Now Max was starting to see the bigger picture, not just what was happening in front of him, but the entire system at play. The deeper structure. The hidden ambitions driving every move.
When gangs worked together, especially street gangs tied to a larger Syndicate or organized group, it was never just about survival. Everyone had their own agenda. Everyone was chasing the top spot. Climbing, always climbing.
He should've realized it back when the Chalkline Boys attacked the restaurant. That wasn't so random hit job. That place didn't even seem like a major hub for the Rejected Corps. It was a distraction. A smaller outpost, not a base.
And yet, the Chalkline Boys had hit it hard, then moved on to target several other spots. That kind of coordination didn't scream street gang. That was strategic. That was war.
Now it made sense why the Rejected Corps were trying to step up their ga. They weren't satisfied being seen as street-level anymore. They were chasing evolution. Status.
That was why they'd been after Dipter. The guy was a natural, talented, brutal, efficient. Fighters like him weren't just useful; they were rare. Most of the people lining up to join gangs were filler. Street-level muscle. But a real fighter? Soone who could take on five, ten people alone and walk away without a scratch?
That was currency.
Each one of those fighters could shift power. They were the kind of people gangs would kill to recruit, and kill to stop from becoming rivals. Because if you didn't bring soone like that into your fold, you were practically guaranteeing they'd one day start their own crew.
And no one wanted to face off against the beast they failed to ta.
Behind him, the van's rear doors creaked open.
Ten n stepped out in unison, all wearing the sa berets and camo pants from before. Military vibes with street gang sharpness. It was the exact sa unit Max had seen last ti.
They spotted him imdiately, and gave a small, respectful gesture. Not a salute. But not casual either.
One of the squad mbers paused as the group headed toward the restaurant. His eyes locked on Max, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
"You brought a friend this ti?" Rain asked, voice laced with dry amusent. "Might wanna let him know, no one's gonna babysit him. And hey, who knows? Maybe another stray plate cos flying your way. Could get ssy."
Max didn't respond, just kept walking.
Na and Dud led the way toward the restaurant doors, the rest falling in behind them.
"Well, you're certainly popular," Wolf said, leaning in slightly as they walked. "Now I get why you wanted here. Don't worry, boss, I'll make sure no plates hit your pretty face."
The entire setup had the sa rhythm as last ti. Sa van. Sa crew. Sa air of quiet anticipation.
But there was one key difference: Dud.
He seed calr. Focused. Less volatile than before. That edge-of-madness energy he'd carried into the last mission? Gone, or at least controlled. Max figured that had a lot to do with Na. His presence alone shifted the vibe. Sergeant Na wasn't just calm, he was surgical.
Just before stepping inside, Na slipped on a pair of gloves. The kind reinforced with steel across the knuckles. Serious gear. Then, without a word, he opened the restaurant door.
Inside, the place was full. Families gathered around hot pots, steam rising off bubbling broth. Couples shared quiet als, tucked into booths. A warm buzz filled the space, chatter, laughter, the clink of tal chopsticks.
The restaurant had a distinct Eastern the, rich reds and golds, dragon ornants coiled along the walls, vases lined up in elegant rows. It looked almost ceremonial. Peaceful.
Then Na and Dud entered, and the temperature in the room dropped.
The squad followed, fanning out across both sides of the restaurant with practiced precision.
Na didn't wait. He stepped forward, voice cutting through the noise.
"We've received reports of a planned attack at this venue. Everyone not on staff, leave. Now. You'll be reimbursed. Just go."
For a second, no one moved. People froze, confused. A few looked toward the kitchen staff, uncertain whether this was so kind of prank or performance.
Na raised his voice, louder, sharper.
"Now!"
That did it. Chairs scraped, conversations stopped. Guests began standing and filing toward the exits, nervously glancing at the uniford group spread across the room.
The squad's coordinated outfits and massive builds gave them the presence of a private military unit. No one questioned them after that.
Unlike last ti, there was no imdiate chaos. No sudden violence. It was almost unsettling how clean the operation was.
Max couldn't help but notice the difference, and wonder what it ant.
As the guests scrambled out the front entrance, chaos turning to calm, Wolf stood near the back with a grin pulling at his lips.
"It's been a while since I've been in a full-scale war like this," he said, eyes scanning the room with interest. "Kinda refreshing. Nice to see what the other cities are working with, don't you think?"
Max didn't answer. He was already watching Na.
The mont the last civilian exited, Na stepped forward, walking straight down the center of the restaurant like he owned the place. His presence was magnetic, calm, dangerous, unwavering.
A staff mber snapped.
With a sudden cry, the man grabbed a pair of scissors from a counter and hurled them at Na. Sharp. Fast.
Na shifted to the side, just enough. The scissors sliced past his shoulder, clattering harmlessly against the floor.
Another man rushed him head-on.
Na didn't hesitate. He launched a heavy fist into the attacker's face. The crack of bone was audible, the man's teeth spraying like loose gravel before he hit the ground, unconscious.
Without breaking stride, Na kept moving, slamming another blow straight into the gut of the next man. The attacker crumpled instantly, like a rag doll, air knocked out of him.
"Co on!" Dud's voice rang out from across the room. "Let's get started!"
The squad surged forward. Dud led the charge.
The first person to cross Dud's path didn't last long. Dud jumped, twisting midair, his legs snapping around the man's arm like a trap. He slamd them both to the ground in one fluid motion. Before the attacker could react, Dud's legs twisted with brutal precision, disarming him in seconds.
Then Dud lifted both fists above his head and brought them crashing down on the man's throat. One hit. Done.
All around them, the battle erupted.
The Chalkline Boys had numbers, just like last ti. More bodies, more weapons.
But the Rejected Corps?
They had skill.
Max watched as the difference beca imdiately clear. Where the Chalkline fighters moved with aggression, the Rejected Corps moved with purpose. Precision. Power.
Na, now on the move again, climbed the stairs to the second floor.
At the top, another enemy lunged. Na drove his fist straight into the man's throat, then grabbed him by the collar and flung him off the balcony. The guy hit the ground floor hard, landing like dead weight.
Wolf watched with a kind of awe. Na wasn't just strong, he was efficient. Each hit was clean. Brutal. No wasted movent. No flair. Just pure destruction.
Dud was chaos in motion, but not without purpose.
Unlike Wolf, whose fighting style was fluid and calculated, Dud's was sothing else entirely. Wild, raw, but laced with brutal efficiency. He didn't just throw punches. He used every part of his body, every surface around him, and whatever techniques he'd learned from whatever unit he'd once belonged to.
No hesitation. No rhythm. Just pure instinct and destruction.
He flowed from one opponent to the next like a storm, dismantling each target with improvised brutality, chairs, walls, elbows, knees. If it could hurt, he used it.
Max stood off to the side, scanning the floor as chaos unfolded.
Then Wolf stepped up beside him.
"I should tell you sothing," he said, voice low but serious. "I hope you're not planning on fighting these guys. Either of them."
Max raised an eyebrow.
"Because both Na and Dud?" Wolf continued. "They're A class."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"That ans... they're even stronger than ."
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