Across the ocean, in one of the most secluded correctional facilities in the world, a chubby lady with short brown hair hurried through the prison's outdoor gym, carrying her heavy body with all her might and with panic written all over her face. She stopped in front of a slender lady with a full, vibrant red afro, who was lying lazily on the gym floor with her eyes closed, seemingly fast asleep. Not minding this, the chubby lady moved closer and whispered something into the sleeping woman's ear.
Immediately, the slender woman's eyes flew open. The temperature around her seemed to drop, and as she sat up with a cold, impassive face, the people nearby withdrew instantly. Even the chubby lady fell to her knees under the weight of the sudden, chilling presence.
"Tell me the murderer has been caught and butchered," the red-haired woman said, her voice icy.
The chubby lady shook her head negatively. "There are no traces of the murderer, boss," she whispered.
The red-haired lady's fist shot out and slammed into the concrete floor, creating a web of cracks and a shallow hole. "Get prepared," she said, her tone devoid of emotion. "Our vacation is over." She stood up, her face blank, yet she radiated a strong chill as she walked away. Everyone she passed gave her a wide berth, scrambling to clear a path the moment she drew near. Their fear was immediate and obvious.
It was understandable. This was Vittoria Roosevelt, Johnathan Roosevelt's only child and family. She was not feared solely because of her father's name but because she was Vittoria. The girl who made her first kill at age four, when a caretaker tried to harass her. The girl who single-handedly poisoned an entire cruise ship of her father's enemies at age eight. The girl who went in and out of correctional facilities as if they were vacation resorts. The girl was so unpredictable she could smile with you one minute and ensure you were dead the next. The girl who wiped out two mafia clans in a single night. She moved silently and kept a low profile, but every living soul in the mafia world knew her name and knew better than to dare her. Though many believed she was permanently locked up this time, after killing a classmate on her first day trying to earn a master's degree, she had also chosen to stay this time, to rest for a while at least within the facility's walls, but the news of her father's death had just ruined that plan. She was going back to take over the Blood Circle and hunt down the daring bastard who had ended her father.
Since childhood, her relationship with her father had been fractured. He had torn her from her ailing mother, imposed his will upon her, and dictated every aspect of her life without ever listening to her cries or protests. Deprived of autonomy or personal space, she nurtured a single, burning resolve: to become strong enough to kill him herself. But now someone had killed her dream, it made her burn with fury.
---
Back in G country, a tall young man with long black hair stormed into an empty parking lot with anger written all over his face. The phone in his hand was ringing continuously, but instead of picking it up, he switched off the phone, his anger simmering just above the surface. He didn't seem to notice any other person in the parking lot. He walked to his car and retrieved his key, then proceeded to open the door, but just at that moment, the silver-haired man appeared beside him with his usual gentle smile on his face. The black-haired man frowned in confusion at the sudden appearance of this stranger, but before he could speak, the silver-haired man reached out and touched his shoulder. His hand glowed with a faint, otherworldly light, and suddenly, the young man was reduced to a fine, shimmering dust, which the silver-haired man inhaled deeply.
He stood rock-still for a moment, his body rigid as the memories, experiences, and identity of the young man integrated with his own. Then, a satisfied smile surfaced on his face. At that moment, another man in glasses came running toward him, breathless and anxious.
"Sir Miguel, I am very sorry for what happened in there! Please, I beg you, don't cancel the contract!" the man pleaded. He did not seem to think or notice that the "Sir Miguel" he was now addressing was fundamentally different from the man who had been in his office just moments before.
The silver-haired man said nothing. He simply slid into the car, started the engine, and drove off, leaving the other man standing alone in the parking lot, paralyzed by the panic that his company, Richardson Enterprises, would collapse without this major contract.