Several days had passed since Arthur eliminated the Kingpin.
The news, though muffled by fear and corruption, spread quietly through New York's underworld like a silent yet devastating wave.
Crime bosses, arms dealers, and even the boldest mercenaries learned a lesson they would never forget: no one—absolutely no one—was safe from the assassin known as Battosai.
It wasn't difficult for them to connect the dots and arrive at that name.
To prevent chaos from consuming the underworld—gang wars, territorial disputes, or any of the usual idiocy born from reckless criminals—Arthur had to make a few calls.
"Can I really trust you with this, Mr. Big?" he asked over the phone.
{"Have I ever let you down, blondie?"} An arrogant laugh echoed through the receiver.
"You have. But let's leave that aside. I'm putting control of New York's underworld in your hands. Do your business without bothering me, and I won't interfere in yours," Arthur said calmly.
{"Deal. Oh, and before we hang up, I've got news about Rugal."}
"That bastard is still alive?" Arthur asked, surprised.
{"Alive and organizing some kind of bizarre tournament with powerful fighters from all over the world. I heard he's looking for you—wants to invite you."}
"…Seriously? Am I going to have to kill him again?" Arthur sighed.
{"Hahahaha! I don't think that'll be necessary. He recently picked a fight with some serious heavyweights."}
"That sounds like him. Anyway, goodbye."
{"See you around, Battosai."}
---
—xXx—
In the days that followed, Gwen began acting somewhat suspiciously.
She asked questions… far too innocent.
It was obvious she was trying to mask something, and Arthur had noticed from a mile away.
"Arthur, let's say a friend of mine wants to practice a sport that's a little more… dangerous. What kind of material do you think would be best for her uniform?"
"Oh, and if this 'sport' involves falling, do you think a lighter fabric would be better… or something more resistant?"
Of course, Arthur didn't need much to understand what she was implying.
With every disguised question, he simply arched an eyebrow and let a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips.
But inside, he was laughing.
Gwen believed she was being subtle—but Arthur was a man accustomed to dealing with liars, assassins, and politicians. No expression escaped his radar.
---
Even amid this peculiar routine, he did not neglect his system.
Over the past few days, he continued performing his daily logins—and, to his surprise, the rewards were… questionable, to say the least.
[Black Whip That Hurts Less]
[Magic Rope That Gradually Tightens Without Posing a Risk to Life]
[Satin Blindfold That Partially Blocks Vision but Increases Tactile Sensitivity]
Arthur sighed as he read the descriptions.
"System, are you joking with me? Last I checked, I'm not in Fifty Shades of Grey…" he muttered.
These were absolutely useless items—at least in any practical sense.
He decided to store everything inside the Gate of Babylon. One never knew when the universe might decide to turn nonsense into something useful.
Still, not everything was a waste.
Among the rewards, some were genuinely valuable.
[Mental Fortress]
[Senzu Beans x10]
Arthur analyzed each ability carefully.
Among them, one in particular truly caught his interest—[Mental Fortress].
In a world infested with psychic entities and mutants capable of mind control, this skill was practically an absolute shield. With it, Arthur became immune to illusions, manipulation, brainwashing, and even emotional control.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face.
"Perfect. This will be useful… Jean will be surprised when she can't read my mind anymore."
---
After another long day of training and experimenting with the system, Arthur decided to relax.
He took a hot shower, put on a simple T-shirt, and dropped onto the living room couch.
The room was bathed in soft lighting, and the television flickered with nighttime images of New York.
He opened the freezer, grabbed a tub of vanilla ice cream, and began devouring it with almost childlike delight.
What Arthur didn't know… was that while he enjoyed this quiet moment, elsewhere in the city, someone was far from at peace.
---
On the outskirts of New York, surrounded by woods and lush green fields, stood the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.
Founded by Charles Xavier, the institute was a refuge for mutants, offering education, shelter, and above all, acceptance.
That late afternoon, a classroom session had just ended.
Jean Grey, dressed in a blue blouse and fitted pants, erased the whiteboard as the bell echoed through the corridors.
"Students, that's all for today," she said with a serene smile. "Remember to do your assignments. I want everything turned in tomorrow, understood?"
"Yes, Professor Jean!" about thirty young mutants replied in unison.
Jean looked at their faces—so full of energy, hope, and potential.
A quiet pride swelled inside her.
Yet behind her gentle smile, something restless pulsed within her mind.
She knew she had been postponing something for far too long—she should have spoken with Charles already.
Unfortunately, every time she tried, something happened to prevent it.
This did not go unnoticed.
From his main office, Professor X observed everything through the panoramic window.
Behind him stood a rugged man in a brown leather jacket, arms crossed, watching in silence.
"Charles, why'd you call me in all of a sudden?"
The deep, rough voice carried the weariness of someone who had seen more wars than he cared to remember.
Professor X slowly turned his wheelchair to face Logan, his expression serious.
"Sit down, Logan. We have a problem."
Wolverine obeyed, sinking into the sofa with the casualness of someone not expecting good news.
"You've had that look for hours. What happened?"
Charles sighed.
"It's Jean. I've been sensing… something different in her. A disturbance in her mind that I can't identify."
Logan raised an eyebrow.
"You think someone's messing with her head?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps it's something… deeper."
Xavier paused, glancing out the window again.
"I've felt the disturbance for some time now, but it became more evident after that party. I asked her to represent the Institute… but since then, something changed."
Logan clenched his fists.
"You think she met someone there."
Charles nodded slowly.
"I'm certain of it. I have no proof, but… I have a very strong suspicion about who it might be."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Logan stared at the professor for several seconds before releasing a resigned sigh.
"You want me to follow Jean and find out who it is."
"Exactly."
"Charles, is it really that important?" Logan asked, visibly uncomfortable. Spying on Jean was something he despised—she was like a sister to him.
But Xavier's gaze remained firm.
"You know our situation. There are forces in motion that we cannot ignore."
The telepath's calm voice carried undeniable weight.
Logan ran a hand through his hair, grumbling.
"Fine… I'll do it. If I find out who this mysterious guy she's been meeting is, I'll let you know immediately."
"Thank you, Logan. And be careful. I have a feeling it might be that man."
Logan merely grunted, instantly understanding who Charles meant. He left the office, closing the door behind him.
Charles remained still, watching the children playing on the lawn.
For a brief moment, the reflection in the glass revealed the exhaustion etched across his face.
---
(End of Chapter)