A Marine Corps Without Brotherhood
Rather than a Marine Corps bound by camaraderie, it was more like a ragtag unit where flames roared to life on the scarecrow, scorching the air around it. Another Molotov cocktail hit its mark, and the scarecrow burst into a roaring blaze.
Nice. Perfect. Burns like a dream—totally satisfying.
Valentina was hurling Molotovs made from vodka at the scarecrow.
"By the way, sis... this says it's forty-year-old Algerian. Looks like pricey stuff. You sure it's okay to just chuck it like this?"
"No idea. Our fridge was stuffed with it."
"Rich folks are on another level..."
Valentina tossed another bottle at the scarecrow's head while she spoke—as if she were a pitcher winding up, hurling the ball with pinpoint speed and accuracy at a distant target.
"Whoa, sis. You've got talent beyond the sword, huh?"
Allan asked with his usual sly nonchalance, and Valentina shrugged.
"Eh, I've been trained in all sorts of crap since I was a kid."
Not really. I just throw well for no damn reason. Probably some built-in skill for the future screw-up dad role, chucking bottles at Ryoshu or Lucio or whoever.
A bit bittersweet inside, but hey, better to have it than not.
After a few months in this body, I'd come to a realization. First off, no one in this world beats me at Palermo swordsmanship. Why? 'Cause they're all inferior. As a boss-tier character, my base stats are insane. Plus, being a frontline war hero from some smoke-and-fire battlefield means my muscle memory and combat instincts are beyond imagination.
This body's a Soldato? With the right mindset, I could take on Big Sis and win. The Bonyatelli Family's long-term investment in Valentina clearly paid off.
Allan, watching me lob the Molotovs, spoke up.
"Sis, seeing your personality, I never figured you for someone with such delicate aim."
His tone had a teasing edge, so Valentina narrowed her eyes and shot back.
"Allan. Do I strike you as lacking finesse? I thought I'd been pretty good to you. But if that's how you see it, no helping it. As your superior, I guess I'll have to tally up all your past breaches of etiquette and give you a proper thrashing."
"I'd appreciate a pass on that, if you don't mind."
Valentina grinned.
"What if we tied you up instead of the scarecrow? Tempting, right?"
"I'd appreciate a pass on that too."
"This punk's gotten cocky lately? Nah, forget it. Fighting you would just hurt me."
Valentina pondered as she chucked another bottle. It felt like I'd been here forever. Exactly one month. Long for some, short for others. Life had been a real shitshow.
My biggest revelation since isekai-ing here? Thumb is the shittiest, most backbreaking finger of them all—like the worst corporate hellhole. Every damn day: work, work, work. Fuck, didn't join a finger for easy wings? Thought it was for a cushy life...
Why so much goddamn work? Thumb piled on more tasks than I expected—brutal. Guarding this old L Corp district as site supervisor? Fail, and it's all on me. They treat it like common sense: screw up, you pay the price. What a bunch of braindead morons.
And that's not even the end. They keep dumping petty bullshit on me. At least Index has meaningful orders—this is just "do it 'cause the boss said so." High difficulty, endless volume. Deep down, wanna off all those boomer assholes above me and bail, but that's no easy feat.
Thumb doesn't just overload the most; the bullshit dwarfs Ring and Index combined. This some reverse Marine Corps? No brotherhood, just shit duty.
If I'd known the grind and injustice, I'd have picked Middle! Some might say, "Middle, and you're stuck forever—no freedom." Bullshit. I'd drag those whiners to Thumb for a month. Think you can handle this workload and crap? No way.
High-pay high-work vs. low-pay low-work—which is better? Depends on the person. But anyone calling Thumb below Middle is just chasing cash and bullets blindly. Try Thumb's insane load yourself—no more complaints. Might as well chill in free Middle as eternal underling to Big Bro and Lil Sis.
Valentina sighed, closing her eyes. Lately, her temper flared more, so she'd started smoking to keep it in check. No booze, though—couldn't, shouldn't. Valentina's canon end seals that fate. But the workload made quitting impossible.
She pulled out a cigar, bit it, and Allan lit it with a lighter.
"You... got more sense than you look."
"L-learned from watching you, sis."
"Phew... Anyway, no more Blood Fiends in the area? You scoured it?"
"Sorry. Called everyone in, searched top to bottom. Locals know nothing."
Old Valentina would've chucked a bottle in rage. But I'm not her. I took the report calmly, turned my head to spare him the smoke, and said,
"Fine... nothing for it. Keep looking. Boss sent me somewhere—gotta head out."
She patted Allan's shoulder. In Thumb, superiors get respect, inferiors get consideration.
"Good work."
Allan bowed.
"Come back anytime. I'll be waiting, sis."
"Oh, forgot to say."
Valentina turned back.
"Spin some doughnuts. I'm out."
Of course, she was off joyriding on boss's orders too.
......
But first, a quick stop. Her hands brimmed with food.
(Knock knock)
She rapped on the church's massive door. A kindly old man appeared, smiling warmly as he opened it.
"Back again, Valentina. Congrats on the Capo promotion."
"Eh, just happened."
Valentina had risen from Soldato to Capo. Supervising the district a month was secondary—her strength was unreal. Last time, she'd soloed a 6th-kin and 7th-kin Blood Fiend, ripping (or burning?) them apart. Everyone knew now.
Thumb gained a versatile fixer; she got promoted. Win-win. With no new orders, she'd shuttle between here and Thumb's L Corp branch—annoying, but capable folks do all the work. Like that eyepatch parasite from Jujutsu whatever, handling every hassle solo.
Valentina ignored that, craving sofa rest.
"So, Carson, what're the kids up to?"
"Haha, thanks to you, they played outside freely. Caught some huge bugs, released 'em inside. Spent ages recapturing."
Carson—the white-haired elder walking beside her—stood straight despite his age, bigger than Allan. In this world, elders weren't always weak, so she shrugged it off.
Carson ran a big church in L Corp backstreets, feeding the poor and weak. Rare true good soul, adopting orphans.
"How long this time?"
"Ah, leaving soon. Boss has a task. Won't be around much till it's done."
"I see."
"Yeah. Where's Shelly and Tommy?"
The elder replied,
"Tommy... ran away after a big fight. Said he couldn't stay. Shelly... some kind soul wanted to adopt her. Checked 'em out, asked her multiple times."
"What'd she say?"
"Preferred it there. Left satisfied, no regrets."
"...I see."
Valentina rubbed her side, feeling oddly empty.
"He'll come back. Tommy always does."
"If you're worried, Carson, I'll call Thumb guys. Find him faster."
"No need. You're protecting us enough. That's plenty. I'll handle Tommy alone."
She nodded.
"Fine. Contact me when you find him."
"Of course. I'll give the food to the kids."
He gestured at her haul.
"Bought enough for seconds. Eat some too. Got your favorite red raspberries."
Carson's eyes flickered, then he smiled.
"You're the kindest person I've met. Thanks... I'll savor it later."
"Sure. See you."
Valentina left through the church door.
This is Thumb branch Valentina rode to Thumb's L Corp branch. She nodded to staff, knocked on a door.
(Knock knock)
"Come in."
"Pardon the intrusion."
Inside, a man scribbled furiously at papers, head in hands.
"Oh, Valentina?"
He set down the pen, welcoming her warmly.
"Ah, sit comfy. Pretend it's home—lounge on the sofa."
"Thanks, but I'll just lean."
She eased against the plush sofa.
"Work treating you okay? No headaches?"
"Not really. Helps a bit, thanks to you."
"Haha, any trouble, tell me. I'll back you up."
To outsiders, Wilson being chummy with lower-ranked Valentina seemed odd. But not here. What made Thumb top-tier? Bullets. Overwhelming firepower crushes all. Bonyatelli Family crafts those bullets—the heart pumping blood through Thumb's veins.
Hurt them or their heir? Suicidal. Like bullying the power plant worker's daughter. Unfair? Tough—it's power. With skill and backing, she's untouchable once honored.
But inside: Ah, this fucker's sharpening his knife to dump work on me again.
Too capable—Thumb's workhorse. A Soldato soloing four Blood Fiends unscathed? (Cheated with fire, but they're tough foes.) They see her as a star fixer, piling on tasks.
If I hit Underboss, gonna grind Soldati and Capos into dust. Superiors just bark orders, no help... Hate 'em all.
"So, Valentina, thought about what I mentioned last time?"
"Haha... sorry, need more time."
"C'mon, good luck finding better. I pale next to a Bonyatelli lady, but pick me—no regrets."
"Hahaha..."
Valentina was popular. Bonyatelli hoarded wealth like Wandering Heights, trained daughters in Palermo—elite, tough. She was their prized gem.
One: Sole master of Palermo. Her blade carved flesh and bone precisely. Cut hard stuff like tofu with bastard sword and rapier. Pinnacle of its users.
Two: Personality(?) Fiery rep before, but reformed—greets passersby(?), smiles warmly(?). Big change.
But the real hook? Three: Looks. Jewel-blue eyes, mystical green-tinged gold hair. Sharp, high Western nose. Blush when shy. Built to melt men.
Other fingers call her "Thumb's caged princess." Mafia image fits Thumb, not her beauty—rumors of kidnapping. Other fingers are assholes anyway. She's stunning, fact.
Thumb's cautious. Old Valentina was a spitfire; who knows when she'll snap.
"So... what do you say?"
Wilson sat beside her on the sofa.
"Haha..."
Fuck, this prick talks too much.
Wilson pressed on, oblivious to her rotting guts.
......
(Click)
Empty. The fridge looked pristine, as if never stocked.
"Father, why stare into the fridge?"
Tanya, the eldest Bonyatelli daughter, asked the Family Head.
"All the vodka's gone."
At his words, Tanya recalled something.
"Oh, the booze? Little sis took it all last time."
"Valentina...?"