CHAPTER 303: THE DEAL INTERRUPTED

Inside the venue, on the grand ground floor of the mountain-top restaurant, Montez and Chrono still sat opposite one another at the long rectangular table. The heavy air between them was thick with unspoken history , years of turf wars, grudges, and bloodshed reduced to pen strokes and paper.

Stacks of contracts were spread neatly across the polished surface, the ink still drying on some of the earlier pages. In the underworld, such matters were never handled remotely. Deals of this magnitude , especially those involving organized gangs , were signed face-to-face, in rooms like this, where every nod and every glance carried weight.

Chrono leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You know," he said, voice dripping with casual confidence, "I have to admit, I’m surprised this is going through so smoothly. After how long you fought back, I expected today to be a fight-to-the-end kind of day. Maybe even a last stand."

He expected the Chalk Line Boys to pull one final trick , one desperate swing before surrendering their empire. Yet here they were, quiet, compliant, and prepared to hand over everything without resistance.

What Chrono didn’t know was that they had already tried that last swing.

Montez had wagered heavily on one man , Dud. They’d paid him an obscene sum to turn his back on the Rejected Corps, to slip a knife into their side and take out one of their key figures. It was supposed to be the move that tipped the war. But nothing came of it.

Dud had vanished. No strike, no betrayal. Just gone.

Montez’s jaw tightened at the memory.

Dud was one of the strongest in the Rejected Corps. If he’d at least taken out that man who never leaves Chrono’s side, maybe we’d have kept fighting. With Dud on our side, we could’ve turned it around. But no... Dud deserted us entirely. This is the price I pay for my own stupidity , for relying on a snake like him.

He scrawled his name across the final page, the scratch of pen against paper echoing faintly in the wide hall. Sliding the stack across the table, he left his hand resting on top, almost reluctant to let go.

Chrono’s smile widened as he reached for the pile. "What’s this? Cold feet? We’ve been over this again and again, Montez. Both sides agreed."

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just enough to add a taunting edge. "Unless... you want to do this a different way? Your best man against my best man. Winner takes all. It’d save us from an all-out brawl."

It was a tempting offer , in theory. But Montez knew the truth. The Chalk Line Boys had no fighter who could stand toe-to-toe with Chrono’s elite. Their strength lay in numbers, in weapons, in intimidation... but not in champions. It would be suicide.

Without a word, Montez removed his hand.

"I thought as much," Chrono said, lifting the pen.

"HELP!"

The shout cut through the hall, sharp and urgent. The heavy double doors burst open, and one of the Chalk Line guards stumbled in, breathless and wide-eyed. Behind him came the other three, all of them pale, panting, and visibly rattled.

The sight made a few of the Rejected Corps members chuckle under their breath , seeing their rivals so shaken was amusing in its own right.

"What’s going on?" Montez barked, already on his feet. "Speak, and make it clear!"

It didn’t make sense. The Rejected Corps were the ones walking away with the bigger prize. If anyone should’ve been planning a last-minute betrayal, it would’ve been them , not Montez’s side.

"We’re under attack!" the first guard gasped out. "Someone showed up , took out the Rejected Corps guys outside like they were nothing. There’s... there’s too many of them to count!"

Montez’s brow furrowed, his voice tightening with suspicion. "Who? What group? Which district are they from?"

"We don’t know!" the man blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush. "We’ve never seen them before. But they... they seemed to know the Rejected Corps. The guy leading them, he’s young, maybe late teens. Red hair. Black jacket. Looked like he wasn’t afraid of anyone in the world."

The description hit the room like a gunshot, the tension snapping taut.

Chrono’s smirk faltered as he exchanged a sharp, knowing glance with Na. Red hair. Someone connected to the Corps. There was only one person who matched that image perfectly, and the mere thought of him being here sent a ripple of unease through the air.

"...He wouldn’t come here. Not today," Chrono muttered, the confidence in his tone wavering ever so slightly. "And if it is him... then the real question is, who the hell did he bring with him?"

He turned his head toward Na, his voice dropping into a command. "Check the situation. Now."

But Na didn’t even get the chance to move.

The double doors exploded inward with a deafening BANG, the impact so violent that the heavy wood panels crashed against the walls and rattled the cutlery on the tables. The sound rolled through the vast hall like thunder, and every head in the room whipped toward the entrance.

From the blinding light spilling in, shapes began to emerge , not just a few, but dozens. Then dozens became scores. Row after row of high school delinquents marched in, their black jackets emblazoned with the striking red insignia of the Bloodline Group. Their movements weren’t random or chaotic; they fanned out in a practiced, deliberate formation, spreading across the hall to claim space and cut off any path of escape.

At the center of the group, walking with unshakable purpose, came five figures in a straight line: Wolf, Joe, Steven, Aron... and, right in the middle, Max.

His red hair caught the overhead lights and seemed to burn like fire, the sharp angles of his face locked forward, eyes locked onto Chrono with an expression that carried no hesitation and no mercy.

Montez shot to his feet, his chair screeching against the polished floor. "Who the fuck are you? What the hell is a bunch of high schoolers doing here? Chrono, explain this, now!"

But before Chrono could open his mouth, Max’s voice tore through the air like a blade.

"CHRONO!"

The name left his lips like a battle cry, echoing off the high ceilings. "I told you I’d make you pay for what you did! And now, " his voice rose to a roar, each word striking with the force of a command, ", as Leader of the Bloodline Group, I give the order: anyone in this room not wearing our colors... make sure they can’t stand by the time we’re done!"