At Night

The horizon seen from Manhattan seemed far away. The color of night swathed the entire sky and twinkling stars were beginning to appear. The crystal-clear sky seemed to shatter in an instant as the entire city welcomed the coming of the night. Colorful lights blossomed in the middle of the streets, dispelling the darkness. The light reflecting off the colored bricks gave the streets and avenues a different kind of bustle and liveliness from daytime.

This was a New York that had never experienced the Great Depression. Although the level of activity was hurt, it still hadn't reached the point of no return.

As though anxious for night's arrival, New York's 32,000 odd 'underground bars' awoke and began stirring trouble.

Manhattan's nights embodied the whole of human desire, revealing a completely different side to the everyday.

This is one of the few night clubs managed by the Martillo Family. Found between Little Italy and Chinatown, this small shop was called ''. Following its namesake, the outside of the store looked just like specialty shop for honey. However, there, beyond the counter and through a sturdy door with a porthole, was a speakeasy, the gathering place for people who desired refuge from the eye of law. Both men, women and even sometimes children, came here for the liquor. This was a place for social gatherings that existed in the niche between public society and the law.

Back then in New York, many underground bars operated like this, putting up a front as a legal business. Hidden in clothing stores, under apothecaries, or even in churches and funeral parlors, there were these existences that slipped through the loopholes of the law.

This 'Alveare' store was also one of the sanctuaries from the law.

In its basement was an even larger space. Normally, it wouldn't be open if there weren't any customers, however there were ten men gathered there that day. In any case, the number of people was irrelevant for the entire place was enveloped in silence and tension.

The room had no electrical lighting; the only source of illumination was the dazzling glow from the flames of an oil lamp centered on the circular table.

"-Firo Prochainezo-"

The heavy silence was broken. The surrounding men took their respective places circling the round table that took up most of the space in the room. Only the man who just spoke was sitting- the others all stood.

The man who spoke... was the '' of the Martillo Family, Molsa Martillo. Although he looked to be past fifty, he possessed a physique that didn't coincide with his age.

On either side of him were two high-level executives of the organization... the '' responsible for matters within the organization-the Japanese Kanshichirô Yagulma and the ''-Ronny Suchiato. Maiza, the 'conta è oro', was standing on Ronny's side, two people away from Molsa.

Although it was not his seniority that won him his office, Yagulma was already sixty-odd years old, and just a glance at him gave one the feel of a Chinatown apothecary.

In contrast, Ronny was still very young, with a pair of fox-like eyes that were narrow and long- this was also his defining feature.

While Camorra was an organization that originated from Italy, Molsa didn't put much weight on the nationalities of its members, so all sorts of people could be found within this organization.

Standing opposite Molsa was Firo, and he responded nervously to the call,

"... Yes, present. I am here, capo societa."

"... Will you be able to answer the following questions truthfully?"

"Yes."

After a few seconds of silence, the Q&A session began.

"Do you wish to be a ?"

"Yes."

"In the faraway motherland, we 'Camorra'... were an organization that was born in an Italian prison. If you decide to join, then you will sometimes be thrown in prison and lose your freedom. You may even lose your life in some unreasonable fight. Do you understand this?"

"Yes."

"Your right foot stands in prison, while your left stands in a coffin. Even so, can you fix your eyes on your road ahead and grasp glory with your right hand?"

"Yes."

"If the need arises, are you willing to end your own life with your left hand?"

"... Yes."

"Firo Prochainezo. If your father killed our friends, can you kill your father to exact revenge for our friends?"

At this question, Firo had to think a little.

Firo never knew his own father. Firo was born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, one of the slums for Italian immigrants. His father was Italian, his mother an American with British ancestry. His father seemed at the time to be a member of the 'Camorra' in Naples, Italy, but in the end, due to the internal conflict in the Naples branch, the organization had to move to America.

His father was already dead by the time Firo was born. He died of lung cancer.

Firo, who had never seen his father, lost his mother too before his tenth birthday.

Again, due to a lung disease- tuberculosis. His mother, isolated by the people around her, died a lonely death.

In the years that followed, Firo did whatever it took to survive. Back then, he simply didn't have the luxury to differentiate between good and evil. Then, when passing through various blocks of New York, Firo met the 'primo voto' of the organization, Yagulma. The instant Firo reached out towards this Japanese old man's pocket, his world turned upside down. Although he had been tripped by Yagulma many times afterwards, the first time was the most memorable.

From then on, Firo became affiliated to this organization. To him, all the people in this Alveare store were family.

There was no question in Firo's mind as to if this was the place where he belonged.

Because he liked them.

That alone satisfied Firo.

"Yes. If the people who were killed were really my friends, I would stab my father's chest with my knife."

"I see... All right, Firo. What you will be facing is... a spiraling... yes, a massive, spiraling phase of life..."

What followed were statements, not questions. Molsa spoke slowly, in the tone one used on children.

"Ours is a world where, once you step in, you can do nothing but spiral ever downwards, with no hope of ascent. Within, though there are those who will keep grasping hands despite slipping, there are others who will truly take a solid fall into the void at the center of the spiral. Of course, there are always those who are praised as they gracefully descend on parachutes and there are those who simply cut the parachute strings.

We are but small, insignificant characters who walk unceasingly down these winding paths. The approaching destination will be the end of our lives. Whether we plunge to our deaths from falling off those paths, or die due to exhaustion from the walk, or even die a peaceful death in our sleep; in the end, death is the same whichever world you go to. Most people will always lean against the remotest parts of the mountains... well, not knowing whether it exists or not, they will eventually die someplace close to heaven. But it is impossible for us to ascend there.

Perhaps Capone looked like he was climbing this high mountain of life... but in reality he was just making a beautiful descent amidst the people's cheering. It looked like the President's ballet... but in the end it was just a downward sloping path."

At this moment, Molsa stopped, took in a deep breath and continued.

"Someone as dazzling as Capone... fair enough, he was outside of this spiraling path, just as the ordinary folk perceived. But most people don't notice that there's still something they don't know lurking between these downward paths."

Molsa's eyes were wide as he fixed his gaze on Firo's.

"Firo Prochainezo, hear me once more. You can still turn back now. Even if you have committed evil to date, they're nothing special, so you can still climb back onto the rising paths. Or you have done evil in these past few years, but you can still start over again. However, there is no turning back once you enter this world. As a member of the organization, once you become a Camorrista, you will become a commander. This is a part of criminal society... it is a part which allows you to drive the gears of your destiny. If this becomes true, you will truly have no way of turning back. If you want to turn back, then the guys who walked down fate's spiraling paths with you will pull you back with all their might, and push you into the empty heart of the spiral. Honestly speaking, I believe that you will be very successful if you chose to walk down the straight and narrow, because you are very capable, Firo Prochainezo. Even so, do you still wish to walk down this path?"

Molsa finally finished what he had to say, plunging the surroundings once again into silence.

The flame in the lamp flickered strongly.

Firo said the following to answer Molsa's questions. It required immense courage to say such a thing.

"... Yes. I have mentally prepared myself."

In the span of such a short sentence, cold sweat poured down his back like a waterfall and a few drops of sweat fell from his clenched fists.

"... I see... If that's the case, then let us see your determination."

Hearing Molsa's words, Firo took one step forward.

Then, he pulled out his own knife... and stabbed it on the table. It seemed to be a tradition of past 'ceremonies'- around Firo's knife were more than ten knife marks.

In front of the standing knife was a handgun. Firo took up this gun, facing Molsa. Then, he pointed the gun at his own heart.

Having finished this string of actions, Firo circled the round table holding the handgun in this manner. All the half of the men Firo passed by looked at him very seriously.

When he arrived at Molsa's side, Firo knelt down respectfully. He carefully cocked the handgun and silently offered it to his leader.

The capo societa wordlessly accepted it, and raised one hand to signal his chiamatore, Ronny.

Ronny silently nodded and walked to a rack in the corner of the room. Then, he took two bottles and one glass to Firo's side.

One bottle was full of wine, and in the other, liquid poison sloshed around.

Molsa poured wine into the glass until it was half-full, then proceeded to use poison to fill the rest of the glass.

Without saying anything, Molsa held the glass up before Firo's face.

Firo unhesitatingly took the glass and slowly brought it to his mouth.

The faintly glowing rim touched the youth's lips.

At this moment, Molsa snatched the glass from Firo's hand and dashed it against the floor. Crimson liquid and glass shards scattered at Firo and Molsa's feet.

That action just now demonstrated Firo's mentality and loyalty. Placing the knife on the table meant he would not rely on weapons; pointing the handgun that Molsa had accepted at himself represented his mentality: 'Rather than let the capo societa get attacked, I am willing choose death'; and drinking the poison represented his loyalty: 'If it is the capo societa's will, I am willing to die'. This Camorra organization's 'inauguration ceremony' was different from the original Camorra's in content and meaning. After the series of ceremonial rites just now, the Martillo family began the final 'ceremony'.

"Capo societa... Please test my duty."

Firo said. Molsa nodded his head quietly.

"Yagulma, you will be the supervisor. Maiza, you will test Firo's duty."

He ordered his two subordinates.

In front of the round table was a stretch of wider space. Firo and the two executives walked to the space together, while Ronny brought three knives. The first was the one Firo pulled out just now, which was placed in his hand.

The remaining two knives were held respectively in the two executives' hands.

They... rather, Firo and Maiza began their 'duel'.

The difference between Camorra and Mafia lay in the fact that the Mafia liked using handguns, while Camorra felt that using knives was an indication of a person's 'reputation'. Those who could use knives well would be respected by those around them.

In other words, knowing how to use a knife was also the duty of a Camorra member.

Thus, testing the technique with a knife also became part of the 'ceremony'. Although the meaning may not be the same, this ritual of a 'duel' was common to almost all of the other Camorra organizations in Naples and New York.

This 'duel' was won when one hurt the other's wrist. If Firo was hurt, he would be pitted in a duel with an executive other than Maiza. If he continually lost to three people, then this meant Firo's technique still needed practice, and the duel would be postponed. Of course, this meant he couldn't be promoted to executive until then.

"... There should be no ill-feelings between you, right? If one of you stabs the other in chest, I will kill that person there and then, understood?"

Yagulma announced the rules tonelessly. Although he was an immigrant from Japan, he had lived in America for over 30 years, so his pronunciation and accent weren't the slightest bit off.

Firo and Maiza respectively removed their jackets, and hung them on nearby chairs. Both now wore only white shirts, which were extremely striking in the darkness of the room.

"Not removing your shirts?... Ah well, despite that it's a little chilly, don't you think you'll stain your shit if you get cut? ... Doesn't matter? Ah, all right... You can begin."

Yagulma took one step back, leaving Firo and Maiza standing, facing each other.

Firo was a little lost as to how to move. Now he thought about it, this was the first time he had seen Maiza hold a knife. Some called him a 'coward' behind his back, but since he was an executive, his knife technique shouldn't be all that bad.

Although he thought that way, it never occurred to Firo that he could lose. If his opponent was Yagulma, he didn't have confidence in winning, but if it were Maiza, he was certain of his victory.

The next instant shattered Firo's naive thoughts.

This tall, lean man before him merely bent down then rushed over. Although his footsteps were slow--

Maiza suddenly extended his arm. It looked like it really did grow longer.

".........!"

Firo immediately leapt back to avoid the attack. Maiza now stood where Firo had been moments ago.

(He's fast......!)

Taking a slow first step then accelerating; that was how there was an illusion of Maiza's body stretching.

Maiza gave a somewhat forced smile, and seamlessly moved his knife to continue his attack.

The knife in his hand underwent all sorts of changes in one attack. His knife would carve out an arc in one attack, then stab out along a straight line the next. Although Firo refused to give in and counterattacked in-between, his opponent's attacks were effectively neutralizing every one of his own. Suddenly, in an instant, the string of continuous attacks would appear once again.

Strong! Maiza's skill with the knife was the best among all the people Firo knew. If he was a bystander observing his actions, he wouldn't help but be impressed, but, of course, this kind of situation wasn't likely to happen in a fight.

Still, Firo was also the best at knives among the picciottos, so he was able to avoid Maiza's attacks, if only by a hair's width.

Firo's strengths lay in being able to visually track fast movements and having a broad field of vision. His eyes therefore weren't only able to catch the movement of the knife's blade. The flexing of Maiza's shoulders, his line of sight, the movement of his footsteps- all these minor details were also captured, and from there Firo could judge what step he himself should take next.

He had always been in charge of monitoring organization-managed casinos for cheating, so his eyes' sensitivity towards movement and his field of vision had all been honed to their peak. During his free time, he would learn wrestling techniques from Yagulma and train his knife skills against Ronny and Molsa, so he had good judgement when fighting.

Even so, Firo was still being pressed in by Maiza.

Firo observed Maiza and the room behind him. From the position of the opposite wall, it wouldn't be long before he would be forced into the corner of the room. If his back were to hit the wall, then it was likely he was going to lose. If that was the case, then he might as well---

Firo decided to take a gamble. He jumped back one large step, so his entire back was against the wall. Maiza also forced to move forward at this moment. Firo quickly lowered his body... then kicked hard against the wall and closed in on Maiza for hand-to-hand combat. Bewilderment flickered across his opponent's face-- or so Firo thought; he couldn't be sure. The attack ended abruptly, with his knife stabbed towards his opponent's hand.

If he were to cut his opponent's wrist, his opponent might gain the chance to retaliate and cut Firo's wrist first. If that were the case--

Maiza's wrist suddenly froze.

Firo's knife flew out, stabbing right into the hilt of Maiza's blade. The two knives overlapped neatly, but Firo's knife blade was slightly longer, whereas Maiza's blade didn't reach his opponent's hilt.

The cross-counter of fraternal knives. This miraculous sight didn't even last a second.

Maiza hurriedly tried to retract his own knife, but Firo saw this. Matching his breathing to his movement, Firo advanced, seizing the opportunity to push forward with his knife.

This unexpected force shook Maiza's balance.

In that much-awaited instant, Firo swiftly retracted his knife. Without missing a beat, he withdrew the knife tip silently from the hilt of Maiza's knife and quickly grazed Maiza's wrist. .

Only a few seconds of intensive combat, but it ended in such a theatrical manner.

The sleeve of Maiza's white shirt was ripped open, and at its center, crimson blood welled up.

"... Everyone, victory is clear."

Maiza smiled, raising his red-stained wrist high.

After a moment of silence, the basement erupted with cheers.

The executives, who had been watching the 'ceremony' anxiously up until now, had expressions that mirrored those of baseball fans whose team had hit a beautiful home run. Everyone congratulated Firo together.

"Haahaa! You were really amazing, Firo!"

One of the members of the executive placed his hand on Firo's shoulder.

"To think you were able to get a point off that Maiza!"

It seemed all the executives knew about Maiza's abilities. Then again, Firo had never heard any of the executives speaking badly of Maiza behind his back. Until this point, Firo was very calm, but now a cold sweat was breaking out on his face.

"Ah no... even I... am very surprised."

"Congratulations, Firo."

As a show of support to Firo, whose strength had now left him, Maiza gave him a congratulatory embrace. Then, one by one, the whole executive came over to embrace the newly-inaugurated executive.

Patting his back, Yagulma also gave Firo a rare compliment.

"You've grown up. In all my years as Supervisor, you're the first candidate executive to defeat Maiza!"

Lastly, Molsa embraced Firo as he patted his back.

"I don't have to say anything more. You are already a splendid Camorrista, Firo."

Then Molsa held up the gun used earlier in the 'ceremony'.

"To celebrate the birth of a new executive, I will fire a celebratory shot!"

Muzzle to the ceiling, Molsa pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced through the wooden ceiling up to the loft. It seemed the shot was fired at the same place every time, because the old bullet holes were always around the same area.

Just like that, the entire ceremony ended and a new Camorrista was born.

Being the cause of the festivities, Firo seemed very happy and was looking around non-stop.

"...... oh?"

Until he noticed something.

The crimson stain that was on Maiza's wrist had completely disappeared.

'What's going on here--?' Firo was just thinking, when---

Thud- it sounded as though something fell onto the ceiling. This was followed by a woman's shriek.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Isaac is dead------------!!"

<==>

Let's turn time back.

On the recently-lit streets, Isaac and Miria were casually walking along the road, dressed strangely.

"Oh no--, our dear Ennis, will she really be able to hand over those four to the police?"

"It'll be good if she can escape afterwards!"

The woman had said she was a criminal and seemed worried that she would be caught by the police.

"Right you are, but what on earth could Ennis have done?"

"Maybe she ran away from home!"

They weren't aware of it, but Ennis too had thought the same of them.

"I see... That might be it! In that case... she must be really strong."

"Strong!"

"She should be using the legendary 'Japanese baritsu'."

"Baritsu? What's that?"

"Hmmmmmmmm, it's the Japanese martial art used by Sherlock Holmes, the main character of that popular British novel! To be precise, it should be the ''."

"Wow, Isaac knows everything!"

"Hmmmm, looking alone isn't enough. It is only when you closely that you can understand the true meaning of baritsu, Miria-kun."

It seemed he really enjoyed reading detective novels. Even with 'careful observation', you couldn't tell what baritsu was. And in any case he had never seen baritsu in the first place.

"But, really, strong women are amazing."

"Like , right?"

Why did these two possess so much uncommon knowledge?

"By the way, Isaac! Where are we going now?"

"Aah, how should I put this..."

Isaac began speaking in a hushed voice.

"Even though we've decided to steal the Mafia's money, if it's too big an organization, there'll be lots of people after us, so wouldn't that be troublesome? In that case, we're going to steal from one small organization that's not part of any alliance! 'Ccording to the information from my earlier investigation... this area should be 'Martillo' and 'Gandor' turf."

"Yup yup."

"That's why the plan is to head to the closest hideout of the Martillo family. On that note, we'll be checking it out today."

"Checking it out!"

<==>

According to the news provided by the information agency, the Martillo hideout was located within a store with a beehive-shaped signboard.

At the center of the brown signboard, written in white paint was the word 'Alveare', but since Isaac didn't understand Italian, he wasn't aware that it meant 'beehive'.

"Aah, it's here, it's here."

"It's here!"

On pushing open the door, the two smelt a sweet scent.

There was a crowded display of honey jars in the store. While one would think the sweet scent came from within those jars, the source of scent was actually the stove for heating honey behind the register.

"Welcome."

Said the voice of the woman stirring the honey over the stove.

"We're about to close, so if you want something please be quick about it."

Her attitude was frigid and unfeeling, but Isaac and Miria didn't seem to mind as they looked around the store.

Behind the register was a corridor, and further inside seemed to be a very sturdy door.

"Excuu--se me, can we go in through that door?"

"We want to go in!"

The female shopkeeper's reaction to these words was to give them a quick look over.

"...... New faces."

"Pay no mind!"

"No mind!"

The female shopkeep was carefully re-examining these two people's identities. A tuxedo with no necktie and a black dress. In their hands were an outlandish helmet and a strange mask.

They just didn't look like inspectors, and she had never heard of a female decoy used in undercover investigations.

Having judged thus, the female shopkeep silently walked into the corridor.

"Come."

She knocked quite a few times on the firmly shut door, and for a moment light flashed in the peephole.

After a while, a 'clank' came from behind the door, probably the sound of a padlock being opened.

The door opened, and blinding glow poured out from inside.

"Woah..."

"Amazing..."

Inside was just like the stage of a musical. Lit by hanging chandeliers, the milk-white walls gave off a golden, honey-like glow. The interior was much larger than the store outside, with about 10 round tables covered with white cloth placed within. Just as the room looked completely different from the store, the feel of the room gave off the impression that there would be other hidden rooms.

There was a stage-like construction within the room, likely where divas released their songs and voices. Many electrical light bulbs surrounded the stage.

"Waa, respacted guests, werucome!"

This sentence of broken English came from inside the store.

Coming towards Isaac and Miria was a Chinese girl with beautiful black hair. Gold embroidery on red silk-- the girl was wearing such an eye-catching . Her figure was not in the slightest bit wasted, with the dress showing off her exquisite curves, enough to attract any man's attention. But there was still a childish quality to her actions and speech, so rather than the bar's Madonna, she should really be described as an idol.

"Aah, aporojize-- today shop booked by someone ersu. So you two prease come dis corna?"

Hearing her words, the two surveyed their surroundings to see there were indeed very few people around. Other than them, there were two elderly people and a child. At the back of the store were only three men.

The Chinese girl didn't wait for the guests' response and took them directly to a small table in the corner.

Of course, Isaac and Miria didn't complain as they sat down. Today was only for scouting the premises, so they didn't particularly mind where they were sat.

"Let's see... First get me a glass of the cheapest wine."

"Get it!"

"Yes, yes. Prease wait a moment!"

They waited until the Chinese waitress had left, then started their quiet, secret discussion.

(Listen up, we've come to look for where the money's kept.)

(Is it a safe?)

(Naturally, naturally. According to the information, their organization's office should be around here somewhere. Once we find that place, the safe's likely to be there.)

(Understood.)

The two stood up, pretending to idly circle around the shop. Their actions were extremely strange, but because there was only that one Chinese girl watching the place, no one noticed the activity on their side.

"Now then... Where to begin... hm?"

Isaac's ear seemed to have picked up some cheering sound from somewhere.

"What do we have here...?"

Listening closely, it seemed to be coming from the wine barrels by their table.

Isaac walked to the wine barrels, and squinted as he peered inside.

One sweep of the place yielded nothing, but the cheering noise was definitely coming from here.

"...hm?"

His gaze fell onto the shadows of the barrels, where a few holes had penetrated the floorboards.

"What's this?"

Isaac had to push the wine barrel to one side to look down through the small hole in the floorboards.

A sliver of light from electrical bulbs shone through. The hole seemed to be connected to the basement.

And the cheering sound definitely came from this hole.

"Haha--... Could it be the office is underground?"

Just as Isaac was about to look for the entrance came the Chinese girl's cry.

"Aah---! Customer! Dere cannot! Dangerous! Quick, get out off dere-----!"

Hearing this voice, all the customers in the shop turned to look this way. Even Miria had a bewildered expression as she headed towards him.

"Eh...? What's so dangerous......?"

Bang

From the floorboards came a dry, crisp sound. Then, he felt the tip of his shoe shake.

"Wha......?"

He looked, and found there was a hole in the front of his shoe. Although there was nothing wrong with his toes, smoke was coming from the hole in the shoe.

Stupefied, Isaac lifted his head to look at the ceiling.

There was a newly punched hole.

"Eh... I... was shot?"

With that sentence, wham- Isaac fell to the ground.

Miria, who had watched the entire process from beginning to end, turned stark white and let out a scream.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, Isaac is dead------------!!"

<==>

"To the birth of a new Camorrista... a toast!"

Molsa taking the lead, everyone inside the shop raised their glasses high.

The executives, having finished the 'ceremony', surrounded the newly born executive to celebrate. Other than the executives, no other members of the organization came today. The and '' were all busy in other bars and casinos, so there was only those who were tightly linked with the executive... or at least, that should have been the case.

"Goodness, I seriously thought I'd died back then!"

"Seriously thought so!"

So why were there two strange outsiders of the organization like them at the celebration? The tuxedo and dress were very appropriate attire for a celebration like this. But why were they sitting together with Firo, the real cause of the celebration?

Back then, when all the present members hurriedly climbed up the stairs, they found Isaac on the floor showing only the whites of his eyes and Miria, who was shouting tearfully "Murder---!". At that, Maiza and Firo couldn't help but say 'Ah', as though they knew both people... or so an outsider may have thought. Because Isaac was almost killed when the bullet was fired, the other executives didn't mind treating those two to a drink of wine.

"... It can't be- the two people we met at the hat shop...?"

"Even if it's a coincidence, this is still too uncanny."

Firo and Maiza exchanged looks with wry smiles. If they'd have known the chaos they were about to accidentally involve those two in, then they probably wouldn't have been able to smile as they did then.

"My sincere apologies, customers. I never thought someone would move those wine barrels."

Molsa bowed his head as he apologized.

"Eh? Ah, that, no, no, it's fine, it's fine! The hole in my shoe can probably be repaired with just some spit and a quick polish!"

"... No, it can't be repaired."

An elderly person... or even just a higher-class person like Molsa apologizing made Isaac feel a little lost about what to do. Miria, on the other hand, had already started helping herself to pinches of the served dishes.

The dishes seemed to all be cooked by the ladies who brought them: the female store owner, Sena, and the waitress, Lia Linshan. Although the dishes were cooked in just the underground bar, a lot of attention had been put into these dishes. There were a variety of Italian dishes cooked using butter and Chinese stir-fry with copious quantities of oil and seasoning- all kinds of dishes from different cuisines were mixed together.

Besides the bright electrical bulbs in the store, there were also many oil lamps, and the light cast by those flickering flames brought out the dishes' deliciousness.

And among the dishes, the most tantalizing one was the duck, placed at the center of the tables. The entire duck had been deep fried, cooked with the shop's famous honey then deep fried again.

Miria just touched the surface of the duck with a knife, and, with an indescribable 'crik' sound, the juice gushed forth from the broken skin.

"Wow, delicious!"

Hearing Miria's praise, Lia lit up with a happy expression. The two ladies' child-like smiles brightened the entire table.

Around that time, the executives Randy and Pezzo returned.

"Hey, Firo. The wine just now... is it already finished?"

"Oh--, I only bought a little."

"What's with that?... Wine is the most important thing. It's my beloved, you know."

"Ah no, I was originally planning to buy more in other stores, but then there was a fire on the way... I couldn't help but take a look at the ruckus, so in the end I just..."

Firo didn't mention his search for the female driver. But he really did look, so Firo wasn't really lying.

Suddenly, Randy and Pezzo's expressions took a turn for the worse.

"Huh? What's the matter, you two?"

"Ah... No... Nothing. Right, Pezzo?"

"Yeah... Don't hit me!"

"?"

At the forced smiles on those two's faces, Sena, who was serving the dishes, whapped them upside their heads.

"Honestly, what're you two talking about! If you really want to drink wine, then just drink in this shop. Firo, you too. It's your own celebratory wine, so why go out of the way to buy it from other shops!"

Faced with a Sena who had raised her eyebrows in anger, Firo just gave a light shrug.

"Uh, no... You see, Ms. Sena... all the wine in this store is mixed with honey... Since this is such a rare opportunity, everyone wanted to drink stronger alcohol, like adults."

"Huh! From what I see, you're still just a kid."

With that, she shook her head and went back to fetch more dishes.

In this store, whether it was wine or beer, honey would be added, so every type of alcohol was extremely sweet. Although the regulars enjoyed this unique taste as well as the dishes made by the two women, it was true that this shop had fewer customers compared to other shops.

But this store of this size was still able to operate mainly because it did not need to pay a 'protection fee' to the Martillo or bribe the police, Prohibition-enforcing officers, or even the politicians and the governing bodies and the like.

As the governor of this area, Edward had never accepted bribes nor did he ever yield to his superiors' pressure. That is to say, bribery alone didn't work in this area. The governor was a man who could see through deceptions, so every time he solved a matter he never needed to arrest anyone.

If it was an ordinary store, its taxes added up to 500 dollars. Because of this, the appeal of an underground bar was that there was no need to pay a wine tax, thus a lot of money could be earned... The end result was that prices at stores which paid taxes prior to the Prohibition Act became cheaper.

This meant the thirty thousand underground bars on this street also fell into this spiraling, changing destiny.

And the Great Depression caused liquor prices to plunge, delivering an enormous shock to the development of the whole spiral. Amidst all this, this store could be said to be one of the lucky exceptions to have escaped this strange spiral.

This lucky wine store was filled with the bright, lively atmosphere of the wine fest.

"But Firo, you really are amazing... being able to defeat Maiza."

"Oh no, it was just luck. Besides, if it came down to ability alone, I'm afraid I would have been defeated early on."

"Heh, so that's how it is! And the road from now will become tougher, so be well prepared!"

"Wow."

"If it were us... we'd grab the opponent's wrist and give him an over-the-shoulder throw..."

"If I did it that way then I won't be using knife techniques."

"...hm? No more pepper..."

"Can't believe there's such a large, round table in the basement. How did they get it in?"

"Oy, someone help me look for some pepper?"

"Huh? Firo, didn't you buy four bottles of high quality red wine?"

"... Nah, just two bottles."

"Ah, Miria, I 'd like to have some of that duck, too."

"Mm! Yes, ah-- "

"... Woah, yummy. But Miria's is still more delicious."

"Do you mean in terms of taste or presentation? You..."

"Wow! I never dreamed Isaac would praise me!"

"Man, why is it I always want to hit you two?"

"Oy---! Pepper--- who---"

"Hmph, when the opportunity comes, I will gift my opponent with a flying kick!"

"That's why, that isn't called using knives."

"Originally this country was very cold to us Japanese, and also the Chinese. Even immigrants don't bother hiding their disgust for us Japanese..."

"Mr. Yagulma, you're jumping from one topic to the next like crazy... are you drunk?"

"Oh dear... that table there also doesn't have pepper."

"It was brought in when this house was being built, before they sealed off the ceiling."

"What'd you say?"

"The round table! Didn't you just ask, Pezzo?"

"Ah, Randy, Randy."

"Yeah, Maiza--?"

"Is there no performance today? That... you see, that guy with the burnt glove."

Spew sputter

"Ewwww, Pezzo and Randy spitting out saliva!"

"How disgusting!"

"Ah, sorry, sorry... got a little too excited today..."

"Oy, Ronny. Where's the pepper..."

"Just bear with it, boss."

At this moment, everyone didn't know who was talking to whom. Seeing this chaotic party, Firo was extremely happy.

Ever since he was born, Firo rarely smiled. Those poor immigrants like him also rarely smiled... or rather, they simply had no reason to smile.

To be able to smile happily like those Italians who appeared in movies and stories- that was Firo's dream ever since he was little.

Now his wish had finally been granted. To be able to continue living on like this would just be perfect.

Although he knew very well this was a very foolish way of thinking.

But if such a foolish dream really came true, it would be enough to make Firo very happy.

One side of the spiral's path shone with dazzling light.

The other side, naturally, was encompassed in darkness.

Three men were walking the darkness between the noisy streets.

This was a jazz hall with a 'Closed' sign hanging on its door. Normally, this place would be very busy, but because the three people in charge weren't in tonight, the only thing they could do was to close temporarily.

Pushing open this door revealed a man within.

"Aah, sorry. We're closed for the night..."

One of the three men swung his arm out horizontally at that man's neck.

"Un... ah....-----, ------------, -------------?"

Within moments, air leaked from the man's throat. At the same time, a crimson fluid gushed out.

The knife-wielder immediately pulled the door to cover himself, avoiding the fountain of blood.

When blood stopped flowing, the now-dead man slumped down... Dallas Genoard silently kicked the man to one side. With the man's torso as the center, crimson blood slowly spread from under his body.

"... The basement. Listen here, first verify the wooden crate's location. And... it's not just the box-- there's also the things inside."

Dallas' held a blood-stained knife in his hand.

And the two men following behind him- held in their coats were the latest models of machine gun.

"Oy... What're you doing?"

When Dallas and the other two came to the basement, four Gandor members were sitting there. They seemed to be playing poker around the round table at the center.

Dallas expressionlessly answered,

"Ah, no... only during the day, we forgot something here... We asked the person upstairs, and he said we could come here to look for it..."

"Forgotten something.....? Aah, are you talking about that wooden box?"

Following the man's gaze, the three people saw a very sturdy safe... and on it was the aforementioned wooden box.

"Aah... Yes, it's that box."

"Sorry, but I can't be sure whether it's really your box... You'll have to wait until tomorrow, when Mr. Luck is back."

At this moment, one of the Gandors softly mumbled,

"About that... Mike should also know about the box, right?"

The 'Mike' he was talking about was the guy whose throat had been cut.

The corner of Dallas's mouth lifted a little. He raised his hand to signal his comrades.

The two people behind him gave similar smiles and drew out their sub-machine guns from inside their coat.

This sub-machine gun was affectionately nicknamed the Tommy Gun by the gangs.

Victory was already decided. Couldn't be... only a three-people organization? It was in that instant the four hesitated. It was already too late.

"See yah, you flunkies whose names we don't know."

"...You bastards! What'd you do to Mike!"

Before the Gandor members' hands touched their guns at their waists, their opponent's machine guns were already spitting tongues of fire.

Dozens of bullets were fired from the two machine guns, flying straight into the four members' bodies.

This massacre lasted only some seconds. The sound of gunfire in this basement was enough to shatter the three people present. The wooden tables in the house, the large vases on the wall shelves... everything was thoroughly destroyed.

"Ha, ha, ha.... hahahahahahaahahahaaaa... haha... Is this all you've got? Hey, no wonder they're called trash... this is too funny."

Dallas laughed wildly, a red hole visible on his forehead.

"..... Ha...?"

The dozens of bullets were obviously not enough to kill the fourth man. He survived by using the other three as cover and now knelt on the floor, firing at the three attackers. With only six bullets, one of the attackers had instantly died from a shot to his forehead, and the remaining two were also hit in their stomach, hugging their sub-machine guns and groaning.

The lucky survivor snatched up the gun from his comrade's hand and emptied the cartridge. Half of the remaining two's brains were blown out. Seeing this scene, he finally gave a sigh of relief.

"The- the hell..."

Before him, the friends he was just playing poker with were all lying on the floorboards. One of the men's fingers had also been broken, so even if he lived it was unlikely he could play poker ever again.

"The fuck, why? You scumbags---!"

Shouting, he hurled his own gun at the attackers' corpses.

After taking in a deep breath, he slowly stood up. His legs were shaking uncontrollably, there was simply no way he could walk.

"... Telephone... in any case.... gotta contact Mr. Luck...."

The telephone was on the wall on the attackers' side, so it was spared from the machine guns.

"Mr Luck's... seemed to be... ah..."

On his shoulder, a hand appeared.

"....."

Terror seized up his entire body.

"... Mike......?"

He struggled to quash his fear and turned his head, then suddenly a knife appeared in his own forehead.

"... Does it hurt?"

Dallas used one foot to kick aside the man collapsed on the floorboards as he cheerfully asked the question.

"We're really immortal... this is amazing... it really is... Aah, this is amazing!"

The bullet hole in Dallas's head had completely vanished, and not even a drop of blood that once stained his clothes could be seen.

"How exasperating..."

"Exasperating!"

"They were such a nice crowd..."

"Such a nice crowd!"

Isaac and Miria were strolling aimlessly along the night streets. Having eaten their fill at the rowdy party, they had wanted to say their goodbyes and leave... but every single person at the party wouldn't let them go, and even said things like 'take a souvenir' and gave them a bottle of honey as they were leaving.

"If we were to take these good people's money, then we'll definitely be doing something bad."

"We'll be villains!"

So the two headed towards their other target- the 'Gandor Family' headquarters- to have a peep...

"Look, that building over there."

"That building, huh!"

"But it's a little too quiet..."

Looking from the distance, there seemed to be some movement around the entrance.

From within the building emerged the silhouettes of three men.

Isaac and Miria quickly hid in the buildings' shadows to watch everything that was happening.

The dimness of the streets made it impossible to make out the others' faces clearly. But it was clear the men opposite were carrying what appeared to be a box very carefully. They stood at the building's entrance, discussing something, and from the look of things they didn't seem to have any intention of leaving at the moment.

"Ah---... There it is. That must be the organization's money."

"Really? Why're they moving it? Isn't that place safer?"

"It must be... you know, the bribes for the police. In this kind of darkness, three people watchfully transporting something together... it has to be money, right?"

"I see. Isaac is really a genius!"

"I know, right?... If that's the case, then there's only one thing left to do and that is... to steal the money now."

"Why?"

"If they're moving the money out today, then when we're robbing tomorrow there'll be nothing in the safe."

"I see! Isaac, you're brilliant!"

The wheels of fortune continued to advance quietly along its spiraling path.

"Hey, if we take it away just like this... will we really earn some cash?"

"We can only hope so."

"But, Dallas... you also saw Scott killed... when they're through usin' us, will we also get killed...?"

"'d be best if we forget about Scott... Relax. They really want this wine. Right?"

"Yeah."

"So, we only need to point our guns at this wine... we'll just say we won't give it to them if we don't get the money..."

"I see."

They didn't know this threat was useless against the all-powerful Szilard.

Just as the three people were about to leave, they saw a black shadow blocking their way. A tall man wearing a strange mask on his face... The strangest thing was the V-shaped, knife-like ornament on the hat on his head.

"...... Who's there......?"

Even if Dallas and his cohorts had gained indestructible flesh, they were still bewildered by the sight before them.

"...... Just call me ! That's right, I have returned alive from the Reichenback Falls!"

It seems Isaac really enjoyed Conan Doyle's works. But the Moriarty in the books never spoke in that manner, nor would he ever wear helmets or masks.

"Eh---... As evidence, you can see this is honey from the bees reared by Holmes."

He took out a bottle full of yellow honey. The souvenir from the Martillo shop earlier.

"...... Are you fucking kiddin' me?"

"No? ...... Ah--, then will do."

"You fuckin' around with us?"

"You guys are really stubborn aren't you... who should I be, then? The evil owner ? Or the Wicked Witch in 'The Wizard of Oz'? That would never work, I'm a man!"

All the characters Isaac just mentioned were from famous Broadway musicals. He seemed unexpectedly well-versed in this area, so perhaps he was born into a good family.

"Shut up, we don't have time to take care of you lunatics!"

Knives were drawn to threaten Isaac. At this moment, the focus of the three's attention were all drawn to the man before them.

"Then, what about me?"

Hearing the voice from behind, the three quickly turned around to look.

And something showered down on their faces.

"Arghhh"

They hastily turned back, but at this moment, Isaac threw out the same thing.

"My eyes are...... haa...... ba-ba-........ baa... bast......"

What showered down was a powder of pepper mixed with ash. Although only a fist-sized amount of this stuff, it was sufficient enough to cause significant damage to their vision and breathing. By the way, it was borrowed during the meal, so there was more than enough pepper.

The three couldn't stop coughing and breathing became extremely difficult. Even with an indestructible body, there was still no way of avoiding the pain.

Unable to take it any more, they opened their mouths to breath. But the result was to inhale the remaining particles of powder lingering in the air, and they once again fell into the same cycle of agony.

Dallas and his cohorts were simply incapable of drawing out their weapons, clutching their throats painfully as they rolled around on the ground.

Isaac and Miria took the opportunity to snatch up the wooden box and vanished from the scene like smoke.

In the end, Dallas and his comrades never found out the two people just now were the duo they met during the day.

Ennis also ran over, and she was very troubled by what she saw.

This was because Ennis had received Szilard's order of 'If by any chance they dared to drink my wine then kill them'.

About 50m from the Gandor hideout, she hid in a shadow in the opposite direction of Isaac, monitoring them...

Just now she saw a tall shadow blocking the way in front of the three men, then immediately from behind a small shadow rushed in and threw something. Then, Dallas and the other two suddenly gave out cries of agony. The two shadows snatched the Dallas and his crew, and, without stopping, ran towards the streets.

"What's going on...?"

To pursue the two who snatched the boxes, or to save Dallas and his crew. Ennis hesitated for a moment, but then she remembered that since Dallas and his crew won't die, so she gave chase in the direction of the wooden box.

Ennis leapt over Dallas and his crew, who had fallen onto the floor, and headed in the direction of the box.

On rushing out of the alleyway, she found that although some lights were still shining through several windows, there were already a few people on the streets. Worse though, there was no sign of those two people.

Ennis looked around two, three times, and walked towards the nearest alleyway. Actually there was still quite a distance between the alleyway she just exited and the next alleyway. From what she'd seen, the two were moving very quickly, so if they escaped into a nearby store then following them was out of question. However, seeing that most stores had 'closed' signs hanging on their doors, there was little cause for concern.

Resolved to her task, Ennis started to search the alleys one by one.

A few minutes later, she discovered something strange in the corner of an alleyway.

Among the things in the garbage dump, there were some unwanted items that were still new and very expensive.

Judging from their state, they hadn't been disposed off long ago.

"Helmet... mask?"

Next to these things was a discarded tuxedo jacket.

To Ennis, these were enough clues. Now that she thought about it, she seemed to have seen the two similar to the shadows she saw somewhere.

"It can't be...!"

Ennis was stunned as she reached her conclusion.

Her search was over for now.

"What... what what what the hee---ll!!!!!"

At the sight of the destruction before his eyes, Berga went berserk.

In the middle of the night, dozens of police went to meet up with the three Gandor brothers, who had gone straight home.

When they heard the police report they rushed to the scene. And there lay the corpses of those who were both subordinates and friends.

"........................"

The eldest brother said nothing as he stared at the sorrowful sight.

"Who...... Just who would do this......"

Even the ever-present, faint smile had completely vanished from the youngest brother's face.

As though trying to blast away the stench of blood hanging in the room, Berga let out a shout that shook the entire building.

"I'll kill him...... I don't care who he is! I'll definitely kill him----!"

A large number of the police present heard this 'declaration to kill', but no one dared to stop him.