After spending money on a taxi, Yoren arrived at the casino right on time.
It was noon, and the first floor of the casino was nearly empty. The only movement came from a few staff idling behind the counters. Ignoring a waiter who tried to direct him to exchange chips, Yoren walked straight toward the staircase.
"My name is Yoren."
Just five simple words, and no one dared to stop him. He made it to the fifth floor without a hitch.
Unlike the open, bustling lower floors, the fifth level was a corridor lined with private rooms—VIP suites, no doubt. Under the guidance of a sharply dressed waiter, Yoren stepped across a plush carpet until they reached the corridor's end. In front of the final door stood six men in black, clearly bodyguards.
Almost as if he'd been expecting him, a middle-aged man in a suit stepped out of the room. Yoren recognized him—he'd been in the front seat of Richie's car yesterday.
The man was clearly experienced, probably in his forties, with a calm demeanor that exuded competence.
"Hello, Mr. Yoren," he said with a slight bow. "My name is Reddy. I'm Mr. Richie's assistant."
Yoren gave him a relaxed nod. "Hello, hello. Where's Richie?"
"Mr. Richie is inside. He's been waiting for you."
"Sorry, traffic was a mess."
Reddy led him into the luxurious room.
Once decoration reaches a certain level of extravagance, it stops being tasteful and becomes ostentatious. The shimmering blue walls, the carefully curated ornaments—Yoren didn't need to know their names to know each was worth a small fortune. Still, to him, they weren't impressive. Just things. Decorations for the rich to flaunt.
But he had a role to play. If he wanted to win the game, he had to act like someone who coveted it all.
Inside, Richie sat in a luxurious chair, eyes closed in quiet thought. A porcelain teacup rested on the table beside him.
When Yoren entered, Richie opened his eyes.
"You came."
"I did."
"Have a seat, make yourself comfortable."
Yoren didn't hesitate, settling into a chair beside him.
Richie took a sip of his tea. "So, tell me. What do you want from me?"
Yoren had expected a long-winded conversation, but Richie was refreshingly direct. He jumped into the story he'd rehearsed.
He claimed he was from Columbia, a former mercenary with Blacksteel International. During a mission, he had entered a Catastrophe zone and became Infected. It made him stronger—but it also turned his life into a countdown. So, he gave up mercenary work. He wanted wealth, fast, while he still had time. That's what brought him to Victoria, to find a friend... and ultimately, to the Frido Chamber of Commerce.
Yoren spoke plainly and with detail. He weaved stories of his comrades, the battles they fought together, the moral dilemmas they faced. There was emotion in his words, a weight that made the narrative feel real.
After half an hour, he finally ended his tale. Then he picked up an empty cup beside him.
"Any water left? My throat's dry—I haven't talked that much in a long time."
Richie gave Reddy a look, and the assistant quickly poured him tea.
Yoren drank two cups in a row before Richie finally asked his first question.
"With your strength, there must be many other ways to make money. Why come to me?"
Yoren answered immediately.
"It's simple. I've always loved fighting. Being a mercenary was fun. But once I became Infected, dancing with death every day got old. Now? I don't want to kill—I want people to fear me. I want to carve my own path in this city. I want to know what it feels like to command the wind and rain."
Richie let out a short laugh.
"Command the wind and rain? Even I can't do that. Maybe in a place like Happy City, but across the south? The name Richie isn't that special."
"Boss Richie, you're being modest."
"No. I'm being honest. I can see you don't hide your ambition. That's fine—it's good to dream big. But let me warn you, following me may not get you the influence you're hoping for."
Yoren waved off the concern.
"That's fine. Maybe your last right-hand man couldn't reach that level. But now I'm here. If I can stir the skies, you'll ride the wind. Well—wait, that metaphor sounds like I'm wishing you dead. I meant, you'll soar alongside me."
Richie chuckled, half amused, half bewildered. Yoren didn't follow social scripts. But that unpredictability… it suited him.
"So besides money, is power all you want?"
"Not quite."
"Then what else?"
Yoren hesitated. He could have lied, deflected. But this time, he didn't. He wanted to say it—to himself, more than to Richie.
His gaze lowered, memories flashing behind his eyes.
"There's someone I left behind in Victoria. A friend. She probably thinks I'm dead. But I can't just walk up and tell her I'm alive."
"Why not?"
A soft smile tugged at Yoren's lips, fading into something more bittersweet.
"Because… back then, she was already far beyond my reach. She stood at the center of everything, making decisions that shaped nations. And me? I was nothing. Just an ant in the grass, watching a lion march toward the horizon. Her world was one I could only admire from the shadows."
The memories came rushing back: Mandal City. The laughter. The pain. The goodbyes.
Yoren lifted his head, his voice firmer.
"But things have changed. I'm not that same man anymore. I won't be just a face in the crowd. I, Yoren, will climb to the top—so that when I see her again, I'll be standing as her equal. Not as a ghost from the past."
Faced with Richie's probing questions, Yoren's answers weren't flawless, but they held up. More importantly, the sincerity in his final words carried a weight that made Richie pause. The old man couldn't tell if what Yoren said was truth or a soldier's love story twisted by war. Maybe it was just a poor boy pining after a noble's daughter, driving him to chase glory.
Was it love that drove this young man to rise above his station? That kind of story wasn't hard to believe.
"Well then, Boss Rich," Yoren said, his tone easy and confident, "You saw it yourself last night. I'm good in a fight. Give me the tough jobs. I'll make sure those who break the rules get what's coming."
Richie leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"I'll give you an answer later."
"Huh? Why wait until tonight?"
Reddy coughed lightly beside him.
"What Boss Richie means is he agrees, but this sort of assignment takes time to plan out."
"Ah, got it."
Yoren checked the time. It was barely past one in the afternoon.
"So, Boss, what do I do until then?"
"Head down to the casino floor. Play a bit."
"I don't have money to throw around."
"Just go to the front desk. Mention your name. I'll have Endy give you twenty thousand in chips."
"Sounds good."
Once Yoren left, Richie turned to Endy.
"Did we get a report from the tailing last night?"
"Yes."
"Let's hear it."
"After we left, Yoren was driven by a man on a motorcycle to a house in the Wuda neighborhood. They seemed friendly. Yoren spent the night there."
Richie opened his eyes.
"Who was the guy on the bike?"
"A small-time gang leader from the Kilt neighborhood. Nicknamed A Guang. He's done demolition work for Mr. Donde before."
"Nothing suspicious?"
"No. Seems clean."
Yoren's background was a blank slate beyond what he'd said himself. If he were a killer, Richie thought, he could have struck last night. That kind of power doesn't need elaborate setups.
A spy from a rival gang? That didn't add up either. Richie had little left in Happy City, and Fredo's Chamber wasn't exactly growing.
Something felt off, but everything else lined up. Richie was torn. Yoren had ambition, power, and transparency—the makings of a perfect weapon. But any weapon that sharp could cut its master.
So Richie gambled.
At the front desk, Yoren exchanged the chips and pocketed them. Twenty thousand Terra coins. Not bad. But he wasn't about to throw them away on luck. Back at home, Ifrit and Turtle were still flipping skewers.
He spent the afternoon walking the casino floor, observing, absorbing.
By evening, Richie invited Yoren to dinner on the building's top floor. Several people Yoren didn't recognize were already seated. After introductions, he learned they were the casino's senior staff.
Richie got to the point.
"Yoren, Kit's out of commission after what happened yesterday. You'll temporarily take over his duties and oversee security. These folks are your seniors. If you're ever unsure, ask them."
The table lifted their glasses.
"Brother Yoren, congrats on the promotion. The casino's safety is in your hands."
"We'll be working together a lot. Looking forward to it. Cheers!"
"I'm a bit older, so I won't call you Brother Yoren, but I've handled the accounts here for over a decade. We're family now."
Yoren raised his glass halfway, then paused. Something felt off.
Smack!
He slammed his palm onto the table. The room fell silent.
Eyes locked on Richie, Yoren spoke with quiet fury.
"What's the meaning of this? Replacing Kit? You want me to babysit the guards? You think I'm some damn security guard?"
Reddy jumped in. "Mind your tone! That's the boss you're talking to!"
"I killed Benson yesterday. Don't try to pull this rookie move on me."
"Let the boss explain."
Yoren fell silent.
Richie looked visibly uncomfortable. No one had talked to him like that in years, not on his turf, not at his table. But this kid—no, this lunatic—was different.
"Yoren," Richie said gravely, "you misunderstood. I don't intend for you to just replace Kit. Truth is, for years, each department here has been running on its own, with Reddy overseeing most of it. But our dealings with the Leaf family are getting more complex. Reddy's stretched thin. I need someone to take full charge of the casino."
Yoren raised a brow.
"You want me to be the boss of the casino?"
"Exactly. But you need time. You don't know our operations yet. I can't just hand you the reins overnight."
"Mm."
"Start with security. Learn the ropes. Once you're ready, the casino's yours."
Yoren looked around the table, his expression shifting into a half-smile.
"So these old-timers have to follow my orders now?"
"You could say that."
Yoren saw the truth. Richie didn't trust him. The so-called security chief role was nothing but a leash in disguise. The staff were pencil-pushers, not real enforcers. This promotion was a sugar-coated leash.
But that was fine. For now, Yoren would play along. Later, he'd write the rules himself.
That night, he took a taxi back to A Guang's place.
Shirtless and grinning, A Guang greeted him at the door.
"Brother Feng, you're back."
"I'm back."
"You eat yet?"
"Yeah. Ate with Boss Richie."
"Legend."
After washing up, Yoren stretched out on the bed.
"How's your injured buddy?"
"Pretty bad. Might lose the arm."
"Damn."
Yoren reached into his pocket and pulled out the chips-turned-cash, tossing the stack to A Guang.
"What's this?"
"Twenty thousand. Keep five for yourself. Take the rest to the skewer shop. Give it to that girl Nancy tomorrow. I'll be crashing here a few more days."
A Guang looked like he might cry.
"Brother Feng, you're the real deal."
"Don't make a fuss. The real show hasn't even started yet. Oh, and drop by the casino sometime. Just say my name. I'm an intern now at the Golden Buddha Casino."