The moment Ren, Yui, and Kaito burst out of the private vault corridor, the polished floors of the bank reflected their frantic footsteps like streaks of panic. The receptionist they'd passed earlier watched them sprint by, her expression blank—too blank. Ren's mind raced. How much did she know? How many eyes were watching us?
The wooden dragon in his pocket felt heavier than iron, as if it were dragging him toward a destiny he had never asked for.
They crashed through the revolving door and spilled into the bright daylight. The sun was blinding, a harsh contrast to the cold dread gripping Ren's chest. The normal bustle of the financial district continued around them—suits walking briskly, traffic honking, businessmen laughing into phone calls.
But beneath it, Ren sensed something else.
Eyes.
Dozens of them.
Watching. Calculating.
Kaito glanced sideways, jaw tense. "Don't look now, but we're being tailed."
Yui didn't even glance back. "No. We're surrounded."
Ren's pulse skyrocketed. He forced his shaking legs to move, weaving between pedestrians. The crowds made it hard to see who was following, but Ren could feel them—shadows shifting from every direction, closing in with chilling precision.
A man in a dark coat stepped into their path. Ren's heart jerked, but the man walked past without looking at them. Another figure leaned against a lamppost, sunglasses hiding cold eyes. A woman in a sleek black suit entered the sidewalk behind them, matching their pace step for step.
None of them looked directly at Ren.
But Ren felt their presence like predators tracing prey.
"Turn left," Kaito muttered. "Now."
They darted around a corner into a narrower business alley lined with delivery entrances and parked motorcycles. The alley offered shade but no safety. Behind them, thick footsteps followed—measured, steady, relentless.
"Who are they?" Yui whispered.
Ren didn't answer.
Because he feared he already knew.
They emerged from the alley onto a quieter, open plaza—a large empty space surrounded by tall buildings. Fountain in the middle. Benches. A few scattered trees.
But no escape.
Ren slowed. Then stopped entirely.
Kaito cursed under his breath. "Ren—what are you doing?!"
"We can't keep running," Ren said, voice cracking. "They're everywhere. We need to see what they want."
Yui stepped in front of him, eyes sharp. "You don't negotiate with people who stalk you out of a bank, Ren."
But it was too late.
A deep voice boomed behind them.
"REN HAYATO. STOP."
The three froze.
Ren turned slowly as a tall man stepped into the plaza from behind—broad-shouldered, wearing a long black overcoat, tattooed hands clasped behind his back. His presence felt suffocating.
But worse…
He wasn't alone.
From every entrance to the plaza emerged groups of men and women—hundreds of them—moving with unified intent. They formed a slow, tightening circle around Ren and his friends. The sight was surreal, terrifying, and impossible.
Their clothing said everything:
Sleek suits with inked sleeves — Yakuza.
Dark coats with jade pendants — Triad elders.
Sharp Italian stilettos and tailored vests — Italian Famiglia.
American gang colours — street crews and syndicate leaders.
Scarred mercenaries.
Silent shadows dressed like ghosts.
The underworld had come together.
For him.
Ren felt Yui's fingers dig painfully into his arm. Kaito stepped protectively beside them, though he looked like he might vomit.
The tall man in the overcoat stepped forward. The circle parted for him with instinctive respect—or fear.
He stopped just a few feet away, eyes scanning Ren's face with unsettling familiarity.
When he spoke, his voice echoed through the plaza.
"You carry the Wooden Dragon."
Ren's breath hitched. He subconsciously touched the pocket where it rested.
"Show it," the man said.
Ren didn't move.
Yui whispered urgently, "Don't."
Kaito muttered, "This feels like a trap."
But the man didn't threaten. He simply stepped aside.
And someone else walked forward.
Someone older, expressionless, wearing a dark ceremonial robe embroidered with gold dragons. His eyes were sharp, ancient. His very presence silenced the plaza further.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet—yet carried more authority than the booming voice before.
"The Dragon Seal has awakened."
Ren shook his head. "W–what are you talking about? I don't understand any of this."
The robed elder's expression softened. Not kindly… but knowingly.
"The man you helped last night was Wu Long… Dragon Head of the global underworld. A ruler, a judge, a peacekeeper in shadows. His authority, his empire, his legacy…"
He pointed at Ren.
"Now belong to you."
Ren stepped back in horror. "No. No—there's been a mistake. I'm just a student. I didn't ask for—"
"Legacy is not chosen," the elder said. "It is earned. You stopped for him. You carried him. You honoured him. And he chose you."
Ren's stomach twisted.
Yui whispered, "Ren… what does he mean chose you?"
Ren couldn't answer. He didn't know.
But everyone else did.
A ripple moved through the gathered factions—something between reverence and tension. Men in suits lowered their heads. Tattooed enforcers knelt. Even the Italian Don placed a hand over his chest.
Every faction bowed as one.
"Long live the Dragon Head!" someone shouted.
Voices rose—hundreds of them—echoing in unison:
"LONG LIVE THE DRAGON HEAD!"
"LONG LIVE THE DRAGON HEAD!"
"LONG LIVE THE DRAGON HEAD!"
Ren staggered backward, overwhelmed. The weight of their voices crushed him.
Yui grabbed his hand. "Ren… run."
Kaito whispered, "Now."
Ren didn't think.
He ran.
The plaza erupted into chaos—shouts, movement, confusion. Some men tried to follow, others held them back, arguing about protocol, loyalty, and danger. Ren sprinted down a side street, dragging Yui and Kaito with him, heart hammering like a war drum.
Behind them, the underworld roared—shaking the city.
Ren didn't stop running until his lungs burned and his vision blurred.
But even as they escaped, even as they found momentary safety behind the rusted shutter of an abandoned parking garage—
Ren knew the truth:
There was no going back.
Not from the eyes he'd seen.
Not from the voices calling his name.
And certainly not from the power now burning in his pocket.
The Wooden Dragon.
The key to everything.
And possibly… the end of his life as he knew it.