As the morning sun climbed higher over the rooftops of the Capital, its golden rays filtered through the dusty windows of the old inn, casting warm shadows against the wooden floorboards.
Vito sat quietly at one of the rickety tables, sipping lukewarm tea as he observed the innkeeper's humble surroundings. The place had a worn charm—aged furniture, faded banners from festivals long past, and shelves of dusty bottles that hadn't been touched in seasons.
It reminded Vito of how he had once lived in Little Italy: starting from nothing, clawing his way up in a world that rewarded ruthlessness and punished mercy. The difference, however, was glaring—he had escaped the cycle, carved a path for himself and others, while this innkeeper remained shackled to his lot. Time had stood still for this man.
He decided to strike up a conversation.
"Must've been hard, living a life like this," Vito remarked as he slowly approached the counter.
The old man looked up with a weary but sincere smile. His eyes, though dulled by time, still held a trace of resilience. "Well, we have to do whatever it takes to survive in the Empire. If I can't turn a modest profit, I risk losing everything. This place, this roof, the little legacy I have."
"Is your inn usually like this?" Vito asked, his tone calm but laced with curiosity.
The innkeeper chuckled lightly, a dry sound born from nostalgia. "This inn used to be full of life… travelers, adventurers, lovers, poets... they came in droves. They shared tales over drinks, celebrated festivals, sang songs till the moon was high."
A pause followed. His gaze drifted to a cracked glass on a shelf, once part of a pair.
"Then Honest came," he continued, bitterness creeping into his voice. "He started taxing businesses like mine so aggressively, not even nobles could keep up unless they paid him under the table. One by one, guests stopped coming. The joy of this place bled out slowly, like a wound that wouldn't close."
Vito listened intently, his expression solemn.
This doesn't sit right with me at all, he thought. The same story, different land. He had seen tyrants like Honest before—men who fed off the desperation of others.
Just a few steps away, Tatsumi and Gauri stood halfway down the stairs, watching the exchange unfold. Neither said a word, but something in the air had shifted. Their silence wasn't stiff like before—it was contemplative. For the first time, a small bridge of empathy was forming between them. Gauri glanced briefly at Tatsumi, and Tatsumi didn't look away.
Then Vito turned back to the counter.
"Old man... what's your name?" he asked with a deliberate softness.
"Genco," the innkeeper replied without a second's thought.
The name struck a chord.
Genco, huh... Vito mused inwardly. This may not be New York, but you remind me of someone dear to me—not in face, but in heart. A man who stood for community, for loyalty... someone who believed small acts could ripple into legacy.
Vito's lips curled into a faint smile, nostalgic but resolute.
"Genco... I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse."
Genco's brows lifted, his posture subtly straightening. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, suspicion, disbelief? It had been too long since anyone made him a sincere proposition. The weight of those words hung in the air like an omen—or a promise.
"I'm listening."
Vito then placed his arms on the table, leaning slightly forward, his eyes locked on the older man across from him. The wooden table between them creaked under the weight of the moment. Outside, the noise of the slums was distant, like a muffled heartbeat, drowned beneath the tension in the room.
"I'm going to start a little business—a legitimate one," Vito began, his tone calm yet unwavering. "And I'm using this place as a front. All I need from you is the deed to this inn, and whatever's left of the money you've saved."
The room fell silent. The only sound was the gentle crackle of the lantern hanging above them. Tatsumi and Gauri exchanged uncertain glances. The young swordsman tightened his grip on the hilt at his side, while Gauri furrowed his brows in thought. Vito, composed as ever, had just proposed to take control of the inn and its owner's last savings—as if it were a simple transaction.
Tatsumi finally spoke, his voice edged with disbelief and concern. "Vito, isn't that too much? To take someone's livelihood just like that? This place may be crumbling, but it's still his."
Vito turned to him, his expression unshaken. "Sometimes, ragazzo, you have to lose something to gain something better."
Genco, the old innkeeper, leaned forward. His fingers trembled slightly as they pressed against the table. "If I give up everything, what do I get in return?"
Vito didn't miss a beat. "A chance to start anew. With us. You don't have to be shackled to a system run by some oil-greased bastardo who doesn't care if you live or starve. I'm offering you something else—something cleaner, something real. Something that can give you purpose again."
And that's when Genco saw it.
Not just ambition, but clarity—a cold, calculated fire burning behind Vito's eyes. This wasn't desperation or greed. It was something older, deeper. He was a devil, yes. But a different kind of devil. One who preyed on despair only to twist it into opportunity. He offered deals that left you changed, for better or worse, but never unchanged.
Vito leaned back slightly and added, "It may take a month or two before we see anything. Business is slow to start. And success doesn't come easy. There will be risks, setbacks. But I believe this place—this very corner of the Capital—can become something more than it is."
Tatsumi and Gauri remained silent, though their eyes betrayed their thoughts. They weren't just witnessing a proposition. They were witnessing the birth of a plan that could either change their lives—or ruin them.
Genco looked at the walls of his inn, the faded paint, the cobwebbed beams, the worn counter he had tended for decades. He let out a sigh. Then, a smile crept onto his face—a weary, knowing smile laced with the quiet resignation of someone who had nothing left to lose.
"You have my word," he finally said.
Their hands met in a quiet agreement, the pact sealed without need for paper or ink. The inn, once crumbling and forgotten, was about to be reborn. Under new hands. And with a new purpose.
Outside, the first gust of wind stirred the dirt in the streets, carrying with it the dry scent of dust and distant coal smoke. The sun was beginning to rise above the rooftops of the Capital, casting long shadows across the slums.
Vito stepped outside for the first time that morning, his eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet calculation. Tatsumi and Gauri soon followed behind, their footsteps light but cautious, trying to keep pace with the old man who walked with purpose.
"Vito-san, may I ask?" Tatsumi called out, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
"What is it, Tatsumi?" Vito replied, not slowing down.
"What kind of person are you? The way you handled yourself back with Aria, the way you made that one-sided deal with Genco... It's like you've done this sort of thing a hundred times."
Vito came to a slow stop, turning his head slightly to glance at the dismal streets of the slums. Children with smudged faces ran barefoot between market stalls, while shopkeepers called out with cracked voices, their goods barely clinging to value.
"That's something I ought to tell you... in another time," he said, his tone shifting. Then, he changed the topic with subtle intent. "Tell me, my boy, are there any olive fruits around here?"
Gauri, who had remained mostly silent until now, cleared his throat and answered, his voice low but steady. "If I may, Vito-dono. Olive fruits are extremely rare in the Empire. Only the nobility—like... that monster—could afford to buy them for regular consumption."
Tatsumi blinked, surprised at the venom in Gauri's voice. It wasn't like him to speak so emotionally. Clearly, the horrors at Aria's mansion still haunted him.
"Uwahh... You really are knowledgeable about these things," Tatsumi remarked, both impressed and a little unsettled.
"Of course," Gauri nodded. "I spent time among them, so I managed to learn a few things. And if I'm not mistaken, it's currently harvesting season in the southern territories."
A slow, knowing smile crept across Vito's face. "Good things always come at the right opportunity."
He reached into the folds of his coat and produced a leather pouch, filled to the brim with gold coins. The coins clinked softly as he passed them into Tatsumi's hands.
"Tatsumi, I want you to find every merchant in the Capital selling olive fruits and buy out their entire stock. Don't just buy—spread the word. Let them know we're starting something new, something fresh. But keep a low profile."
Tatsumi stared at the bag. "Are you sure I should—"
Vito raised a brow, cutting him off. "Don't go around the market flashing those coins. You'll make yourself a target for every pickpocket and cutthroat in this slum."
Tatsumi winced, memories of his early days in the Capital rushing back—especially the time Leone, her name and identity still unknown to him, had tricked him out of most of his savings. He tightened his grip on the pouch.
"Yes, Vito-san! I'll be careful."
With that, he gave a short nod and set off toward the market, disappearing into the crowd.
Vito turned back to Gauri, his demeanor calm but focused. "Signore Gauri, you're with me. We've got our own shopping list to complete. Tools, containers, ingredients... everything we need for our little venture."
Gauri hesitated. "Understood. But... what exactly is our business?"
Vito met his gaze, eyes sharp and brimming with clarity. "Olive oil," he said simply, as if the words themselves held weight. "We're going to bring it back to the Empire—one bottle at a time.
Whelp, better not let Vito-san down.
Tatsumi mulled to himself as he wandered through the bustling marketplace. The tall task of finding every olive oil merchant and buying out their entire stock had officially begun. With a pouch of gold coins tucked under his sweater and a sword strapped behind his back, he reminded himself to remain cautious. The Capital was a dangerous place, full of greedy merchants, sly thieves, and corrupt officials.
The market was alive with noise and color. Children ran barefoot between carts, women bartered over spices, and vendors shouted out their wares with cracked voices. Tatsumi weaved between stalls selling dried meats, dyed cloth, fragrant herbs, and crude jewelry. His eyes scanned for anything resembling olive fruit—or someone shouting about them.
Eventually, he caught sight of one olive fruit merchant near a crooked corner of the square. The man, grizzled and sunburnt, stood defensively before a worn wooden cart piled with burlap sacks. He was currently locked in a heated argument with a nobleman, who looked out of place among the commoners.
"Look, I'm not ripping you off. It's just 75 silver coins per bag," the merchant said, his voice straining to remain calm.
"Don't kid with me! It's harvest season! There's no way you should be charging a nobleman like me such an outrageous price," the nobleman snapped, his velvet tunic glittering in the sun.
"Exactly, it's harvest season," the merchant replied firmly. "That means supply is up, yes, but demand is just as high. Everyone wants olive fruit right now. I'm not the only one selling, and prices are rising across the board. Traders are flooding in from the port with more stock."
"Such pitiful excuses from a low-born. If you can't lower your prices, I'll—"
Before the nobleman could finish his empty threat, Tatsumi stepped forward, voice clear.
"I'll buy one," he announced.
Both men turned in surprise. A lowborn boy butting into a noble's bargain? It was unheard of.
"Hah... Boy, can you really afford to buy one?" the nobleman sneered, amused by the interruption.
Tatsumi didn't flinch. He faced the merchant directly. "How much?"
"Seventy-five silver," the merchant replied, narrowing his eyes.
Tatsumi gave a small, almost theatrical sigh. "Never mind. I take back what I said."
The nobleman scoffed, clearly enjoying himself. "Just as I thought—"
"I'll buy every olive fruit you have in stock," Tatsumi cut him off flatly.
Without hesitation, he reached beneath his vest and drew out twenty gold coins. He placed them neatly on the counter with a heavy clink.
"WHAAAATTTT?!" the nobleman practically screamed, his mouth agape.
"DEAL!" the merchant shouted in joy, grabbing the coins as if they might disappear.
He quickly emptied his entire stock into a large leather sack. His hands shook with excitement, and his eyes gleamed with disbelief. The bag wasn't even full, but Tatsumi didn't mind—there were more stalls to visit.
"To think someone would buy out my entire stock for twenty gold coins... What are you planning to do with it all?" the merchant asked, still stunned.
Tatsumi hoisted the sack over his shoulder with ease. A sly grin crossed his face. "Trying something new. Why not stick around and find out?"
The merchant chuckled and nodded. "Stick around and find out, huh? Perhaps I will."
"Pleasure doing business with you," Tatsumi said as he turned to leave.
"Likewise!" the merchant called after him, then turned to the nobleman, who was still frozen in disbelief. With a smug shrug, he added, "See? If you hadn't been so stubborn, you might've beaten the kid to it."
The nobleman scowled and stormed off in frustration, while the merchant pocketed the gold and smiled to himself, wondering just who that young swordsman really was.