Al Capone's Tommy

The Thompson submachine gun. Nicknamed the Chicago Typewriter, this gun was made during World War I and boasts a century of history.

This particular Thompson was originally the weapon of choice for mafia hitmen in my old world. The one who truly recognized its value and integrated it perfectly was none other than Al Capone, the worst and most powerful mafia boss who ruled the underworld during Prohibition.

Amused by this, the City of Seoul developers incorporated it into the game's lore, resulting in the relic slumbering in this shop: [Al Capone's Tommy].

"Al Capone's Tommy? Don't talk nonsense, kid. You think a dump like this would stock something like that?"

The shopkeeper's face twisted in initial shock, but he quickly switched to brazen denial.

I ignored him, straightened up, and said coldly, "Are you saying Calione intelligence is wrong?"

My sudden icy shift made him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flinch and tremble. But like a man with no choice, he grimaced at me.

"Bullshit! Even if we had it, what makes you think I'd hand it over to you?"

So that's how it was. Part of me wanted to flip the shop upside down and grab Al Capone's Tommy right then, but...

This was Calione territory too. I didn't want to tarnish my reputation needlessly, so I sighed, walked to the counter, and looked up at him.

"Fine. Then let me make you an offer you can't refuse."

"What?"

He blinked in confusion at my sudden proposal. Ignoring him, I headed to a corner of the shop and peeled off a sticker from the wall.

"From the looks of it, this is the mark of the Blunti family under Calione. Having it means you're under their protection, right?"

Blunti Family (Blunti family)—a group specializing in blunt weapons, infamous even among Calione's affiliates for their poor quality.

Originally a vigilante group, the Blunti family changed after their second boss took over. Guardians of the city and the weak became obsessed with lining their own pockets.

Vito Calione, boss of the Calione family, took notice of their corruption. Remembering this, I'd made a request to my father today.

'Father, I have a favor to ask.'

'As my son?'

'Yes. Please leave the Blunti family matter to me.'

Among my many playthroughs, there was this line:

[Not long after the academy semester started, the Blunti family was annihilated. By Don Vito Calione himself.]

This event was unforgettable in CS. It was the first mention of the underworld king's might after starting the game.

[Government intervention? No way. When a family cleans its own house, what can the government do? That's Vito Calione to them.]

And that man was my father.

'The Blunti family... where did you hear that?'

Father had asked seriously when I made my request. Only a few in the organization knew about purging the Blunti.

I couldn't say it was from the game, so I gave the answer he'd love most.

'I'm a Calione too.'

My prediction hit the mark as his lips curved up.

'So you can gather that level of intel on your own?'

I just smiled instead of answering directly.

'Even if the Blunti are weakened from their prime, they're still under Calione. What do you plan to do?'

In the original story, Father handled it alone. But as the new heir, for the surest path, I gave the answer he'd approve.

'I'll handle it the Calione way.'

'The Calione way? Kahahaha!!'

It was basically saying I'd do it like him. Father got it and laughed heartily.

'Fine, do it your way. Tell me if you need anything.'

How much prep went into hearing that? Seizing the chance, I smiled brightly.

'Then, one thing—may I ask a favor?'

That was just hours ago. Now, I'd earned Father's approval and a new weapon.

For this moment.

"The Blunti protect this place? You serious? Looks more like you're getting exploited."

"How did you..."

I flashed my ID in his face. My full name clear as day:

"Th-this...?"

Horror washed over his face at my surname.

"Boss's orders. As of today, the Blunti family is excommunicated from Calione and will pay for their betrayal. That's the will of Don, my father."

I turned and headed out. Immediately—

"W-wait! Y-Young Master! Young Master!"

Now that he knew who I was, his tone flipped. He rushed out, grabbing me.

From punk kid to young master in seconds.

"What now?"

Irritated, I snapped. He glanced around, shook his head, and clung to my arm.

"You're not going alone, are you? Rotten or not, they're still Blunti!"

Why state the obvious? Sighing, I shook off his hand.

"I never said I came alone."

I'd told Father: I'd handle it the Calione way.

Now, time for a Calione veteran collaboration.

* * *

Before the Blunti family mansion.

My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠original self was a 21st-century office drone. I hated violence and swearing, so I'd normally be shaking here.

Yet my heart was eerily calm.

"Must be this."

My new trait.

【Hitman】

[Cold-Blooded Killer - The organization's blade that executes foes. Hitmen stay calm in any situation. Greatly increases firearm proficiency.]

The new Hitman ability kept me composed no matter what.

The massive mansion before me: Blunti headquarters, Blunti House.

Two armed guards at the gate, surveillance cameras. Dozens more inside.

"...Let's go."

I took a deep breath and strode toward Blunti House.

"Hey! Who the hell are you?"

One guard yelled as I approached the gate. Ignoring him, I faced the camera and recited my prepared line.

"A message from Don Vito: 'Degenerate Carlo Blunti, you have tarnished Calione honor and are excommunicated. But if you come out now and repent sincerely, I will ensure a new life for you.' Does Carlo Blunti accept the boss's offer?"

A Calione heir lesson: the "Last Chance" rule—Father's final mercy for former family.

The guard froze, then muttered into his radio. Soon, he grinned.

"Boss says, 'Fuck off and die.'"

"Regrettable. Force it is."

I smiled back.

"Chi cerca trova."

Seek, and you shall find.

Instantly, the mansion grounds erupted in blinding flashes and deafening noise. Explosions, gunfire, shell casings clattering, excited shouts from our men, enemy screams like children.

When the chaos faded to whimpers, my in-ear crackled.

-Entrance. Clear, Young Master.

"Thanks."

I nodded back briefly and stepped through the half-destroyed gate.

Blunti Takedown Phase 1. Begin.

"Wh-what the hell?!"

As the outside racket ended, burly men poured from the mansion, stunned by the hellscape.

I declared coldly to them.

"Executioner Eugene Han Calione. Anyone who wants to live, get on the ground now."

Fear rippled through them at the carnage—far beyond goblin terror.

But not enough. Realizing the ambush, they glared.

"That punk...!"

"It's just one green kid! Don't pussy out!"

Smart one rallying them. I preferred crushing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hope.

"Idiots. You see this and still think I came alone?"

"...?"

I pointed at the would-be leader.

"You first. Out."

"What the fu—"

A hole bloomed in his forehead, no warning. He stood blankly, then crumpled.

"...What?"

"What happened?! He just dropped!"

"Sniper?! No gunshot!"

"Correct. You there—down, and you live."

The one who hit the dirt was right; a sniper covered my back.

Our men cleared the flanks; I smashed the core. My hunt style. Eugene Han Calione's way.

"Anyone still standing rejects surrender."

I shed my black suit, folded it neatly, rolled my sleeves, fixed my tie, and glared.

"Execution of the Blunti family begins now."

Did they sense their end?

"Get him!"

They charged with blunt weapons: maces, bats, spiked clubs. Brutal lineup.

Sorry, but they weren't the main force.

-Covering fire.

Our men from the walls opened up. Overwhelm numbers with numbers—unchanging law.

After the storm, most rabble groaned on the ground.

The standees: Awakeners bullets couldn't kill. True Blunti power.

"You bastard!! Die!"

Bat-wielding rabble charged. My man stepped forward; I blocked him wordlessly.

These were my prey, post-first cull.

"Hiss..."

Inhaling, I felt their fear: terror, despair, screams, rage, chaos, pain.

It melted into my veins, swelling muscles, sharpening mind.

"Die—!"

I punched aside the incoming bat, gripped the earth, and smashed through to his face.

Crunch. Styrofoam give. His face caved; he flew back.

"Monster!!"

Mace from the side. I folded my arm, elbowed it away, left straight. Another sailed off.

Two down. More brutally, overwhelmingly—power surged.

"Awakeners ignore bullets! Focus the kid!"

Smart call. Bullets don't kill Awakeners.

But opponents were Calione enforcers. Specialists at restraining the bulletproof.

With support, I crushed, shattered the mob. Blood, bullets, gunpowder—pure battlefield.

Finally, no standees left; gunfire slowed.

"Any survivors who want to live, stay down belly-first."

I shook blood and dirt from my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands. Some finally complied.

"Good boys."

Ancestors were right: pain teaches.

Wiping blood on my shirt, a yell from the mansion.

"Fuck, what the hell?!"

Finally. Blunti boss, "Red Bat" Carlo Blunti. Clueless mutt aping his master's name.

"Just cleaned up, and more blood."

Grumbling, I met his disgusted glare.

"You crazy fuck... So, Vito Calione's errand boy? Still just a brat—think I'll fear you?"

Posing casual for control. Before I could call his bluff—

"Of course. You should fear him. Carlo."

Black fedora, groomed mustache, black suit, white gloves. Dignity personified.

Father's right hand, Calione's top hitman: Parnello Ramichi. The Calione sword, an elder.

"You mock him with that filthy mouth, knowing who he is? Carlo."

"P-Parnello Ramichi...! Why are you...?!"

Blunti froze. Never imagined Parnello here.

"Young Master's first mission. Came to watch."

He nudged a downed man with his foot.

"Chair."

"...Urk."

The man knelt prone; Parnello sat, legs crossed. Lit a cigarette, exhaled smoke, smiled.

"I'll cheer you on, Young Master."

"...Right."

Two favors from Father: Parnello as backup for the hit, and 1v1 with Blunti.

For the solo-reward. In my final concept, The Godfather 'Saber Crowd', I hit Blunti early via rivalry.

The drop: Midas's Gloves.

Essential for my bare-knuckle endgame build.

Requesting Blunti triggered:

With a trait reward? No-brainer. Father was strong enough; I could take this.

"Ha! Fucking Caliones. Gonna gang up on me now?"

"Amusing. You think you're worth that?"

"What!?"

"I alone suffice."

Blunti's face twisted.

"Me? Head of Blunti family, Blood Bat Blunti? Fight a milk-scented brat like you?!"

Yes, rage. Fill your head with fury.

"Parnello! The family owes me honor! Even in execution, a fair fight!"

"Traitor talks too much."

"What?"

He whipped around, glaring. I meant him to hear.

"Young Master offers to fight. What's the complaint? Die squirming like the worm you are. We Caliones grant no honor to scum like you."

"...Ha! Young Master? You, Don's son?"

"You know it. Don't I look the part?"

"You do, Young Master."

Parnello quipped perfectly. I grinned at Blunti.

"There you go. Last curiosity sated before death."

The mansion's swirling emotions seeped into my heart with each breath, coiling through me.

Ah, the effort for this field. Maxing [Baby Boss] trait and Bloodline: Calione—meaningless sprays to start, spare to build fear, brutalize deliberately.

All for now.

"Traitor Carlo Blunti. I execute Calione's will."

Rain began falling in the Blunti family garden.