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Sera had seen much of the world.
She was touched by her brother's protectiveness, but some things still had to be said.
"Ryden, that Cass is the second-largest food supplier in Brooklyn. He has a lot of thugs under him, all connected to the Dasco. Let me handle this."
Ryden waved his hand.
"No need. If I can't even protect you two, then what 'great things' am I going to do? What 'ideals' am I talking about?"
He glanced ahead.
"There's a nice café on Brin Street. Let's go rest for a bit."
Unlike Sera's concern, Aunt Sarah was full of confidence in her "little husband."
She still remembered his eyes the first time they met-clear, rational, and carrying a hint of cunning.
Her soft hand squeezed Ryden's palm.
"Master Ryden, I believe in you. Sera and I will wait for you in the café. Be careful."
Like a traditional woman, Sarah would never interfere in her husband's affairs.
She would only quietly do what she should behind the scenes-keeping things in order and waiting peacefully for him to return.
Sera wanted to say more.
But she noticed the housekeeper's closeness toward her brother.
Too close.
Close enough to make her feel a flicker of jealousy.
"Ryden, don't overdo it," she said. "Let your sister handle this. I'll protect you."
After dropping the bags at the café, Ryden turned and walked away.
He already had a plan.
Rather than waiting to be hit, it was better to strike first.
"Playing it safe" didn't mean "don't fight back."
Not fighting back wasn't safe.
It was cowardly.
Like Steve, even without a system, superpowers, or high-tech gear, Ryden had something else.
A heart that refused to lose.
Aunt Sarah sat gracefully at the table, her gaze gentle as she watched him leave.
Only after his figure vanished did she lower her head and order a coffee.
Sera felt uneasy.
Her brother belonged to her.
"Sarah," she asked, unable to hold it in, "what exactly is your relationship with Ryden?"
Sarah looked at her with a knowing smile.
She could smell the jealousy from a mile away.
"It's nothing special," she replied softly. "Just mutual trust."
She thought of the thousand dollars Ryden had handed her without hesitation.
That sum alone was enough to live comfortably for two or three years.
Because of that trust, her loyalty was absolute.
After leaving the café, Ryden made several turns and arrived at the Old Sailor's Bar.
He greeted Lode and went straight to the small booth on the second floor.
He waved for Marlos to skip the pleasantries.
His voice was cold.
"Cass Food Company. What do you know? Tell me everything."
Marlos didn't know what his boss was planning.
But he smelled money.
This young master brought surprises-and profit-every time he showed up.
"Everything Cass sells goes through the Dasco," Marlos said. "He hires a lot of thugs to guard his shops. He sells scrap food, sometimes even wheat mixed with sand."
"Worst of all, he doesn't pay workers. If anyone asks for wages, they get beaten. The company's big, though. Several shareholders. Cass is the majority owner, and he bosses everyone around."
Ryden caught the key point.
"So Cass doesn't get along with the other shareholders?"
"And if something happens to Cass Company, it could be swallowed by others?"
Marlos scratched his bald head and laughed awkwardly.
"I don't know about other companies. But it's true Cass and the shareholders don't get along. There's a rumor one shareholder's family member was harassed in their own shop. When the guy went to demand an explanation, Cass beat him instead."
That was enough.
It could be used.
"Good," Ryden said. "A big move is coming. Bring a few men. Take the AK-47s."
"Oh-and find some black burlap bags. Cut two holes so we can see."
He smiled faintly.
"Come with me. Let's stir things up."
The gang exploded into action.
Efficient.
Crude.
Laughing and joking as they moved-this was their way.
"Cass," Ryden muttered to himself. "You dared touch my women. You made me waste brainpower."
"I'll make you bleed."
"Don't provoke me again."
He felt the cold metal body of the assembled AK-47 in his hands.
His mind entered a focused state.
He simulated every step.
Every outcome.
Every countermeasure.
He planned for defeat before pursuing victory.
In an alley off Wakanda Street, Ryden leaned against the wall, whistling.
Soon enough, two white brutes in black suits appeared.
They were heavily built, clearly trained.
Their arms were thicker than an average man's thigh.
The tight suits strained against their muscles.
One punch would easily carry three or four hundred pounds of force.
The moment they spotted him, the two exchanged a glance.
One drew his gun, blocking Ryden's escape and providing deterrence.
The other charged, swinging a fist like a battering ram.
Ryden stared ahead blankly.
Frozen.
Not resisting.
Seeing him whistling against the wall, they'd suspected an ambush.
Now?
They realized they'd overthought it.
Bang.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Several figures leaned out from above the alley wall, shouting as they pulled their triggers.
The muzzles of AK-47s spat fire.
A storm of bullets shredded the gunman's hands into pulp.
The brute charging Ryden fared slightly better.
Several precise shots punched through his thighs.
Ryden pulled out the glove hidden at his side and flipped the switch.
High-voltage current burst from his palm and clamped onto the brute's shoulder.
The electricity surged through his body.
Crackle. Pop.
"AAAGH!!"
The scream echoed through the alley.
There wasn't much visible damage.
But inside, his organs were wrecked.
Internal injuries were always worse.
Hidden damage was far more lethal than what you could see.
The gang shouted triumphantly and leapt down from the wall.
They bound the two half-dead men tightly.
A glowing cigarette butt was pressed directly into their wounds-the crudest form of battlefield cauterization.
"AAARGH!!"
The bodyguard screamed again.
The men laughed and punched him a few more times.
"Talk! Where's Cass!"
"If you don't want to die, speak!"
"Hehe. Otherwise, we'll give you the royal treatment."
"Ever tried slow drowning?"
Ryden pressed the cold muzzle of the assault rifle against the head of the guard whose arms were now riddled with holes.
His expression was vicious.
Ghastly.
Like a demon dragged straight out of hell.
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