At dawn, the Alligator sits alone in shadows. Weak light barely reaches his boots.

  Samuel materialises beside him like a ghost and kneels.

  “Boss. All clear. We can go in.”

  The Alligator’s lips curl faintly. “How many men?”

  “More than fifteen. Mercenaries. Couldn’t gauge power levels.”

  “Did you see the boss?”

  “Not once.”

  The Alligator leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Describe the fortress. Any preparation? Barricades? Rotations? Nervous guards?”

  A smirk creeps onto Samuel’s face. He rises, gesturing theatrically.

  “The fortress is tranquil. Harmonious. Almost star-like in beauty. Guards strolling as if on holiday. The smell of roses drifting through the air. Blossoms on the walls. Decorative brickwork. Maidens fluttering about—”

  The Alligator raises a hand.

  “That’s enough. I didn’t ask for poetry.”

  Samuel straightens.

  A faint crease forms on The Alligator’s brow.

  “No visible battle preparation,” he mutters. “Confidence. Or desperation. Either way—they expect discussion.”

  He rises sharply.

  “Gather the others. We leave.”

  “Right away, boss.”

  Samuel vanishes down the corridor.

  ---

  Ellen walks beside Patience through the morning streets. Vendors shout in the distance. Metal shutters rattle open. The city yawns awake.

  Patience quickens her pace, then abruptly stops in front of Ellen.

  “We’ve been walking for ten minutes. Where is this store?”

  Ellen exhales through her nose. “I’m exhausted. You walk like you’re chasing something. Still better than heading to that fortress.”

  Patience blinks. “Why would you say that?”

  “I hate fighting,” Ellen says plainly, though her tone carries an odd spark of animation.

  Patience studies her, then steps aside to let a cart pass. “Is the store close?”

  Ellen points. “There.”

  Patience squints. “That tiny place?”

  “Yes.”

  Patience taps her jaw. “Who’s sewing the outfit?”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “It’s ready. Black duster. Bulletproof lining. The boss wants glasses and a hat too.”

  Patience stops. “Bulletproof?”

  Ellen keeps moving. “Yes.”

  “Why would I wear that?”

  Ellen glances back. “Because you’re weak.”

  She laughs lightly.

  Patience narrows her eyes. “You’re weak too.”

  Ellen’s grin widens. “No. I’m better. You might be the only person alive I’m stronger than.”

  Patience scoffs. “You’re weird.”

  They step into the store. Fabric sways overhead. The air smells faintly of dye and starch.

  Patience’s eyes gleam. “I love these clothes. I’ll take the purple duster—”

  Ellen is already at the counter.

  “Black duster. Eyeglasses. A hat.”

  The manager nods eagerly.

  Patience edges closer. “I said pink.”

  Ellen yawns slowly. “Boss’s order.”

  Patience folds her arms, muttering under her breath.

  ---

  The Black Mercury gang approaches the mansion.

  It rises like a silent monarch—arched windows, iron gates, stone columns catching the pale sun.

  The Alligator slows.

  “Samuel. This is it?”

  “Yes.”

  The Alligator scans walls, rooftops, sightlines. Windows half-open. Curtains barely moving.

  “Stay sharp,” he says quietly. “If this is a trap, it’s a patient one.”

  A man steps forward at the gate.

  “State your business.”

  The Alligator produces the letter. “An invitation was sent to my subordinate. We’re here to meet your boss.”

  The guard studies it, then disappears inside.

  Moments stretch. Footsteps echo from within.

  Another man emerges—strong jaw, hardened eyes—followed by nine armed men fanning out subtly.

  “I’m the lieutenant,” he says.

  The Alligator inclines his head slightly. “Good.”

  “The invitation was for the Crocodile woman,” the lieutenant says.

  The Alligator chuckles. “She’s with me. I lead this group. I expect to see your superior.”

  Weapons shift. Tension tightens.

  Then—

  The doors swing wide.

  “Shamu!”

  Terri strides out, coat flaring behind him. A young girl trails close.

  The lieutenant snaps upright. “Boss.”

  “Lower it,” Terri orders sharply.

  “But—”

  “If that man truly stands beside the Crocodile, you don’t wake a shark.”

  The guards hesitate, then lower their weapons.

  Terri approaches, eyes sweeping the group. He stops inches from The Alligator and extends his hand.

  “Which of you is the Crocodile?”

  The Alligator gestures calmly toward Shion.

  Terri freezes. Surprise flickers before discipline returns. He bows deeply.

  “Leader of legends… we have a request.”

  He drops to one knee. His men follow. The courtyard goes silent.

  The Alligator steps back, expression unreadable.

  “Stand. Kneeling wastes time.”

  Terri rises.

  “Inside,” The Alligator says. “If we are to speak of requests, let it be properly.”

  ---

  They gather around a round table within the mansion. Sunlight spills across polished wood.

  “So,” The Alligator says, fingers lightly touching the table’s edge. “Speak.”

  Terri exhales slowly, as if releasing something long carried.

  “Dear Legend of Legends, we want to join your empire.”

  The Alligator’s eyes narrow.

  “You wish to abandon Silas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why.”

  Terri’s jaw tightens.

  “His rule is rot. Trafficking. Slavery. Public executions. Torture to make examples.”

  The room grows heavier.

  The Alligator watches him closely.

  “And Silas?”

  “I’ve seen him five times in three years. He appears only to command. The rest is done through us.”

  “So he stays clean,” The Alligator murmurs. “While you carry blood.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence lingers.

  “I’m searching for someone,” The Alligator says at last. “Clary Pintosa. Missing a year.”

  Terri shakes his head slowly. “Not familiar. But give me time. I’ll dig through everything.”

  A faint smile curves The Alligator’s lips. “Do that.”

  Nina materialises behind him like a shadow folding into shape.

  “Boss. Incoming.”

  “How many.”

  “Over fifty. Closing from three sides.”

  The room tightens.

  Terri stiffens. “Enemies?”

  The Alligator does not answer immediately.

  Instead, his eyes drift across the table. Calculating...

  K.B — steady. Samuel — adaptable. Spike — grounded. Maxwell — reliable.

  Shion—

  If she fights wounded, response time drops. Multiple high-tier opponents make containment costly.

  This invitation was bait. Public. Wide. Deliberate. Someone wanted convergence.

  “Scout the perimeter,” he tells Nina.

  She vanishes.

  Terri’s voice lowers. “Should we fight?”

  The Alligator’s gaze turns cold. Eyes lock.

  If we fight here, we expose strength. We give them numbers and formation. He thinks.

  He gazes at Terri.

  “We withdraw.”

  The room erupts.

  “What?!”

  Terri’s brow furrows. “You’re retreating?”

  He steps toward the window, calculating angles.

  “Fifty men means they expect spectacle.”

  He turns back.

  “We deny it. Regroup. Choose the battlefield.”