New York, The Continental Hotel.
After handing over two Continental coins to the doorman, Smith and Fox stepped inside.
Without stopping in the lobby, Smith led Fox straight toward the underground bar.
At the front desk, Charon, seeing the two of them heading to the bar, immediately picked up the phone and dialed.
"Manager Winston, the person you asked me to watch—Smith—has arrived with Fox. They're heading to the bar area."
"Alright, got it."
After hanging up the call, Charon muttered to himself:
"Good thing I eat and live in the hotel. No need to leave."
Winston rubbed his temples after ending the call and casually said:
"Why are those two showing up here?"
"Don't tell me the Assassins' League is planning to make a move on my Continental Hotel?"
"Or maybe some unlucky Black thug crossed Smith again."
As the manager of the New York Continental, Winston had some understanding of the Assassins' League. Eighteen years ago, the group was notorious for random assassinations, but suddenly changed their style—targeting only those guilty of heinous crimes or steeped in sin.
Many local gang leaders in New York, along with uncaptured serial killers and psychopaths, had all fallen to the League never missing their mark.
In response, the Continental and several gangs had reported this to the High Table. But they only sent one Adjudicator to talk things through and left without further action.
Winston had also heard a rumor: the High Table once invited the Assassins' League to join, even offering an Elder's seat—but the League refused.
Among the registered assassins at the Continental, many had fallen to the League. Smith Dole, who arrived today, had especially targeted Black assassins—killing many, sometimes specifically choosing them as targets.
But so long as no one killed inside the hotel, Winston didn't care. Still, he worried—maybe Smith was here for someone? That thought quickened his steps.
···
After paying another two Continental coins, Smith and Fox entered the underground bar.
As they walked in, all the assassins inside glanced at them some consciously, some not.
Though the Continental forbade violence, and the bar was more of an intelligence hub, assassins always sized up anyone who entered.
Upon seeing Smith Dole, most assassins didn't care some even raised their glasses at him.
But a few Black assassins immediately turned their heads or got up to head to the restroom. Some even pulled their hats down to cover their faces.
Fox observed everyone's reactions, then leaned in to whisper:
"You're basically the Black-hunter assassin now."
"Look how you've scared those guys."
Smith chuckled and replied casually:
"Aren't we supposed to purge the filth from this world?"
"I killed every one of them for a reason. Not a single mistake."
Fox nodded seriously. Everyone here was a killer, taking lives for money—none of them were truly innocent. Killing them wasn't necessarily wrong.
Still, Fox thought Smith had a particular disdain for Black people. Ever since his preferences became known, the Assassins' League had stopped recruiting Black members altogether.
While they chatted, Smith approached the bar and said to the bartender, Eddie:
"Two Thunder Bourbons."
Eddie poured them two glasses of whiskey and smiled:
"Smith, business always dips a bit when you drop by."
"I bet they're already texting each other—telling all the Black assassins to avoid the Continental for the next couple of days."
Smith shrugged.
"I actually wish they would come here to take refuge. Isn't this place supposed to be a safe zone?"
Eddie gave a wry smile. Take refuge? More like get your face memorized and get hunted down outside.
"Anything I can help you with?"
The entry coins weren't just admission—they also served as a fee for gathering intelligence.
Smith pulled out a piece of paper and drew a picture of the Four-Star Dragon Ball. Then he said:
"If anyone comes asking about this—or anything like it—send them my way."
Eddie looked at the drawing and asked:
"Amber-colored crystal with a star inside?"
"Got it."
As Eddie walked off, Fox asked curiously:
"What's that about?"
"And what's the 'show' you mentioned earlier?"
Before Smith could answer, Winston walked over, greeting them warmly:
"Mr. Smith."
"Ms. Fox."
Smith raised his glass:
"Manager Winston. Long time no see."
Fox also greeted him:
"Mr. Winston."
Winston snapped his fingers, and Eddie returned.
"Eddie, bring out that bottle of 1972 Macallan I've been saving. I want to treat Smith and Fox to a glass."
Hearing the year, Smith said:
"Winston, that Macallan vintage doesn't come cheap."
Winston smiled:
"Even the most expensive liquor is meant to be enjoyed."
"Besides, fine wine is best shared with heroes. For you two, this is nothing."
Eddie soon returned with three glasses of whiskey, placing them before the trio.
Smith picked his up, sniffed it, took a sip, and said:
"Not bad at all. But I heard the 1926 Macallan is the real treasure."
Winston laughed:
"That one's nearly impossible to find. Even I wouldn't dare buy it at that price."
Smith didn't say more. He knew that a 1926 Macallan could cost up to 2 million pounds and was incredibly rare.
Winston continued:
"For platforms like ours, we're technically outside the Assassins' League's targets."
"So, Smith, I assume you're not here to break the hotel's rules?"
Smith looked at him, shrugged:
"You really think the two of us came here to take down the New York Continental?"
"As for the rules—I quite like them."
Hearing that, Winston smiled in relief.
"Thank you."
Just then, Fox spoke up:
"A new contract just dropped at the Continental. Two million dollars."
"Smith is that the show you were talking about?"