The next morning, the streets had returned to their usual rhythm. "Usual," in this part of the Empire, meant the constant weight of oppression as soldiers loomed over the common folk, their presence as suffocating as the summer heat.
Captain Ogre, who had narrowly escaped death just two days prior in the main alley, had astonishingly been cleared for active duty. Thanks only to the skill of the Empire's top physician, his battered body was stitched together and revitalized. Had he been treated anywhere else, his wounds might have festered into rot, or worse.
Yet, despite his body's swift recovery, one thing continued to gnaw at him.
"Consider it a favor. I hope you know how to repay it."
The words echoed relentlessly in his mind. They had been spoken by the boy who had dragged him back from death's doorstep. And now, even as Ogre resumed his duties, those words lingered like a haunting whisper—ominous in their tone, unforgettable in their weight.
Though he looked as stoic as ever on the outside, something in his demeanor had subtly changed. He would pause longer at intersections, eyes scanning too carefully. His mind wandered during briefings. He masked it well, but the disquiet within was real. It gnawed at him during the quietest moments, and in the cacophony of the streets, it became a dull throb behind his eyes.
No... I must not let this distract me. I must find him... before he finds me.
The incident had forced a change in his patrol schedule, swapping shifts with another officer. That, at least, provided a silver lining. With fewer people out and about in the early hours, he could focus on a new objective—one not written into any report or official order. It gave him time to think, to move through the city like a ghost, eyes alert and ears sharp.
He was hunting. Not for a criminal. But for the mysterious young man who had spared his life. The memory of that moment clung to him—how the boy had acted without hesitation, how he'd known exactly what to do, not just to save him, but to vanish without leaving a trace.
The boy who moved like a trained assassin.
The boy to whom he now owed everything.
Every face he passed was scrutinized. Every shadow, every whisper of movement out of the corner of his eye sent a jolt down his spine. It wasn't fear. It was anticipation—an intense need to confront the tether that now bound them.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"If it isn't Captain Ogre."
He turned sharply, instinctively, hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. And there he was.
Tatsumi, casual as ever, stood a few paces away, clutching a cloth bag filled with jars and bundles—household condiments, it appeared. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable.
Their eyes locked.
Ogre's breath caught, if only for a fleeting moment. There was no mistaking it. This was no ordinary boy.
"And I thought I'd never see you again in another week."
"Hah! As if something that trivial could take down Ogre the Demon," he scoffed arrogantly, letting out a hearty, confident laugh.
Tatsumi simply smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. It wasn't friendly, nor was it cruel. It was calculating—measuring. Something about the boy's demeanor made Ogre's battle-hardened instincts twitch. It wasn't just his voice or expression—it was the way he stood, as though rooted to the earth with the poise of a seasoned killer.
A tense pause hung in the air, crackling with unspoken truths.
"Boy... I'd like to talk to you about that favor of yours."
"And here I thought you'd forget," Tatsumi replied, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "Follow me. I'll take you to him."
Him?
Ogre's interest piqued. Without question, he fell in line behind the young man, curiosity and caution fueling his steps. His eyes constantly scanned the area, not out of habit but because something in his gut told him that this wasn't going to be a simple chat.
Their short walk took them through the twisting alleys and shaded streets of the capital, a route Ogre thought he knew well. He had patrolled these streets countless times, yet this path felt foreign, as if he had stepped into another world.
What in the world?
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was supposed to be one of the festering slums of the Empire. A forgotten corner where the weak and unwanted were discarded to rot. But now…
What he saw astonished him.
Children laughed as they played in the streets. Freshly painted doors welcomed residents to clean, modest homes. Market stalls bustled with morning trade, their shelves stocked with fresh produce and goods. The scent of warm bread floated in the air, mingling with a faint hint of roasted herbs and simmering sauces.
Vendors greeted neighbors by name. Flowers bloomed on windowsills. The air, though still tinged with the musk of the old capital, carried a gentler breeze—an unspoken promise of peace.
It was vibrant. Alive. Thriving. A sanctuary carved out of decay.
These corners, these houses, this whole damn street… How the hell did it come back to life?
He stopped walking, dumbfounded. His training told him to remain wary. Nothing like this happens without a price.
"Boy… what did you do to this place?"
Tatsumi turned his head just enough to glance back at him, a hint of pride in his voice. "Oh, you mean Little Italy? We rebuilt it. Repopulated it. Gave people a reason to live here again."
Little... Italy?
The name echoed in Ogre's mind, foreign yet oddly fitting. This wasn't just urban renewal. It was a rebirth. A quiet revolution blooming beneath the Empire's ever-watchful eyes. A pocket of hope that shouldn't exist under such tyranny.
He could sense the presence of unseen eyes watching them from behind closed windows and curtained doorways. Not out of fear, but with silent reverence.
Ogre stood in stunned silence, unsure whether to feel admiration, suspicion, or dread.
And deep within, the same question repeated:
Who is this boy really... and who is waiting at the end of this path?
The two had arrived at Tatsumi's home—an old inn that had been repurposed into a cozy residence, modestly furnished and fit to accommodate four people. The wooden floors creaked with age, and the warm aroma of incense lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the subtle scent of old books and tea. It was a quiet sanctuary amid the noise of the capital.
"Genco-san, Gauri-san, we have a visitor," Tatsumi called from the doorstep, his voice carrying through the front hall with a mixture of familiarity and tension.
"Coming," Gauri answered, his tone edged with curiosity and caution.
The front door creaked open, revealing Tatsumi holding a large bag of assorted goods, followed closely by a patched-up and visibly subdued Captain Ogre. His uniform was worn but tidy, his demeanor somber. He looked far removed from the man once feared across the district.
Gauri and Genco immediately tensed at the sight of the imposing Imperial officer. Genco's hand unconsciously drifted toward a hidden knife under the table. But something about Ogre seemed… off.
The Ogre they remembered had exuded a commanding presence, every movement deliberate and heavy with authority. A permanent smirk used to stretch across his face like a threat. But now, this Ogre looked weary—almost broken. His eyes, once sharp and judgmental, were now dulled with something closer to regret.
"Can a soldier of the Empire come in?" Ogre asked softly, almost respectfully—words that once would never have passed his lips. Genco raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised.
"Sure… just sit in that comfy chair… Captain," Genco said after a moment, recovering from his shock. He gestured to a cushioned seat by the low table, never once taking his eyes off him.
Gauri stepped closer to Tatsumi and leaned in to whisper, his voice hushed and tight with concern.
"Tatsumi, this is getting out of hand. Why did you bring Ogre here of all people?"
"Why not? He's the one who approached me for a favor," Tatsumi replied, calm but firm. "After all, we still need someone like him for protection, right?"
"That doesn't mean you can just bring him into our turf," Gauri hissed. "Did it ever occur to you that this is the same Ogre who hanged a man for a crime he didn't commit?"
"Are you sure this is still the same Ogre?" Tatsumi asked, nodding subtly toward the man in question. "All I see now is a man who's lost his way."
They both turned their gaze back to Ogre. He sat with his arms folded, shoulders slightly hunched, and his eyes staring at nothing in particular. He looked like a man burdened by guilt, haunted by memories he couldn't shake. The silence around him was not one of power, but of penance.
"I hate it when you're right, Tatsumi," Gauri muttered with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Don't sweat it," Tatsumi replied with a light grin, handing Gauri the bag of goods. "Take this to the kitchen… and don't forget to bring out that 'offer' after you're done."
With a reluctant nod, Gauri took the bag and disappeared into the kitchen, still casting wary glances behind him.
Tatsumi turned his attention back to Ogre, his expression softening.
"Come on. My old man's upstairs."
"Old man?" Ogre asked with a raised brow.
"My old man, master, leader—whatever you want to call him," Tatsumi said with a small chuckle as he began climbing the stairs. "He told me not to refer to him so formally in front of guests."
Ogre hesitated, then slowly followed Tatsumi up the stairs, his footsteps heavier than usual.
"You'll understand when you meet him," Tatsumi added, casting a knowing glance back.
They stepped into a study—his study. It was simple, yet refined. The rich scent of fine cigars lingered in the air. At the center, seated in a high-backed leather chair, was Vito Corleone.
Ogre was struck with recognition. The posture, the aura, the faint aroma of olive oil in the air, the coat hanging neatly behind him—all of it clicked into place.
That's the guy I saw at the public execution… so he's the owner of the Five Angels Trading Company, Ogre thought.
"Vito-san, this is the person I was talking about," Tatsumi informed him directly.
Vito did not rise. He didn't need to. His presence alone filled the room. He sat with an air of calm, undisputed authority—his posture relaxed, yet brimming with control. This was a man who did not ask for respect; he exuded it.
"Sit, my friend," Vito said, gesturing to a vacant chair opposite his own.
Ogre hesitated. He was a man of rank, the king of the streets, a Captain. He bowed to no one. Yet as he locked eyes with Vito, he felt something profound.
It was not fear. Nor was it mere intimidation. It was recognition—of someone who stood far above titles and the petty hierarchies of power. This was a man who understood what true authority was.
Slowly, deliberately, Ogre sat down.
"So you must be the man who gave Gamal quite the headache while he was still breathing," Ogre said, his voice calm and even.
"And you must be the man who held his ground against an assassin far beyond your rank," Vito added.
Ogre gave a short, dry laugh.
"Hah, he was just a punk who messed with the wrong guy."
"Is that so? Very well," Vito nodded slightly. "Then tell me—what brings you to my office today?"
Ogre exhaled slowly before answering.
"I just want to say… I'm very grateful for this young man saving my life. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be standing here in front of you. And for that, I want to repay the favor."
Vito turned to look at Tatsumi, an unspoken message flickering in his eyes.
So it has begun, then? Quella tua piccola trovata?
(That little stunt of yours?)
"I want you to understand something, Ogre," Vito said, his tone sharpening just slightly, losing none of its calmness. "This offer I'm making—it's not temporary. It is a commitment for life. Tatsumi saved your life. In return, I ask that you serve me, faithfully, for life."
Ogre's eyes narrowed. It was true—he bowed to no man. Not emperors, not generals, not even the gods above.
But this man's presence made it clear that "no" was not an acceptable answer. And seeing how Tatsumi was positioned by the door—silent, composed, ready to act if needed—confirmed the unspoken threat. There would be no escape.
His options were slim to none.
Still, he needed clarity. Even a man on the edge of a cliff would ask what lay at the bottom.
"And what exactly do you offer me in return?"
Tatsumi opened the door and subtly nodded.
A moment later, Gauri entered, dragging two battered, bound merchants into the room with little ceremony. Ogre immediately recognized them.
They were the same merchants he had been drinking with the night he was ambushed—the ones who had laughed with him over shared sake.
"Captain Ogre… help us…" one of them croaked out weakly, his voice trembling with desperation.
Ogre's brow furrowed. He turned toward Vito, his expression hard to read. "What is this?" he asked, a stunned tone in his voice.
Vito, standing calmly in the center of the room, replied with practiced ease. "These men right here tried to outmuscle one of my patron's food stalls—tried to squeeze protection money from hard-working folks, thinking they're above the law just because they serve under the Empire." He gestured to the bruised merchants with a faint disdain. "But the people of Little Italy disagreed and dragged them to me. Now, you know I'm no judge, no jury, and certainly no executioner."
"If you're not any of those," Ogre replied, his tone firm and dignified, "then why does it look like you've already passed judgment on them?"
A heavy silence blanketed the room.
Vito's lips pressed into a thin line. Beside him, Tatsumi and Gauri narrowed their eyes, gauging the weight behind Ogre's words. The air grew tense, thick with the knowledge of what was expected.
Ogre raised a hand slightly. "Wait. I can't just kill these two outright. Even if you want me to bring them to trial, there's no basis for their execution without proper due process."
Vito sighed audibly, as if disappointed. The two merchants, sensing a shift, dared to gloat.
"Hah, serves you right," one sneered through split lips. "We can do as we please in this Empire… Only the strong survive. Not some weak peasant who hides behind self-righteousness."
Vito leaned back into his chair, adjusting his tie with casual precision.
In a blur, Gauri moved. A wire, thin and sharp, wrapped around one merchant's throat. With a violent tug, he pulled him off balance. The man choked and thrashed, gasping as the wire dug deeper.
The second merchant staggered back in horror, paralyzed as he watched his companion's eyes bulge from the pressure, his mouth frothing with each desperate gasp.
"Make it stop! Kill him!" the panicked merchant screamed, turning to Ogre. "Please! Ogre, stop him!"
But Ogre didn't move. Not a muscle. His expression remained unreadable, stone-like. His arms were crossed, his jaw set.
The Imperial captain…
The infamous "Ogre the Demon"…
The self-proclaimed king of the city…
Did. Not. Move.
He watched.
And let it happen.
As the strangled merchant's thrashing slowed and then ceased, Vito leaned forward and reached beneath his table, retrieving something small.
"You speak of 'due process' too brazenly," Vito mused as he placed a pouch of coins onto the table with a distinct metallic clink. "When all it takes to set things straight… is the right price."
It took a moment for Ogre to fully register what had just unfolded. His eyes flicked to the pouch, then to the corpse, then to the terrified survivor.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked at last, his voice flat but heavy, just as the final breath escaped the dying man's body.
"My friend made a mess here," Vito said, folding his hands neatly across his chest. "I want you to clean it up for us. You understand what I mean."
Captain Ogre understood immediately. The request was nothing new. Favors like this were common currency among men like Gamal and Vito. For someone in his position, discretion and obedience were expected traits. What he needed now was a scapegoat—someone to take the fall, to tie off the loose ends in a way that would keep everyone above water.
"If I want to clear your backs, then I need someone who'll take the fall," he said plainly, his voice low and firm.
"That won't be a problem. There's one right beside you," Tatsumi answered calmly, his expression unreadable.
All eyes turned toward the other merchant, who suddenly realized the noose tightening around his neck. Panic washed over his face like a crashing wave.
"No, no, Ogre don't do this… I—I can pay you more than what this old guy has in his pocket," the merchant stammered, his voice cracking as he devolved into a blubbering mess, hands shaking as he tried to plead for mercy.
But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Ogre took the pouch from Vito and examined its contents carefully. To his surprise, there were at least thirty gold coins inside. Not a trivial sum—especially not in this district.
"There's more where that came from," Vito assured him, a familiar grin returning to his face. "As long as you come back to Little Italy when we call."
Ogre gave a slight nod, the weight of the pouch resting heavy in his palm. "Very well, then. Bring him to me by tomorrow. I'll make sure no one misses him too much."
With that, Ogre turned and walked away, Gauri following closely behind. The heavy wooden door shut with a decisive thud.
As soon as it did, Tatsumi calmly rolled the dead merchant's body into a nearby carpet without a word, the routine of it chilling in its ease.
The bound merchant spat with fury. "You act like you're some saint in your little district, but you're no different from us! I swear, you'll get what's coming to you!"
Vito stepped forward, his expression unreadable, face shadowed in the dim light of the room. He met the merchant's gaze head-on, his voice slow, measured, and deliberate.
"I never claimed to be a saint. I do what's best for the people who live under my roof—even if that means using questionable tactics. Protection doesn't come free. You just had the misfortune of becoming the patsy when you tried to lay your hands on one of my own."
He turned to Tatsumi, who stood at attention, awaiting the next command. Vito's tone shifted, but the weight behind it remained.
"Tatsumi, my boy. Take him back to the chambers. Make sure he enjoys his last meal. I don't want to hand over a corpse to Ogre tomorrow."
Tatsumi gave a curt nod. "Understood, Vito-san."
He grabbed the squirming merchant by the collar and dragged him from the room, boots scraping over the floor as they disappeared into the corridor.
Vito remained standing there for a moment, staring at the space where the man had been. Then he turned and moved toward the window, peering down at the streets below. The market buzzed with life. Business as usual.