The moment Rachel agreed to let them stay, the dozen men looked as if they had been granted amnesty, their expressions instantly relaxing, their eyes brightening with a kind of relief that didn't belong to criminals but to people who had been cornered for too long.
To outsiders, they looked like thugs.
But to Rachel, they looked like lost dogs who had finally found a leash to cling to.
They had dropped out early, wandered around without direction, and eventually followed their Boss, living off fists and loyalty instead of diplomas and futures.
Now that the Boss was dead and the organization had split apart, they had nowhere to go, because the underworld didn't forgive weakness, and it definitely didn't feed the defeated.
If they hadn't found that childhood photo among the Boss's belongings, they wouldn't even have known he had a daughter, because despite the countless women he'd been with, he had never once mentioned the existence of a child.
So they searched.
With nothing but a photo, a surname, and a few scattered clues, they combed through cities and counties until they finally found a girl in the County of Hainaut who fit the description, a high school student named Rachel who resembled the child in the photo far too much to be a coincidence.
Even though the age didn't match perfectly, even though it sounded ridiculous, the similarity and the surname were enough for them to believe.
In their world, belief mattered more than logic.
Rachel also learned their names.
The cold, sharp-eyed man was William Smith.
The chubby loudmouth was Martin King.
The rest were mostly young men with useless vocational schooling, no stable work, and the kind of past that didn't belong on a resume.
Rachel didn't care about their past.
What she cared about was the future.
And whether she was about to get buried in it.
She hesitated for a moment, then asked the question that made her skin crawl.
"Your Boss… I mean… my dad… how did he die?"
Martin's face turned serious, as if he were reporting a sacred fact.
"He was ambushed," he said. "Stabbed hundreds of times."
Rachel's eyelids twitched.
Hundreds?
That wasn't murder.
That was hatred.
Martin added solemnly, "But, Young Miss, don't worry. The boss died with his eyes closed. He must've gone peacefully."
Rachel stared at him.
Peacefully?
He got turned into meat paste.
If the dead could speak, their Boss would crawl out of hell just to slap this idiot.
She swallowed her emotions and immediately shifted to what mattered most.
"Then… did he leave me anything?" she asked cautiously. "Money? Gold? A hidden stash? Anything buried somewhere?"
She needed capital.
Even rebirth didn't come with free startup funds.
But Martin shook his head. "The Boss died too suddenly. He didn't leave instructions."
Rachel's heart instantly cooled.
So she got the danger, but none of the benefits.
Perfect.
She turned around and started walking away without hesitation.
Martin panicked and chased after her. "Miss! Where are you going?"
"Back to school," Rachel replied without looking back.
"We'll drive you!" Martin blurted.
Rachel stopped mid-step and turned around slowly. "You still have a car?"
It was the weekend, and she had just returned from her grandfather's place with only two hundred euros in her pocket. The school was several kilometers away, and walking would waste time she didn't have.
If they had a car, she wasn't stupid enough to refuse.
Martin immediately barked at one of the men.
"Go! Bring the car!"
A few minutes later, an old minivan rolled up, battered and rattling like it had survived three wars and a flood, its engine sounding like it was coughing up its last breath.
Martin opened the passenger door with exaggerated politeness.
"Miss, please."
Rachel stared at the van, silently swallowing her dignity, then climbed in.
Immediately after, the dozen men squeezed into the back, stacking themselves like cargo, shoulders pressed together, knees jammed against seats, making the car look one pothole away from collapsing.
Rachel finally understood why she was offered the passenger seat.
If she sat back there, she'd either suffocate or get crushed.
Martin leaned forward eagerly. "Miss, should we go to school now?"
Rachel looked out the window, silent for two seconds.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"No."
The van went quiet.
Martin's voice turned cautious. "Then… where are we going?"
Rachel turned her head and spoke calmly.
"Police station."
The back seat exploded with panic.
A few of them stiffened so hard they looked like statues.
Martin's face turned pale.
"Y-Young Miss, why?!"
Rachel crossed her arms, expression cold.
"Because I need to know exactly what kind of people I picked up," she said. "Whether any of you are fugitives, whether any of you have serious criminal records, and whether I'm about to get dragged into prison before my college entrance exam."
Martin's lips trembled.
"Miss… we're loyal…"
"Loyalty is useless in court," Rachel snapped.
Then she stared at them through the rearview mirror. "Either you go with me, or you leave now and never appear in front of me again."
The threat landed like a hammer.
Silence followed.
Finally, William spoke, his voice steady.
"We go."
Martin turned to him in shock. "Brother Will!"
William's eyes were cold. "If we follow her, we follow her completely to death. No hiding."
The others swallowed hard.
"Yes, Brother Will."
And so the minivan drove toward the police station, filled with criminals who suddenly looked like schoolchildren heading to an exam.
When they arrived, the moment the officers saw the van and watched a dozen suspicious-looking young men pour out of it, the atmosphere instantly turned tense.
One officer stepped forward, eyes sharp. "What are you doing here?"
The blond driver almost cried.
Before he could speak, Rachel stepped forward with the politest smile she could force.
"Hello, officer," she said sweetly. "Don't misunderstand. We're not here to cause trouble."
The officer frowned harder. "Then why are you here?"
Rachel took a deep breath. "They're here to… turn themselves in."
The officer's expression blanked. "Turn themselves in?"
Rachel coughed and corrected quickly.
"Not exactly. They just want to check if they have criminal records, and whether anyone is wanted."
The officer stared at her as if she had personally rewritten the law.
"Checking yourselves?"
But his eyes swept across the group again, and in the end, he waved them inside.
"Fine. Names. ID numbers. One by one."
Paper and pen were brought out.
The men sat stiffly, writing like obedient students, while Rachel stood aside, arms crossed, watching like an examiner.
Then the officer began reading from the system.
"William Smith," he said, voice flat. "Fighting. Detained one month."
William's expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened.
"Martin King," the officer continued. "Disturbing public order. Fourteen days."
Martin's face turned red.
"Samuel Carter. Ten days."
"Ross Taylor. Seven days."
One name after another.
One record after another.
Rachel's expression grew darker with each line, her stomach sinking deeper, because she realized these people weren't just "misunderstood loyal subordinates."
They were exactly what they looked like.
A pack of trouble.
In the end, only two or three were clean.
The rest all had some kind of stain.
The officer finally looked up, his gaze sharp and suspicious.
Then he stared directly at Rachel.
"And you?" he asked slowly. "What's your relationship with them?"
Rachel's heart skipped.
She forced a calm smile, the kind a lawyer would use in court.
"They're my classmates," she said.
The officer stared at her.
His expression clearly said he didn't believe a single word.
"Classmates," he repeated, voice cold.
Rachel nodded firmly.
"Yes."
The officer leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
Then he spoke slowly, as if warning her. "Girl, you should be careful who you associate with."
Rachel smiled obediently.
"Of course, officer."
But the moment she walked out of the station, the smile vanished from her face.
Because now she understood the situation clearly.
She wasn't being followed by bodyguards.
She was being followed by criminals.
And if she made one wrong step, she wouldn't just lose her rebirth.
She would lose her entire future.
William stepped beside her and spoke quietly. "You've seen everything."
Rachel glanced at him.
"Yes," she said.
William's eyes darkened.
"Now you understand why we can't leave," he said. "If we go back empty-handed… we die."
Rachel's fingers curled slowly.
Then she lifted her gaze toward the street ahead.
"Then don't die," she said softly.
Because she had just realized something even more terrifying.
Whether she wanted it or not…
She was already involved.