Carlo Blunti
Carlo Blunti. An Irish-American immigrant who, like so many others, had fled dungeons to cross into South Korea. His ability hardened whatever he held to four times its original density. Thanks to that power, he'd joined the Calione family and even built his own crew... but.
"You've broken the rules of the Calione family."
If you were part of the Calione, there were certain things you never did. One of them was "drugs." Distribution, consumption, sales, purchases—all strictly forbidden.
"You ordered your men to sell drugs to children. You got addicted yourself. And you even manufactured them."
This wasn't some petty grievance like a bad attitude or hurting local businesses. It was on another level entirely. In the game, because he'd sold drugs to score artifacts and power-ups, my father, Vito Calione, had stepped in personally. When he could've just sent an enforcer.
"Drugs? You're telling me you wrecked my crew over some bullshit like that? Over that?!"
"...Yeah. And that's exactly why you're dying today over some bullshit like that."
At his peak, maybe he'd have been a problem. But the Blunti now was just a strung-out junkie. I could handle a drugged-up lunatic on my own.
"You little punk-ass shit! Fine, let's see how the old man reacts when I rip his one and only heir to pieces!"
A low hum rose as the aluminum bat in his hands wrapped in a faint glow. His ability activating.
"That stick? Doesn't scare me one bit."
I already knew everything about Blunti. And I'd set up the perfect scenario for this exact moment.
First, I picked today—the day he was throwing a drug-fueled party.
Second, I'd left his lowlife goons alive beforehand to power up my
Trait: Baby Boss
boost.
Third, my new
Trait: Hitman
kept my head cool even in its first real test.
And finally.
The Calione blood still saw these lowlifes as enemies, and the fight had started the moment I set foot in this mansion. Everything was going to plan.
I clashed my fists together—clang!—the sound of metal ringing out.
"Let me see what a former Calione exec's got."
I kicked off the ground and charged. He swung his bat wide and rushed me too.
"Die!"
His bat arced toward my head. I slipped inside his guard, pinned his right arm, and slammed a headbutt with everything I had.
"Grahhh!"
"One hit won't end it."
I grabbed his collar as he staggered back and smashed his nose again. And again.
"Get off me, you little shit!"
Blunti shoved me away with a kick. Now that we had some distance, I saw his mangled nose gushing blood.
"You fucking bastard! I'll kill you! Kill you!!!"
He charged again, bat swinging. I raised my left arm to block—bones rattled, pain exploding late but fierce. My face twisted, and he grinned.
"Block that? That arm ain't yours anymore!"
His attacks poured in relentlessly. I kept blocking to protect my head, but my arm was gonna snap if this kept up.
"Yeah! Keep blocking! Let's see how long!"
He reared back for a finisher, opening his guard wide. I dropped mine in a flash and drove my fist into his jaw. He crumpled backward.
"Down already? I haven't even started."
"Crazy fucker."
The longer this dragged, the more I wanted to laugh. No—I was laughing. Why I'd jumped in first against Blunti? The bloodline effect flooding my veins.
One of
's effects.
Adrenaline surged through me, but I steadied my breath, reining in the high.
"I'd love to keep going, but the cops'll crash the party soon. Time to wrap it up. Get on your feet."
He sensed the shift in my aura and started backing away, trying to bolt. Finally scared? Too late for that.
"W-wait! Let me see the boss! P-please! S-spare me!"
He rubbed his hands together, tears streaming as I closed in. I ignored the begging, clenched my fist till the knuckles whitened, and declared in a cold voice:
"In the name of Calione. Enforcer Eugene Han Calione. I sentence Carlo Blunti to execution."
Crunch.
The puddle from the downpour turned red under the pouring rain.
Sirens wailed through the Foreign Quarter. A patrol car barreled through the rain, red and blue lights flashing.
The report? Gunshots and unknown booms from Blunti family turf.
"Gunfire on a night like this? Blunti crew lost their damn minds?"
Detective Kang Cheol-ha, smoking in the passenger seat, flicked his butt out the window.
"Hyungnim, even for Calione subordinates, isn't this serious? Should we really go alone?"
Driver Han Jong-su sweated bullets.
"Hell yeah it's serious! Gunfire in South Korea? If it wasn't Calione, the riot squad'd be here!"
To the government, Calione was untouchable. They didn't start shit without reason. Fighting them meant worrying about the whole regime collapsing. Which was why they didn't clash either.
"Least they listen to reason."
Thanks to Don Vito Calione, the emperor of the underworld.
The car screeched to a halt. They stared blankly at the chaos ahead.
Blunti's mansion was trashed. Entrance riddled with bullet holes, bodies of his crew sprawled everywhere.
"What the hell happened...?"
Kang's mind reeled. Calione sub-family attacked? Who the fuck's crazy enough?
Even scumbags were Calione. Who'd touch them?
Guns drawn, they crept toward the mansion.
"H-hyung. This looks bad. Call backup?"
Han sensed trouble. Kang ruffled his hair in frustration.
"Gotta see what's up first! ...Just check the scene, then decide."
Han nodded. As they approached,
"Thought it was some rando. Detective Kang Cheol-ha."
A middle-aged man in a fedora approached with a smile.
"D-don't move!"
"You psycho!"
Han aimed; Kang smacked the gun down.
"Hyung?"
Kang caught his breath, eyeing the man.
"Parnello. What brings you here?"
Calione's number two. Don's right hand. Parnello Ramichi. The Calione hunting dog.
"P-Parnello?! Hyungnim, that's the guy! Calione's—mmph!"
Kang clamped Han's mouth, holstered his gun.
"What brings you here, Parnello?"
Sweat beaded on Kang's face, but Parnello smiled pleasantly.
"Calione 'execution.' Boss heard rumors of drugs circulating. Ordered it."
Kang's brain spun. Yeah, intel on Blunti turf drugs. He'd wanted to bust it, but orders from above: Stand down. Did brass know? What now?
Then he spotted it: A man down in Blunti's garden. A boy staring at the sky, fists bloodied.
That kid an enforcer too? Then the body's... Carlo Blunti. No doubt. Kid took him down? Who is he?
A photo flashed in Kang's mind. A blood-soaked man emerging from a dungeon in the Foreign Quarter. The boy shimmered with the same red aura.
It clicked. Vito's orders. That guy's number two. The kid's tied to the Don. Meaning...
"Hah."
Kang released Han's mouth, wiped his hand on his shirt.
"Hyung..."
"Shut it."
To Parnello: "Got a report of shots from Blunti place. Looks like fireworks, though."
Parnello grinned.
"Exactly. Blunti crew's retirement party tonight."
"Hyung?"
Han gaped.
"We'll log the shots as fireworks from the retirement event."
"Much appreciated."
Kang nodded, smirking.
"Case closed then... That kid looks just like the Don."
"Him? Yeah. Anyone'd see it."
Han's eyes widened. "N-no way, that kid's...?"
"Yes."
Red aura rippling. Blood dripping from fists. White breath piercing the rain like ragged gasps.
Parnello smiled at the boy.
"That's the next head of the Calione family."
Only the patter of rain on the patrol car windows inside. They drove back to the station in silence.
"...Hyung. What'd we just hear?"
Han broke it first.
"You saw it. Calione's son smashed the Blunti crew."
Kang lit a smoke from his chest pocket.
"Hah, we're fucked."
The Don's son debuting? It'd stir massive waves nationwide. Kang's head was a mess.
"Log shots as fireworks. I'll report Calione stuff to the chief myself. You stay quiet."
"...Yes, sir."
A smoky sigh escaped Kang.
"Shitstorm incoming."
He could already see the chaos brewing.
Next morning, I woke in bed as usual.
"...Body recovered some."
Last night, battered from the brawl, Parnello had dragged me home. Healers swarmed on arrival—like he'd planned it—and by morning, my wounds were miraculously gone.
7:30 a.m. Up before academy time. Good.
"Awake, young master?"
Parnello's gentle voice from beside me. He'd stood watch while I slept.
"Parnello. Blunti? Dead?"
He shook his head.
"No. Locked in our warehouse. Boss'll finish him."
"...Right."
Sitting up, my muscles screamed in agony. Only surface wounds healed, huh.
"No need to push, young master. Shall I call the academy?"
I shook off the pain, standing fully.
"This is nothing. Thanks for worrying."
"Glad to hear. Oh, a package arrived for you."
He pulled a heavy something from under the bed.
"While cleaning up Blunti's place, a man handed it over. Said it was yours."
A large black duffel.
"Gunsmith wanted you to have it. Repaying a favor."
I took it. Through the half-open zipper: sleek black metal chunks.
"Fine gear you scored, young master."
"Yeah?"
I grinned back at smiling Parnello, setting the bag down. If he said so, the academy reactions were gonna be fun.