Chapter 23 Brewing Storm
Eric stood in front of me with a report tablet in his hand, his brows drawn together with that particular mix of irritation. “The new Mafia group named Blackjack,” he said, his tone grim, “is the one that dealt the most blow to us this month. Income is down about ten percent.”
The number stung more than I expected. Ten percent wasn’t just a drop; it was a punch to the ribs. I exhaled slowly. “Blackjack… isn’t that the same group Rudy was talking about a while ago?”
“Yes,” Eric replied immediately. “The very same.”
I hummed, the syllable low and thoughtful. “Blackjack, huh…” The name lingered in my mouth. As I muttered the word again, something in Eric’s expression shifted. Subtle, but noticeable. His shoulders tensed, his face stiffened, and his eyes flickered with worry.
I narrowed my gaze at him. “What’s wrong with you? Your face changed.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I’m just… worried about you.”
“About me? Why?”
“Because you don’t have any quirk.” He said it softly, almost apologetically, like he regretted voicing the thought.
For a second, I stayed silent. Then a laugh burst out of me, sharp at first, then rolling smoothly into genuine amusement. “Eric,” I said between chuckles, “even though I don’t have any quirk, there’s a reason my dad was confident I could lead our family.”
Eric blinked, confused. “A reason? What reason?”
“You’ll know soon,” I told him with a grin, tapping his arm lightly. “Just wait.”
He looked like he wanted to press the topic, but he didn’t. Instead, the worry in his eyes dimmed just enough for me to move on.
“Anyway,” I said, adjusting my sleeves as I shifted the conversation, “have you seen Rudy anywhere today?”
Eric nodded. “He’s gone to safeguard one of our delicate turfs. Something about suspicious movement near the district.”
Eric suddenly tightened his posture, as though preparing himself mentally. “I actually… want to ask you something.”
I looked at him. “Shoot.”
“Have you ever seen Rudy fighting at full power?”
The question threw me off more than I expected. “No,” I answered honestly. “Not really. I’ve seen him spar, sure. But full power? No.”
A shadow flashed across Eric’s face. “Even though I haven’t been on the battlefield much,” he began, his voice quieter than before, “I’ve witnessed the destruction Rudy caused a few times. Enough to say it wasn’t normal.”
He swallowed, then continued. “He once single-handedly burned down an entire estate. As big as the Blade mansion. His quirk… it swallowed everything. Everyone inside died.”
The image formed in my mind immediately, flames tearing through walls, collapsing structures, screams muffled under roaring heat. It wasn’t a pleasant picture.
But what stood out wasn’t the destruction, it was the guilt pulling at the edges of Eric’s words, tightening his jaw and dimming his expression.
I sighed. “You’re worried that babies could’ve been inside, right?”
Eric’s eyes dropped. “…Yes.”
I placed my hands in my pants pockets and leaned slightly against the wall. “Eric, listen. While there’s always a possibility, it’s almost impossible. Most Mafia gangs, groups, or clans avoid involving kids in their business. Just like how Felicia’s apartment is underground and out of sight whenever anything goes south.”
Eric's posture eased as he listened.
“People in our world take precautions,” I continued. “If they have kids, they hide them. They keep them protected. And most groups don’t bring children anywhere near conflict or business matters. The estate Rudy burned… it was probably occupied by members who knew what they were involved in.”
Eric nodded slowly. “I… guess that makes sense.”
“And besides,” I added with a small smile, “Rudy has ridiculous potential. At such a young age, he’s already pulling off feats most grown men can’t even imagine.”
Eric scoffed. “I still don’t believe Rudy could be as strong as your dad.”
I raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Your dad was like a literal god of fire,” Eric said, his voice growing more animated as he remembered. “I’ve heard countless stories. Some say he turned an entire battlefield into hellfire. Others swear he reduced a convoy of armored trucks into molten metal in minutes.”
I stayed quiet, letting him continue.
“But what made your dad terrifying,” Eric added, “wasn’t just his raw strength. It was how calculative he was. He never underestimated anyone, not even small-time gangs. He always analyzed, always planned several steps ahead. That’s why people respected him.”
My father’s shadow was large, massive, even but hearing Eric speak about him that way didn’t make me insecure. It only warmed something inside me. A reminder of the legacy I carried.
“That’s exactly why Rudy’s potential shouldn’t be ignored,” I said calmly. “He’s rough around the edges, sure, but with time—”
Before I could finish, Eric’s phone rang sharply, slicing through the conversation like a blade.
He jumped slightly and hurried to answer it. “Hello? …Yes. Yes, sir—she’s already here? Right now?!” His eyes widened comically. “Okay, I’m coming.”
He hung up, still looking surprised, then turned to me.
“The maid you chose,” he said, still catching his breath, “she’s here for the interview.”
I blinked. “Already?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “She arrived earlier than expected and has been waiting outside.”