“Mr. Bruce...”

In the dead silence of the bar, Rat King Sam slowly raised the bloodstained head in his hand toward Muen.

The woman’s aged face was still twisted in anger and despair, her dry skin streaked with blood, like an old tree’s bark weeping red tears.

There was no imagining from this face the beauty that had once swayed even the hearts of great nobles—only the unwillingness and hatred she’d carried to her death.

The Rat King bowed, his expression solemn and respectful.

“What you wanted, I’ve brought to you.”

“You’ve done well, Sam. Very well.”

Muen patted Sam lightly on the shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling up.

With a flick of his fingers, he sent a crystal card flying toward Sam.

“Unregistered account at the Imperial Bank—exactly one hundred million. If you don’t believe me, you can send someone to confirm at the bank.”

“No need, Mr. Bruce. Of course I believe you.”

Taking the crystal card, a flicker of heat passed through Sam’s eyes.

Without another word, he straightened up and quietly took his place behind Muen—just as before, hiding his small, dwarf-like frame in the shadows.

“Well then, everyone, my little demonstration is over. Now it’s your turn to give me an answer.”

Muen adjusted his hat out of habit, smiling at the silent gang leaders.

His tone was still smooth and rich, but the meaning now was entirely different.

The doors and windows were shut, yet a chill wind seemed to blow from nowhere, making the air shiver.

The leaders glanced from Muen to the Rat King hidden in the darkness behind him, their eyes flickering, their faces pale as paper.

The balance was broken.

If this terrifying man had still been acting alone, they might have had the capital to join forces against him.

But now that the Rat King had clearly taken his side, everything was different.

An unfathomably strong monster, plus the notoriously ruthless and cunning Rat King—and an unknown number of crossbowmen under his command...

Once things turned hostile, not one of them would leave this room alive.

So if they wanted to keep breathing, there was really only one answer.

—Damn it. Should’ve made a move earlier. If the ending’s the same, we might as well have pocketed the hundred million and not let the Rat King walk away with it.

Frustration showed in varying degrees on every face.

But in the end, after a short silence, these lords of the Lower City all lowered the noble heads they had not bowed in a very long time.

“Mr. Bruce.” The tone was respectful.

“Good. Looks like you’ve all made the right choice.”

Muen’s gaze swept over them. In the dim light, it was impossible to see their eyes clearly or tell whether their submission was real or only a mask.

Not that it mattered.

Muen picked up the fine bottle of wine he’d been drinking from earlier and reached into the bar for several small glasses.

He poured each one himself.

“Come on.”

He was the first to raise his glass. “Let’s celebrate this momentous occasion.”

No one moved at first.

They were only clear glasses of fine wine, yet the leaders stared at them as if they were some terrible thing, fear etched on their faces.

Because they had all clearly seen Muen drop a white tablet into each glass.

Except the one for the Rat King.

“Mr. Bruce... what did you put in the wine?” one man asked, his voice shaking.

“Nothing much,” Muen said casually.

“Just a rare magic potion that will make your whole body rot away the moment you betray me. Cost me a fortune. Well? Touched?”

Touched?

More like frozen in terror.

The leaders stared at the glasses, hands reluctant to reach for them.

Because the moment they drank, it would mean they had completely, irreversibly become this man’s puppets.

They would lose their precious freedom...

But if they didn’t drink, they would lose their equally precious lives.

Freedom or life—there was the choice.

And so they hesitated...

“Pfft...”

That was when they heard the man chuckle.

“Don’t be so tense. Just a joke to lighten the mood. They’re fake.”

Muen swirled his glass lightly, smiling.

“They’re just mints. I heard this wine tastes smoother with a mint in it, so I thought I’d try.”

As he spoke, he dropped one of the same white tablets into his own glass, let it dissolve, and downed it in a single swallow without hesitation.

Smacking his lips, he said, “Mm. Definitely smoother.”

“...”

A joke, {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} but no one was laughing.

After a brief silence, Muen glanced at the still-hesitant leaders, raising an eyebrow and letting his expression chill.

“Why aren’t you drinking? Is it that you look down on me?”

“We’ll... drink...”

The leaders exchanged glances, then finally picked up their glasses.

But at the last moment, they couldn’t help asking in trembling voices: 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

“Mr. Bruce... it really is just mint candy?”

“Well...” Muen’s smile turned subtly cryptic.

“You guess.”

...

In the end, faced with death, they all drank.

There was indeed a hint of mint in the wine.

But once the seed of doubt is planted, it only grows.

Magic potion?

Or candy?

It was all in what they believed.

And unless driven into a corner, no one would gamble on that fifty-fifty chance.

So they all understood—at this moment, they truly had a master named Bruce Wayne.

This time, they hadn’t handed over their leashes willingly. This man had forced them on, one by one, with his own hands.

“Impressive, Mr. Bruce,” came the Rat King’s praise from the darkness, after draining his own glass without a second thought.

Already, he could feel the weight of hostile eyes on him.

From now on, he was automatically the right hand of Bruce Wayne—and the only one who hadn’t swallowed the “candy.” That made him the focus of everyone’s hatred.

If he ever “fell from favor,” these people would tear him apart.

“You flatter me,” Muen said with a small smile.

“Watching too many dramas does have its perks.”

“Dramas?”

“Never mind.”

Muen lifted his head, looking into the distance.

Dong—

Far away, the bell tower tolled, announcing the arrival of midnight.

The long night wasn’t over—if anything, it had just begun.

“So, what will you do now?” the Rat King asked respectfully.

“What will I do?”

Muen tapped his fingers in thought.

Then he drew back his gaze and looked ahead.

In the dim bar stood nine gang leaders in two neat rows, waiting respectfully.

And outside the bar, in the seemingly empty street, the shadows on both sides were crowded with gang thugs from every faction—silent, waiting for this man’s orders.

“First, find something out for me.”

Adjusting his coat, Muen walked slowly into the dark streets under countless eyes.

“Second...”

He looked toward a certain direction, the corner of his mouth curling in a cold smile.

“Let’s start by giving everyone... a little bonus.”