After Atreus's meeting with Stephanie Ferro and his following deliberation with his friends and colleagues, he and Devin later go out to grab a late lunch at a diner specializing at a variety of lab-grown meats. Afterward, they return to their family's office in time to see Ryuji begin handing out jobs for the night to various young members in the lobby, with a few older ones behind him. The fresh-faced soldiers stand rigidly in a single line, facing Ryuji as he casually marches from one end of the line to the other, barking out tasks for the impressionable men to to perform. All of the younger members are still in casual clothing, having not yet been formally taken in by the clan and given a pin. Some of them are particularly young – barely beyond high school age, if not in it. As a show of respect for their leader, Atreus and Devin also stand at attention nearby, even though they both already know that they don't have anything assigned to them.

“Alright, first off I need two men to go with Mike to do a money collection from the gambling den on the corner of Saisen and Ao,” Ryuji begins reciting the first job he has available from his unfolded phone while pointing to one of the older members in a suit. “Should only take about two hours, payout is three percent of the transported money for Mike and two percent for whoever volunteers. Any takers?”

Most of the young men raise their hands. A couple keep their hands down, which isn't unusual for those who've already done a lot of the menial transport jobs in recent days.

“Steven, Tadanobu,” the family head picks out two random members. “You'll leave in an hour.” The two volunteers bow deeply and exit the line with Mike. “Next, I need three to accompany Kenta to a house party starting in a couple hours; it's at Asanuma-san's place. She usually has her own guards, but a handful of them came down with meningitis over the last few days, so she needs replacements. It's expected to last from 9 PM to 3 AM. Pay is three hundred per person. Who wants in?”

All of the remaining young members raise their hands, eager to make a respectable amount of money by simply standing around and looking tough.

“Masatoshi, Jason, and Ryosuke. You go with Kenta,” Ryuji announces; the three chosen men exit the lineup. He turns to acknowledge Atreus and Devin, who had been standing quietly off to the side for a minute now. “Hey, you two. You can head upstairs, I'll be there in a minute.”

The two lieutenants nod in confirmation, and take their leave to approach the elevator and go to the top floor. There, they enter Ryuji's office and sit in their usual spots on the sofa and recliner. They turn on the wall-mounted television and listlessly search for something to play as background noise to help pass the time. After about two more minutes, Ryuji comes in and makes a beeline to his desk.

“No interesting jobs for the night?” Devin asks curiously.

“Not really,” the patriarch answers as he sits. “Tomorrow night, however, I'm gonna need you to take a few of the boys down to the docks. Daisuke needs some extra hands hauling a particularly large shipment of guns that need to be gone by the next morning.”

“Manual labor. Great,” Devin responds with feigned enthusiasm.

“Five hundred dollars for six hours of work. I'm sure you'll live. Also, Atreus, while you two were out, I took the liberty of calling Aiba-san at Crown about finishing up your time there.”

“What did he say?” Atreus, eager to finally leave the chokehold of VIP bouncing, perks up in his seat.

“He tried to keep his clutches on you, but I reminded him that was always a temporary arrangement, and if he wanted to keep you for longer, he'll need to start paying more to make up for the normal jobs you've been missing since you started there, which wasn't a lie, because there's been well over a dozen of them I could've sent you on in the last month.”

“So he's gonna let me go?”

Ryuji nods. “Yes. At the end of the week. Once your shift on Friday is done, you won't need to go back.”

“Finally. Christ.” The augmented man limply throws himself back in his chair, feeling a tremendous weight fall off him. “I'm so tired of standing around for eight straight hours, listening to that ocean of boastful noise in the VIP section. I want to blow my brains out every time.”

Atreus relishes in the news that his time at Crown will finally end soon, but his relief is cut short when he realizes that he'll see Max less often as a result, and that he'll need to inform her of his departure next time they speak. Of course, they've been able to see each other outside of work with ease, but spending those precious few minutes together in the break room before their shifts began turned into the only thing he could look forward to when heading to the club.

His reflective thoughts on the subject are cut short by a sudden vibration in his pocket. He grabs his phone and notices that a text came in, from Okada.

[Just sending you a reminder: the address for Blue Star's headquarters is 1339 Saejung Avenue. Lee will be in the lobby to greet you and take you to Song's office. Remember to wear your pin. Stay patient; Song might try to get under your skin on purpose,] the bluntly-written message restates most of the instructions Atreus received earlier in the day.

“What is it?” Devin asks, noticing his friend's pensive glare.

“Okada was just reminding me of the meeting with Song,” Atreus answers while placing his phone back in his pocket. “He said I should wear my pin to the meeting, but that almost feels like I'm putting a target on my chest for Song to shoot at.”

“I still don't like that you're going over there by yourself,” Ryuji remarks with the same amount of venom he had for the idea last night. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “But, after hearing about what you heard from Stephanie, it probably is the only promising lead we have on finding out who killed Camlin.”

“We agreed that a large entity would be the only thing capable of pulling this off, so... do you think Blue Star did it, after all?” Devin asks.

“No, I still stand by what I said before. Blue Star has too much to lose trying to anger the Sanada-gumi right now. Losing our connection to Atmos might cripple the clan financially, but we'd still be big enough to crush them under our heels. It's best to just wait and see what kind of answers we'll get after the meeting before pointing fingers.”

“So, what if it's proven that Camlin's killer bought those special cartridges from the Blue Star? What would be the implication of that?”

“At the very least, it would confirm a connection to the underworld, so whatever entity organized Camlin's death may more likely be a criminal organization rather than a 'legitimate' business doing things the not-so-legal way. But even if we were found out the 'who', we'd still need to find out the 'why'.”

The three men become silent, once again allowing themselves to quietly fall into a mental whirlpool of what-ifs and maybes. With each passing day, they receive only more questions on their search for answers, but hopefully – finally – they can receive answers, and only answers, in the coming meeting.

After about two increasingly tense hours of waiting, the clock strikes 9:30 PM, and Atreus, after nervously waiting for the moment to arrive, stands from the recliner.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“It's time for me to go,” the gangster announces to his peers.

“Be careful over there,” Ryuji responds in his usual, low, commanding voice. His face, however, seems softer than usual out of the worry he feels for the well-being of his friend. “I'll admit, I've never met Song personally, but I've never heard good things. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“I'll be alright,” Atreus tries to reassure his boss, but his weakened tone doesn't inspire much confidence. “I'll send a text after it's over.”

“Later, man,” Devin gives a somber farewell as his friend makes for the exit.

As the elevator touches down to the first floor, he summons an Automa, then crosses the lobby where the handful of Asano men not assigned to jobs for the night are left standing guard. They give quick, deep bows as he exits and approaches the sidewalk, where a vacant taxi promptly pulls up. He slowly climbs inside, secures his seatbelt, and orders the vehicle to depart, beginning his journey into the heart of the Sanada-gumi's unsteady – if not also completely reluctant – ally, the Korean Blue Star.

The silver sedan plays music at a higher volume than usual; Atreus hopes it will ease his mind and stop him from thinking too much about what's to come, but it's not very effective. The louder beats of the track's thumping bassline and droning synths only force his inner monologue to speak at a scream in order to compensate. His mind is flooded with doubts and ill-fated predictions for himself and the investigation, all because he's unsure of how unpredictable this Kyang-chul Song person may be.

The taxi weaves through the mild Sunday evening traffic, eventually exiting Kyoba through the western side, continuing straight through a portion of Greater Los Angeles, and eventually making its way into Jeonju from the east. The district is similar in size and architecture to Kyoba, with business and apartment complexes as equally crammed together, shoulder to shoulder. Aesthetically, neon lights and bright, obnoxious advertisements light the sides of the tallest buildings here, as well. The only difference being the occasional Japanese kana being swapped out for Korean hangul.

Atreus's ride takes him up to Jeonju's northwestern corner, where he's soon brought to a gigantic, three-floor contemporary mansion at the top of a hill that's lush with green, and likely synthetic, grass. The car pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the building, and the anxious yakuza steps out and walks up the lit stone path leading to the iron gate overseen by two burly guards in expensive black suits who stop him as he approaches.

“Are you Atreus Watanabe?” one of the guards asks in a stern voice and stone-faced expression. The subtle shape of a handgun can be seen underneath their jackets.

“I am,” Atreus answers with a nod. “Are you expecting someone else with this pin to come walking through here?” He taps the Sanada-gumi insignia on his vest lapel.

Undeterred by their guest's facetiousness, the guard lifts his hand and gives a wave to one of the several security cameras lining the top of the grey concrete wall, and the iron gate begins to slide open.

“Head straight inside. Mr. Lee is waiting for you,” the guard gives one last piece of instruction before returning to his post and pretending Atreus no longer exists.

The augmented man slowly crosses the threshold into the front yard proper. The mansion grounds, illuminated by powerful spotlights around the perimeter, is surrounded by a series of vibrant flowers that line the foundation of the building, stretching around the corner and presumably connecting at the opposite side. The beauty of nature is juxtaposed by the presence of several other guards patrolling the area, and they're not subtly armed like the ones at the gate. These quiet, stoic-looking men are wielding assault rifles nested in their hands, ready to be used at the drop of a dime. Some of them make little effort in hiding their suspicion of their Sanada-gumi guest by very clearly watching him approach the front door with aggressive, unflinching leers.

Atreus opens the wide front door of dark wood and opaque black glass and steps into the main foyer. Polished dark oak floors shine with a vivid gleam, and an intricate chrome chandelier hangs overhead from the tall ceiling. The second and third floor verandas can be clearly seen from his position, along with a few other armed guards standing in them.

“Atreus Watanabe?” a man's voice is heard, snapping the yakuza out of his curious and worried gaze, forcing him to look to the side in time to see a well-dressed, middle-aged gentleman walk in from the next room. He has short black hair swept to the side and a salt-and-pepper goatee; his three-piece suit is dark blue with a white shirt underneath.

“Yes,” Atreus answers stiffly. “Mr. Lee, I presume?”

“That's correct. Pleased to meet you; I've heard a lot of good things from Mr. Okada.” The older man, displaying a demeanor that's far more welcoming in comparison to the guards that flank the Sanada-gumi member from all sides, extends his hand in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, too. Okada-san has spoken well of you, also.” Atreus returns his host's good will. “This welcome is about as warm as I expected,” he comments as his eyes are drawn back up to the men along the verandas above.

“Don't worry, security is always this tight. This is our headquarters, after all; don't let them bother you,” the fast-talking Blue Star officer is quick to try and alleviate the younger man's stress. “Mr. Song is still finishing up his last-minute dinner at the moment. He'll call for us any minute now. He has a bad, and, frankly, disrespectful habit of treating the meeting room like his own lounge sometimes, but his black market teams make us the most money out of all our businesses, so he gets special treatment.” Lee can't help but vent his frustrations with his colleague. “Please, come in; take a load off.” He begins to walk back into the room where he initially emerged from, beckoning Atreus to follow.

The two enter a spacious living room with two wide sofas facing a coffee table between them, all in front of a giant fireplace that must be at least five feet tall and six feet wide. The furniture is placed on top of a patch of thick, porcelain-white rug. Atreus follows Lee's approach to one of the sofas and notices he doesn't have shoes on – only black socks. He turns and looks down to see a small collection of expensive shoes sitting beside the doorway. Taking the initiative and ensuring he doesn't cause any undo offense, the yakuza slips his black Oxfords off and pushes them to the side with the others before joining Lee at the coffee table, sitting opposite each other.

“You have every right to be a little on edge, but as long as I'm here, no harm will fall upon you. I promise,” Lee continues to reassure Atreus that he's free from danger.

“So if you weren't here, I'd have a bullet in me already?” Atreus responds morbidly, but is only half-serious.

“Well... it's hard to say,” the elder man, despite his efforts, doesn't really stay consistent with his attempts at making his guest feel comfortable. “But I guarantee that on this night, you'll leave here as healthy as you came in. I gave Mr. Okada my word on that.”

“What's your relationship with Okada-san, anyway?” the yakuza asks, changing the subject to both ease his own tension and also get to know his new Blue Star acquaintance better.

“I... first met him not long after he became senior advisor to your chairman, which is about... eight years ago now, I believe?” Lee begins reminiscing with a subtle nostalgia, as if telling a tale from his childhood. “It was during one those obligatory 'good will' visits that our two organizations hold every six months or so. It was the first one he attended as the new advisor, and we became friends quite easily, as we both have similar leadership styles and goals. We've talked to each other on a regular basis since then. Has he ever mentioned our relationship to you?”

Atreus shakes his head. “Not in detail. He usually just mentions how much he trusts you, and how you're on good terms.”

“I see.” Lee nods, but he becomes slightly crestfallen for some unknown reason. “But, yes, we're on good terms, to say the least.”

“I'm not sure exactly how your hierarchy works, so... are you close to becoming the leader of the Blue Star like Okada-san is?”

“Once our president retires or passes away, we hold elections among the more powerful senior members of the organization, and I am one of them at the moment. There's usually about fifteen to twenty of us to cast votes. Of course, we're not allowed to vote for ourselves.”

“Is Song one of those senior members, too?” Atreus asks with a slight scowl, hoping to not hear the answer he thinks is coming anyway.

“He is,” Lee admits with a sigh. “As I mentioned, he makes the Palan Byeol Pa the most money on the year to year with his wide-reaching black market network. He doesn't just sell firearms and ammunition, but also jailbroken electronic devices and a ton of other less-than-legal paraphernalia. He's not particularly well-liked among the other senior members, so him becoming the next president is slim.”

“But I assume there's nothing to really stop him from buying the votes of his colleagues when that election comes?” the yakuza asks with implicit criticism of the voting system.

Lee lets out the self-deprecating chuckle. “No. No, I guess not. But, loyalty and having the best intentions for the organization is worth more than money. Hopefully. I just need to place my trust in my peers knowing that a good businessman doesn't always equate to a good leader.”