Rebecca's expression went pale as the voice on the other end spoke frantically. Hutton could already tell from her face that something had gone terribly wrong.

"What's it?" he asked sharply, his tone low yet commanding.

Rebecca's fingers tightened around her phone, and she turned to him with urgency flashing in her eyes. "Robert just called. He said we need to come back—immediately."

Hutton frowned, sensing the undercurrent of tension in her tone. "Why? What happened?"

She exhaled shakily, her eyes darting around as if afraid someone might overhear. "The Eastridge Police Department just came to our home. They brought a search warrant—for you."

Hutton's eyes narrowed to thin slits, a faint glimmer of cold light flickering within them. "...For me?"

Rebecca nodded, her voice trembling slightly. "That's not all. Robert said the FBI has also joined the investigation. Apparently… they got tipped off that you're hiding in our estate. And the worst part? The Businessman Alliance seems to be behind it."

At the mention of the Alliance, Hutton's face darkened. The air around him seemed to thicken as the faint ripple of his Qi pulsed outward, distorting the air for a brief moment before he suppressed it again.

He muttered under his breath, "So it finally begins…"

Rebecca looked at him anxiously. "What do we do now?"

He turned toward her and spoke calmly, though his voice carried that familiar edge of confidence that made people instinctively listen. "We go back. I can't afford to stay hidden anymore. They're tightening the circle, and the more I run, the worse it'll get."

Clyde, who had been watching them silently, tugged Rebecca's sleeve. "Why are we going back? Is someone in trouble?"

Rebecca forced a soft smile, crouching slightly. "It's nothing, Clyde. Just… some grown-up problems."

But Hutton could tell even the boy could feel the tension in the air.

Rebecca looked back at him, whispering hurriedly, "If they already have a warrant, walking back in could get you arrested—or worse."

"I know," Hutton said plainly, "but it's better I face them in the open. If the police are acting under orders, then someone powerful wants this to be loud. That means they're not just after me—they're sending a message."

He looked out toward the busy street, eyes unreadable. "And I've run from enough messages in my life."

Rebecca felt her heart tighten at those words. There was a finality to his tone—a weight that told her he had already made his decision.

"Hutton…" she whispered, her voice soft but trembling.

He turned to her then, and for a moment, the fierce determination in his gaze softened. "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything reckless. I just need to see for myself how deep this goes."

He then looked down at Clyde, who was still holding his ice cream, completely oblivious to the scale of what was happening. "Rebecca, take him back to your parents first. I'll handle the rest."

Rebecca immediately shook her head. "No way. If you're going back, I'm going with you. Robert told me to bring you home, and I intend to do that."

"But–"

"Am not taking no for an answer!!" Rebecca rebutted with a serious look on her face.

Seeing that, Hutton sighed faintly, realizing there was no arguing with her. "Fine," he said after a pause. "But stay close to me when we get there. If things turn ugly, you move behind me—understood?"

She nodded silently.

They quickly flagged down to the sedan car they came with, and within moments, the city's scenery began to blur past the window. The once-bright streets of Eastridge now felt heavier, colder—as if the entire city had caught wind of what was about to unfold.

Rebecca sat stiffly beside him, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand. The faint hum of the car's engine was the only sound for a while, until she finally broke the silence.

"Robert sounded… terrified," she murmured. "He said even the officers looked nervous when they came. And there were men in suits who didn't look like police—he thinks they're federal agents."

Hutton's gaze stayed fixed out the window. "Federal agents? Then it's worse than I thought."

He clenched his jaw, his mind running through possibilities. The FBI's involvement meant national-level awareness. Someone had moved the chessboard while he was still meditating in that quiet room.

The Alliance must've finally moved their hand.

As the sedan neared the Darlington estate, the atmosphere around the area grew tense. Police cars lined the street leading up to the massive gates, their flashing red and blue lights slicing through the dim evening haze.

Even from a distance, Hutton could feel the pressure—officers pacing, radios crackling, and several men in dark suits scanning the property's perimeter.

Rebecca's heart pounded violently in her chest. "Oh no…"

Hutton's eyes were cold as stone. "Looks like they didn't waste any time."

He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once on his knee as if reaching a silent decision. Then he turned to her, his tone calm but absolute.

"Rebecca. Stay in the car when we arrive."

"What? No—"

He cut her off firmly. "Please. I need to handle this alone first. Your family has already done enough by hiding me. If the authorities connect you to me any further, it'll ruin the Darlington name entirely."

Her throat tightened, eyes glistening. "Hutton, you can't—"

"I can," he said, meeting her gaze steadily. "And I will."

The sedan slowed to a stop near the estate gates. The sight was overwhelming—at least six police vehicles, flashing lights, and officers questioning house staff.

Hutton opened the door, stepped out, and inhaled deeply.

Every instinct screamed at him to vanish—to slip into the shadows and disappear like before. But this time, he didn't move to hide. He walked forward, calm and unshaken, toward the flashing lights and the murmurs of the officers.

Rebecca sat frozen in the car, whispering his name in disbelief.

And as Hutton stepped into the open, a familiar pressure gathered in the distance—someone powerful was observing him, their presence hidden yet unmistakably dangerous.

But Hutton didn't waver.

He was done running.

------

At this moment, the once-celebratory glow of the Darlington estate was gone.

The chandeliers still gleamed, and the fountain at the front courtyard still gushed with silver clarity, but none of it brought warmth anymore. Now, the entire mansion was surrounded by flashing red and blue lights—an unwanted display of authority and suspicion.

From his study window, Robert Darlington watched as Eastridge police cruisers blocked both exits, officers barking orders while the FBI's black SUVs occupied the driveway like armored beasts. His knuckles turned white against the glass pane.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Behind him, several family elders and staff members whispered in panic except his parents who has already left the resident for another business meeting. One of the older uncles spoke up with a trembling voice. "Robert, are they really… here for that man?"

Robert didn't answer. His eyes tracked the agents pacing the courtyard, their movements far too coordinated to be just a routine search. He knew efficiency when he saw it—these were professionals, and they were operating under high-level orders.

Another elder pressed, "You promised us shelter from this madness when you took leadership! Now we're surrounded because of a fugitive you barely even—"

"Enough!" Robert's voice thundered across the room. His hand slammed down on the desk, startling everyone. "That 'fugitive' saved our family once, and if not for him, you wouldn't be sitting comfortably under a First-Class banner right now."

The room went silent.

Robert exhaled heavily and sat down, rubbing his temples. He couldn't deny it—sheltering Hutton Maxwell had been reckless. The man's name alone carried danger. And yet… there was something about Hutton that made Robert believe in him beyond logic.

Even now, as the mansion trembled with noise from the authorities outside, Robert felt that same belief nagging him.

'He's not a criminal', he thought. 'He's a survivor.'

A faint knock came at the door, and a butler rushed in nervously. "Sir, the lead agent is demanding to speak with you again. He says if you don't cooperate, they'll bring in warrants for the rest of your family too."

Robert stood immediately, his sharp business aura radiating through the room. "They think they can intimidate me?" He straightened his tie, a faint smirk crossing his lips. "Let's see them try."

The butler hesitated. "Sir, what if Mr. Maxwell returns? Should we—"

Robert's expression flickered for a moment—then he said quietly, "If he does, then I'll deal with it. Personally."

As he strode out of the study, he could already hear the muffled chaos outside. The FBI agents were scanning the premises with drones, the hum of their devices mixing with the shouts of officers. It was a siege—no question about it.

He glanced toward the distant road beyond the gates.

Rebecca's car hadn't yet returned.

'Damn it, Becca, hurry… before this gets worse.'

---

Meanwhile, moments later....

The faint evening breeze ruffled his light brown hair, his eyes sharp and calm, scanning the situation with the instinct of someone who'd seen dozens of battlefields before.

He took one slow step forward. Then another.

Immediately, a dozen officers turned their attention toward him, their hands moving to their holsters.

"Sir! Halt where you are!" shouted a uniformed man, clearly the local chief of police. "This area is under federal investigation!"

Hutton didn't stop. His expression remained unreadable as he continued forward.

"Stop right there!" The chief barked again, gesturing sharply. "Hands where I can see them!"

Finally, Hutton raised his hands halfway—not in surrender, but in composure. "Relax," he said evenly. "No need for all that noise."

The chief's jaw tightened. "Name."

"Hutton Maxwell."

A wave of tension rippled through the officers and agents present. Some exchanged looks, and a few whispered into their earpieces.

One of the FBI agents—a tall man with a trimmed beard—stepped forward. "So it's true," he said. "You actually came back."

Hutton tilted his head slightly. "Didn't realize I was that famous."

"Infamous," the agent corrected coldly. "You're wanted in connection to multiple unexplained incidents across several cities. There's talk about you being tied to the death of the Dorne family's youngest heir. Care to explain?"

Hutton gave a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If I said it was self-defense, would that change anything?"

The agent's expression hardened. "Not in the slightest."

"Thought so," Hutton murmured.

Behind him, Rebecca had quietly stepped out of the car despite his warning, standing a few meters away. Her heart raced as she watched the standoff unfold.

"Don't move!" one of the officers shouted at her, pointing his gun.

Instantly, the air shifted.

Before the officer's finger even touched the trigger, a sudden wave of pressure rolled out from Hutton—an unseen force that made the air vibrate. The nearby officers staggered, some gasping for breath as their knees trembled.

It wasn't an attack—just a reflex. A flicker of Nascent Soul stage Qi, raw and heavy.

The agent's face went pale as his earpiece screeched from interference. "What the—what was that pressure?!"

Hutton's calm gaze swept across them. "I said," he spoke softly, "relax."

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

The chief stammered, "Y-You… what the hell are you?"

Hutton didn't answer. He simply turned slightly, glancing toward the mansion gates as they slowly opened.

Robert Darlington emerged, his expression a blend of authority and tension. His eyes landed on Hutton—and for the briefest moment, relief flickered through them before he masked it again.

The two men locked eyes in silent understanding.

Robert gave a subtle nod—barely perceptible, but clear enough.

Hutton lowered his hands. "You wanted me," he said to the agents. "Well, I'm right here."

The lead agent gritted his teeth. "You're coming with us for questioning."

Hutton smiled faintly. "Then let's talk."

He walked forward, calm as ever, as the officers hesitated to move. Every step he took was deliberate—measured. The kind of stride that belonged not to a fugitive, but a commander walking through enemy lines.

And as the tension thickened, a dark SUV parked across the street flickered with movement.

Inside it, a single man—cold eyes, composed demeanor—watched through a drone feed.

The same World Class Cultivator who had followed Hutton from Blinding Town.

He murmured into his communicator,

"Target confirmed. Hutton Maxwell is in custody range. Awaiting direct orders from Lord Aurelian Dorne."

His eyes gleamed with deadly intent.