At the infirmary, Ogre lay on his bed, his arms and legs wrapped tightly in bandages. Deep bruises marred his skin, evidence of the brutal encounter that had nearly claimed his life.
Beside him sat Seryu Ubiquitous, clutching her faithful canine companion, Koro, who had already reverted to his smaller form after the injuries his owner's superior sustained were treated. The room was quiet save for the soft rustling of linens and distant footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Ogre's thoughts drifted back to that fateful night—the night he nearly met his end. And yet, in that moment of desperation, he was rescued not by a comrade or a friend, but by someone cold, calculating, and eerily composed. Someone who made the choice to save him without emotion.
The door opened with deliberate weight. A towering, broad-shouldered man entered, his very presence commanding immediate attention. His spiky blond hair framed a hardened face, two prominent bangs descending like horns. Piercing blue eyes scanned the room with military precision.
He wore a black, skintight long-sleeved top beneath silver-gray armor, his gauntlet-shaped Teigu—Thunder God's Rage: Adramelech—resting heavily on his arms. A red cloak flowed behind him, contrasting sharply with his white pants. Massive shoulder guards adorned with yellow tomoe symbols completed the imposing ensemble.
The moment he stepped into view, Seryu shot up from her seat and saluted crisply, her posture stiff with respect. So great was his presence that even Ogre, despite his painful injuries, forced himself to sit upright and offer a salute of his own, his expression shifting from pain to reverence.
"At ease, soldier," Budo said with authority, motioning for those present to relax from their salutes and formal postures.
He made his way to the ward where Captain Ogre lay in bed, his limbs tightly bound with bandages and bruises marking his hardened body. Seated beside him was Seryu Ubiquitous, clutching her loyal bio-dog companion, Koro, now reduced to its smaller, passive form. Despite the situation, both stood to acknowledge Budo's arrival—Seryu with a sharp salute, and Ogre with as much posture as his injuries would allow.
"Looks like you've been through hell, Captain Ogre… or should I say 'Ogre the Demon'?" Budo said, his tone laced with dry humor as he sized up the injured officer.
"There's no way Captain Ogre would fall to such a malicious and cowardly act of evildoing!" Seryu proclaimed with fervent righteousness.
"Calm now, Seryu-chan… I'm still alive." Ogre responded with a smirk, clearly trying to ease her intensity. He turned back to Budo, meeting his superior's eyes. "Isn't that enough proof that I crossed hell and came back?"
"Apart from that scar running across your eye? Yeah… I'd say that counts," Budo said with a slight grin.
The tension eased as the three shared a brief, hearty laugh, a moment of levity amid the grim setting.
"Seryu, it's time for your patrol. I'll be fine here," Ogre said, his voice still carrying a faint roughness.
"Right away, Captain Ogre." Seryu gave a crisp salute and exited with Koro, her sense of duty undeterred.
Once she was gone, the atmosphere shifted. Budo's gaze grew more serious as he approached Ogre's bed.
"Ogre… can you recall what happened last night?" he asked firmly.
Ogre scoffed. "Don't peg me for some poor fool who lost his memory. I remember everything. I was just having a couple of swigs in the Entertainment District, minding my own business, when someone approached me. Said they wanted to talk. I led him into one of the main street alleyways—figured it was a simple confrontation."
He shook his head slightly. "Then he lunged at me with a knife. Fast. Precise. I wasn't ready."
Budo exhaled, disappointment laced in his breath.
"Ogre… even a fool would know that screams 'trap.'"
"Oh, please," Ogre said, brushing it off with a weak chuckle. "I'm Ogre the Demon. I can take on anyone, anytime. I just… underestimated this guy. He was quick, too quick. For someone built like a boulder, he moved like a shadow. I could barely land a blow."
"Do you know anything about him?" Budo pressed, his voice calm but intense, demanding clarity.
"That's the thing," Ogre muttered. His voice trembled—not with fear, but with fury held barely in check. "That's what I wanted to ask of you. I want you to find that bastard Gamal so I can hurt him so bad he regrets ever sending his men after me."
Budo held Ogre's gaze firmly, his blue eyes narrowing at the outburst. For a brief moment, Ogre's request teetered on the edge of a tantrum, his frustration spilling through the pain etched across his bandaged body.
"Ogre… you won't get that chance anymore."
Ogre's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Gamal's dead. Night Raid got to him that same night."
A heavy silence fell between them. Ogre leaned back slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. The attempt on his life, the chaotic fire, and now Gamal's sudden death—it all crashed down on him at once, a storm of realization and confusion.
"I see… so they were likely after me all along," he muttered, his tone shifting to one of grim acceptance.
Budo didn't speak, but a small nod confirmed Ogre's growing suspicions. He was not the collateral—he was a target.
"Anyway," Ogre continued, exhaling deeply as he tried to focus, "I was caught off guard by that man… until someone else appeared. Someone who started cutting him down without hesitation. I don't know who he is, but the way he handled that bastard—it was surgical. Ruthless. Precise."
He paused, staring down at the crisp white sheets of the infirmary bed, his thoughts drifting again.
Then, the memory resurfaced—vivid and chilling.
"Consider it a favor. I hope you know how to repay it."
A favor, huh…
Ogre's eyes glazed with reflection. That stranger had saved his life without asking for anything upfront. But the weight of those words lingered like a blade hanging above him. Somewhere deep inside, Ogre knew that this favor would not go uncollected.
It was a rather quiet morning at a certain residence in Little Italy. The sun filtered softly through the blinds, casting narrow lines of light across the polished dining table where four of the Five Angels had gathered. Josef was absent, having called in sick earlier that day. Despite the calm exterior of the house, tension lingered thick in the air.
The first to break the silence was Genco, his voice cautious but firm.
"Vito-san… what exactly did you see last night?"
Vito leaned forward, fingers interlaced as he rested his arms on the table.
"Night Raid," he said plainly. "Those two assassini took Gamal's life right before our eyes."
There was no fear in Vito's tone—only certainty, conviction, and a startling calmness that contrasted with the gravity of his words.
Genco's eyes narrowed. "And did you provoke them in any way? Is that why Akame tried to strike at you?"
Vito shook his head slowly. "If I had, I wouldn't be sitting here with all of you today. No... she rushed at me purely on instinct."
"Instinctively?" Genco echoed, unsettled.
Vito gave a firm nod. A moment of uneasy silence passed before Genco sighed deeply, the lines on his face seeming more pronounced under the weight of concern.
"Vito… what were you thinking, showing up in front of Night Raid during one of their missions?"
Vito's answer came without hesitation. "Curiosity, my friend. I needed to see how they operate in the shadows with my own eyes."
"And? What did you see?" Genco asked, leaning forward, clearly not yet convinced.
Vito's gaze grew sharper, thoughtful. "As skilled and driven as they are, their strategy won't work against a deeply rooted enemy. You cannot topple a rotten tree by slicing off a single branch."
Genco considered his words carefully, then offered a counterpoint through his own analogy.
"You make a fair point. But what if that rotten tree has grown stronger with a trunk so thick it defies normal means of destruction?"
Vito smiled, a hint of fire flickering behind his eyes. "Even the thickest trunk of a rotten tree is still hollow at its core. Eventually, it will collapse. But if you send a few birds to peck at it, the effort is wasted. Fortunately for us, we are not birds—we are beavers. We gnaw at the trunk until the whole tree comes crashing down."
The two simply stared at each other in silent acknowledgement, the tension in the air gradually thickening with understanding. Genco then shifted his attention to Tatsumi. His eyes narrowed, the usual edge in his expression sharpening further.
"And you, young man… What. The Hell. Were you thinking?"
"Uhh… saving a wounded man in the alley before he bites it? What's wrong with that?" Tatsumi replied with a shrug, feigning innocence.
Genco's tone turned incredulous. "That—that's no wounded man. That's Captain Ogre! Ogre the Demon, for crying out loud. The same Ogre who frames innocent people to cover up Gamal's crimes."
Tatsumi simply smiled, calm and unfazed.
"Well, now that Gamal's dead, he's no longer a threat. And maybe Ogre's got no reason left to keep playing that role."
The entire table fell into silence, the weight of Tatsumi's statement sinking in like a stone in still water. The implications churned beneath the surface.
Then, as if struck by a revelation, Genco suddenly pieced together what Tatsumi truly intended.
"Unless, of course... you don't intend to use him to cover for our crimes, right?"
Tatsumi gave a soft chuckle, brushing a hand through his hair. "We're not going to stoop to Gamal's level. I just had an idea. A different kind of leverage."
Vito leaned forward, curiosity piqued and intensity burning in his gaze. "Tell us more, ragazzo. Don't keep us guessing."
Tatsumi straightened his back, confidence radiating in his tone. "Nothing too complicated. But what if… we pay him to help out with our business? Get him involved—have him support Little Italy. Put his authority behind our operation. In public, he's still the Captain Ogre they know. In private? He's our shield."
The room fell silent once more, but this time the hush wasn't born from shock—it was the heavy, calculated quiet of minds racing to process the sheer magnitude of Tatsumi's unorthodox proposition. This wasn't just a simple manipulation through bribery. No, this was about long-term vision, about calculated influence, about staking everything on a far riskier gambit with potential repercussions.
Tatsumi stood his ground, his expression calm yet resolute. Every pair of eyes was on him, their thoughts swimming through the implications of what he had proposed. The atmosphere was dense with tension, like the calm before a thunderstorm.
Genco was the first to break the silence.
"You're telling me… we'll build him up? In a way that makes him… respected?"
Tatsumi responded with a simple nod, his gaze unwavering. It was a quiet but firm affirmation. One that didn't need embellishment to carry weight.
The others glanced around at one another. Their expressions were a mixture of disbelief, curiosity, and admiration. The logic was risky, yet not without merit. A few skeptical eyebrows raised, but nobody outright dismissed the plan.
"I like that…" Genco finally muttered, his grin growing slowly. "It's insane, but there's genius in it. When do we start?"
He chuckled softly to himself, marveling at the complexity and audacity of the proposal. His amusement wasn't mocking—it was tinged with respect. The rest of the room began to nod in agreement, some cautiously, others with quiet excitement. A seed had been planted—and in that silence, it had begun to take root.