Winston's voice had lost the steady confidence it held at the beginning of the conversation, but he remained firm. "He broke the rules in my hotel."
The Adjudicator's face was a mask of cold stone. "That is precisely the problem, Winston. It is your hotel."
"Where is your loyalty?"
Winston stared at the relentless woman. "I have served for over forty years—"
"Under the Table, serving the Table," the Adjudicator interrupted, her tone solemn. "The Table is above all. I know you are loyal, but this matter cannot be ignored. Let me be clear: I am here to adjudicate you."
"You have one week to put your affairs in order."
Winston's eyes widened in genuine shock. "What did you say?"
"At that time," she continued, "your successor will be appointed. Only the existence of rules keeps us from being..."
"Animals," Winston finished for her.
The Adjudicator nodded. "Exactly. You have seven days."
She turned to leave, but stopped after two steps, glancing back over her shoulder. "In the meantime, if you require assistance with the transition, you can find me in Room 217."
Winston watched her go, his voice cold. "I hope you enjoy your stay at the Continental."
It wasn't a welcome; it was a reminder. For the next seven days, he was still the master of this house. The Adjudicator gave him a long, silent look before turning away for good.
In the Training Hall.
Shiranui Hayate sat cross-legged, refining his chakra. Since awakening the system three years ago, he had spent every possible moment conditioning his body and honing his energy.
Although the system granted him powerful character skills and the ability to use them flawlessly, Hayate knew his foundations were different from those in the world of Naruto. Shinobi in that world began training at age five or six; they could leap onto rooftops before they hit double digits.
Hayate, however, inhabited a body from the Marvel world. His physical limits were those of a normal human. Since chakra is a blend of spiritual energy and physical energy (cellular energy), a weaker body meant a smaller pool of chakra.
In three years, he had managed to reach the level of a third-year Academy student—a feat that spoke to his relentless work ethic. From the moment he summoned Umino Iruka, the man had become his sensei. Hayate had mastered tree-climbing and water-walking, and beyond his system-granted skills, he had manually learned the Transformation Jutsu and Clone Jutsu. As for the Substitution Jutsu, he preferred the system-integrated version for its split-second reliability.
He had thought about developing the Rasengan or Chidori, but he was realistic. You couldn't ask a third-year student to reinvent high-rank ninjutsu from principles alone—at least, not in such a short time.
The training hall door creaked open. Hayate stopped his meditation and gestured to a mat across from him. "Sit, John."
John Wick sat down, looking calm and refreshed.
"Are your injuries fully healed?" Hayate asked.
John touched his neck where the deep lacerations had been. "Completely closed. Your recovery room is... miraculous."
Hayate nodded. "To take a seat at the High Table, we first need to find their headquarters. I don't know the exact location. Do you?"
John thought for a moment. "I don't know the coordinates of the central hub. I only know that a branch of the Elders remains stationed deep in the desert near Casablanca."
Hayate smiled. "If you went there now, could you gain an audience?"
"Alone? Possibly," John said. "They might bring me before them to judge me. But if we go as a group, they'll vanish into the dunes before we get close."
"Then you will go to Casablanca alone," Hayate decided. "Your mission is to find the Elder and keep yourself alive until I arrive."
John looked curious. "It's a vast desert. How will you find me once I'm inside?"
Hayate didn't mention the Ninken (Ninja Dogs) yet. "I have my ways of tracking you. Just get inside and face the Elder."
Hayate handed John a Kunai engraved with a strange, intricate seal. "Find Iruka outside. He will guide you through a private channel managed by Wilson Fisk. You'll take a ship to Morocco."
John hesitated at the mention of Fisk. He knew the Kingpin of Hell's Kitchen—a criminal empire that operated outside the Table's influence. He hadn't realized Hayate's reach extended that far. He took the kunai and left the hall.
"Soon," Hayate whispered to the empty room. "The sky over the Continental is going to fall."
The Bowery.
The Bowery King sat in his throne room surrounded by shadows. His subordinate, Earl, approached him. "An Adjudicator wishes to see you, Sire."
The King exhaled a long cloud of smoke. "An Adjudicator. Bad business is afoot."
He took an umbrella and headed to the rooftop where he kept his pigeons. Soon, Earl led the Adjudicator onto the terrace.
"Welcome to my mission control," the Bowery King boomed with a theatrical grin. "My hub of operations. My super-information highway. From here, I watch the streets and the ways of the world."
The Adjudicator looked at the cages with distaste. "Pigeons?"
"You see winged rats," the King said proudly. "I see the internet. No IP addresses, no digital footprint. Untraceable, unhackable, unfindable."
The Adjudicator didn't look impressed. She was there to talk about a very specific breach of protocol involving a certain seven-round kimber 1911.