentle wind rustled along the streets. Milo walked with his hands buried in his pockets, wearing a red-and-white jacket paired with black jeans. Wireless earphones hummed softly in his ears, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the plan he and Ross had mapped out the night before in Ross's room.
"What's your plan?!" Ross had asked, urgency and impatience in his voice. "We need more information about the bangles, but most of it is locked away. Only the higher-ups know how to access it… including the chairman!"
"So…" Ross suggested cautiously.
"I could talk to him and find out what he knows!" Milo proposed, his eyes lighting up with determination.
"Didn't you try that before? What makes you think it'll work now?"
"You! I just have to tell him about you!" Milo said, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
"Try your way, then. But mine's better!"
And so, they reached an uneasy agreement—a pairing of a man with little virtue and a man with too many principles. Not the most promising combination, Milo thought, but it had to work.
Milo stopped in front of a wide, imposing building. Though not tall, its design mirrored the central bank, with a gleaming antenna symbol on top. The telecommunications company was a front, hiding the true heart of the Ambassadors' headquarters. People crowded around; some waved, others saluted. Milo returned the gestures automatically, though he felt no warmth.
Inside, he passed Conor. In a flat, bored tone, Milo muttered, "I don't have time for you."
"So you forgive me?" Conor asked, teasing.
"Yeah… a little bit," Milo replied before moving toward the receptionist's desk.
"I want to see the chairman," Milo said, firm and unyielding.
"Not even a good morning? This has got to be serious," the receptionist replied, typing Milo's information into the system.
Milo, well-known and respected among the Ambassadors, was admired for his kindness and fieldwork. The receptionist, also an Ambassador, wore the same standard suit with an identical back insignia, but on her shoulders rested a miniature hand symbol. Her desk held a computer, a gavel, a white sound block, and a small vase of flowers in the corner.
"Yeah… it kinda is," Milo admitted.
Finishing the input, she murmured with a hint of compromise in her voice, "You know what to do," clearly hoping for a longer chat.
To reach the chairman's office, one required his direct approval. The gavel had to strike the sound block—instantly transporting the person to the door outside his office.
Gu! Gu!
Milo slammed it down. In a flash, he stood at the door, taking several deep breaths to steady himself before knocking.
Knock ! Knock !
"Come in," the chairman's voice called.
Milo entered and sat down, his mind racing.
"You're early today," the chairman remarked, his voice casual. "Got a date or something?"
"No. I just have some information I think you'd find interesting," Milo said cautiously.
"Alright… I'm all ears," the chairman replied.
"I found out about the seven bangels."
The chairman's light mood vanished instantly, replaced with a hardness that sent a chill down Milo's spine.
"Even if you don't want to tell me anything, just know that I will find out even more information soon enough," Milo added, eyes narrowing.
Silence stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating. This was the information the chairman had been hiding—at least part of it.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across the chairman's face. "I'm proud of you, my boy."
Milo's mind churned. Is this a trick? Is this real?
"I knew you could get in the right track," the chairman continued.
"What do you mean?" Milo asked cautiously.
Leaning back, the chairman explained, his voice carrying weight.
"Your father was tasked with keeping something crucial."
"The cracked bangle?" Milo asked, heart thumping.
"Yes. There are seven of them. All Ambassadors tasked with protecting them were killed."
"By who?" Milo pressed, tension tightening in his chest.
"No one knows," the chairman admitted. "The only information we have is that they are dangerously strong."
"What makes the bangles special?" Milo asked, leaning forward, desperate for clarity.
"The records don't say much, except that they hold incredible power that no one can sense," the chairman replied.
"The higher-ups agreed to keep all results of the investigation hidden, fearing widespread panic."
Milo's stomach twisted. "Thats why you never told me before?"
"Yeah it would have made you too easy to read," the chairman confessed. "On that day, I knew you sensed it—something no one had ever done for along time. That's fate."
Their conversation flowed back and forth until the chairman revealed the next lead: an information merchant in Desert Valley City who might hold answers. He had wanted to approach the merchant himself but trusted no one less than a stranger.
"A leader asking an outsider for sensitive information?" The chairman mused. "The higher-ups would know in seconds. But if you go, no one would even ask about you."
"There's a mission in Treecon City," the chairman explained. "Take it, finish it early, then go to the merchant. That way, you'll be harder to track."
He handed Milo an envelope marked with the Ambassador's seal.
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome, kid."
---
BLANTYRE CITY – That Afternoon
The afternoon sun poured over Blantyre City, casting long shadows across the streets. Customers streamed into the main bank, unaware of the horrors lurking on the top floor, where a notorious group still resided.
A short man carrying a briefcase walked past the bustling crowd, feeling relief course through him. He had just withdrawn his savings.
I finally sold our house, he thought, smiling faintly at the receipt.
WELCOME TO BLANTYRE CITY BANK
Where Your Dreams Come Alive
NAME: Benjamin Scissor
DEPOSITED: $00
WITHDRAWING: $400
TAX: $20
WITHDRAWN AMOUNT: $380
REFERENCE CODE: U63911061696
He remembered the promise he made to his children: toys, food, and new clothes after the sale. Half the money would go to the loan sharks, but the rest could begin a new life.
Then—a chilling voice sliced through the calm.
"Do as I tell you," it said.
Benjamin froze, a knot of fear tightening in his chest.
"If you scream, I'll kill you and take the money anyway," the voice added.
Panic surged. He had no weapons, no Kyoku training—only a lifetime of struggle and desperation.
"O… okay," he stammered, fear gripping his throat.
The thug shoved him into a narrow, dark alley. "Nice and easy," the man growled.
Another voice emerged from the shadows, the glint of a butcher's knife catching the sunlight. "We don't plan on hurting you—just give us the money, and you'll be alright."
Benjamin's love for his family warred with his fear. "I can't have it all… but please, can I keep a little for food? My family hasn't eaten in so long."
"What?! I told you this fool wasn't going to pay the boss back," one thug spat.
"He sent you?" Benjamin asked weakly.
"Yeah, and he sends his regards."
They kicked him to the ground. Benjamin clutched the briefcase, a lifeline to his family's future.
"I only owe $200—why take it all?" he muttered.
"Consider the rest a hunting fee," they sneered.
Three months ago, Benjamin had borrowed money to start a small produce business. For a while, it thrived—until robbers emptied the shop. Hunger and fear had become constant companions, and selling the house was the last hope.
But the thugs weren't finished.
Then—a new presence arrived.
"I'd like to join in on the fun," a voice echoed, calm yet dripping with menace.
The thugs whirled around. "Who's there?"
"Behind you, silly."
From the mouth of the alley emerged two figures.
Name: Booster
Rank: Number 5
Name: Rockster
Rank: Number 7
"All my life," Booster said, his voice thick with bloodlust, "I've heard humans are peaceful and that our kind love destruction. At first, I rejected it. But now I know—it's how God made us. So I accepted it."
"It makes us sad," Rockster added, "when humans do our job."
"Don't do anything stupid, or I'll shoot!" the gunman barked.
"You want me to be afraid?" Booster smirked.
The gunman fired—Phoh! Phoh!—but Booster tilted his head, bullets grazing harmlessly.
"Shoot the big one!" another thug yelled.
Two bullets shot toward Rockster. One hand caught them both.
"That's not nice," Booster said casually.
In an instant, the gunman's arm was severed; his head split in two, lightning crackling through the air.
The other thug tried to flee, but the ground rose beneath him, and the alley walls slammed together, crushing him into a mangled corpse.
Blood soaked the alley. Benjamin trembled, expecting his turn.
But Booster's gaze softened, just slightly. "We're not going to kill you."
"What?" Benjamin gasped.
"Go on—you're no fun to kill."
Benjamin grabbed his briefcase and quickly fled. His family's future, once hanging by a thread, was now secured—ironically, by a duo of killers.