11:05 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
Tucker drifted deeper into the left wing of the entertainment district, weaving through the slow-moving crowd. Every few steps he brushed shoulders with someone in a suit or a glittering dress, muttering quick apologies as he went. No one seemed bothered. Most of them barely looked up from their drinks or their phones.
Then something caught his eye.
Across the room sat a large pool table under a hanging golden lamp. A handful of men in matching blue suits stood around it.
None of them were playing.
They simply stood there, drinks in hand, talking quietly among themselves.
Tucker slowed and thought to himself.
Shirley said to find the big names on the plane…
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Those guys look important.
More blue suits began appearing the closer he got. First five… then ten… then more standing casually around the table like some strange silent perimeter.
Tucker twirled his cane once and leaned against the corner of the pool table as if he had been invited there the whole time.
"Hey guys!"
The words left his mouth.
And immediately he realized he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say next.
"…Shoot," he thought, his smile freezing awkwardly. I should've planned that.
Every single man in a blue suit slowly turned their head toward him.
The conversation stopped.
The entire group stared.
Tucker scratched the back of his neck.
"…Uh."
The men parted slightly, creating a small opening in their circle.
Someone stepped forward.
Tucker blinked.
It was the same man he and Shirley had seen earlier outside the hangar, the tall, slightly chubby man in the immaculate blue suit.
The monocle gleamed under the golden light.
But what truly caught Tucker's attention… were the eyebrows.
They were unbelievably long. Thick strands of hair drooped down past the edges of his face like they had never been trimmed in his entire life.
Tucker squinted.
"…Wow," he said before his brain could stop him.
"Those are some long eyebrows."
The words hung in the air.
The room went silent.
Every blue-suited man snapped their head toward Tucker at once.
"WHAT???" they barked in unison.
Tucker blinked, confused by the reaction.
"…What?"
The man with the monocle slowly rose from his seat.
His expression darkened.
His massive eyebrows lowered as his face twisted with anger, veins beginning to swell along his temples.
He stepped forward.
"Is that how…" he said slowly, his voice heavy with irritation as he clenched his fist,
"…you greet your elders?"
Before Tucker could respond, the man swung.
Tucker barely reacted in time.
He twisted sideways, the fist missing his face by inches.
But the force of the punch alone sent a violent burst of wind across the table.
The pool balls rattled violently.
Tucker was knocked completely off his feet, crashing onto the polished floor.
He slid back a few feet, eyes wide.
"…Okay," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling.
"…so no long eyebrows."
Around the table, the blue-suited men began stepping forward.
And suddenly the pool table didn't feel like a friendly place to stand anymore.
"He just insulted THE Long-Brow-CH2!"
One of the blue-suited men shouted it like Tucker had just committed some unforgivable crime.
More men began closing in around the pool table, their polished shoes scraping softly across the floor as they formed a wide circle.
Tucker blinked from the ground.
"Who?!"
The tall man with the monocle slowly began walking toward him.
Each step was heavy, deliberate.
His long eyebrows hung over his furious eyes like curtains as veins bulged along his temples.
"You little squirt…!"
Without warning, He swung again.
The punch came fast and heavy.
Tucker ducked just in time.
The man's fist slammed straight into the pool table.
Wood splintered. A small crater formed where his knuckles hit, the impact rattling every pool ball across the surface.
Tucker scrambled to his feet, quickly realizing the situation had gotten much worse.
All around him, thirty blue-suited men now surrounded the table.
No exits, no gaps.
The long-browed man flexed his hand slowly, glaring down at Tucker like he was about to crush a bug.
"You're seriously messing with me, boy…?" he growled.
His monocle glinted under the hanging light.
"I have a sixteen million bounty on my head."
His fist clenched again.
"I'll crush you."
Another swing came immediately.
Tucker barely dodged again, jumping sideways as the punch tore into the already-damaged pool table.
The table split further, wood breaking under the force.
The man snarled and turned his head toward the surrounding suits.
"Blue suits…"
His voice lowered.
"…get him."
The men began closing in slowly.
Some cracked their knuckles.
Others pulled small blades from their pockets.
A few casually drew pistols from their waistbands.
Tucker glanced around.
Thirty against one.
He lowered his stance slightly.
So I'm getting jumped? He thought to himself.
His grip tightened.
Damn it… Shirley wouldn't want me bringing this much attention.
His eyes darted around the circle.
I've gotta get out of here.
Suddenly Tucker pointed past them dramatically.
"HEY! What's that over there?!"
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Not a single blue suit moved.
Not one head turned.
Thirty unimpressed faces stared back at him.
"…Uh oh."
A man stepped forward, flipping open a small pocket knife.
Without hesitation he lunged, slashing toward Tucker's chest.
Tucker jumped back just in time, the blade barely missing him.
Before he could reset, another man reached out and snatched Tucker's cane right out of his hand.
The sudden loss of balance sent Tucker stumbling.
He fell backward, catching himself on one knee before quickly jumping back up.
"Hey!" Tucker shouted.
"Give that back!"
The blue suits burst into laughter.
The man holding the cane smirked and swung it toward Tucker like it was his own weapon now.
But the moment the cane came within reach, Tucker grabbed it.
Then yanked hard.
The man stumbled forward, pulled off balance.
Right into Tucker's range.
For a split second Tucker's fist tightened.
A faint surge of Strength Presence flowed through his arm.
Then,
"RED!"
His punch connected square with the man's face.
The blue suit was launched backward like he'd been hit by a speeding truck, crashing through several nearby chairs before collapsing in a heap.
The laughter stopped instantly.
The other men gasped.
"…Oh," Tucker muttered.
Then he turned and bolted.
"GET HIM!"
The blue suits roared as they took off after him, twenty-nine pairs of footsteps pounding across the polished floor as the chase exploded through the entertainment district.
11:11 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Shirley's POV
A loud bang echoed somewhere across the entertainment district.
Then came the sound of hurried footsteps.
Several guests nearby turned their heads toward the disturbance, murmuring among themselves. A few even leaned over railings or shifted positions to get a better look.
Shirley sighed and dragged a hand down his face.
That better not be you, Tucker…
He shook his head slightly.
I let you out of my sight for six minutes.
Still, he didn't move toward the noise. Instead, he continued walking deeper into the right wing of the entertainment district.
Every direction he looked was the same.
Gold fixtures. Shimmering lights. Expensive fabrics. Performers dancing on raised platforms. Crystal displays and polished floors that reflected the glow of the overhead lights like mirrors.
Everything was extravagant.
Everything was distracting.
But nothing was useful.
Shirley exhaled slowly, scanning the room again.
Then he saw her.
The same woman from the bar.
She was walking deeper into the district, her pace steady, her posture relaxed, like she had somewhere specific to be.
She wasn't far ahead.
Shirley's eyes narrowed slightly.
There's something… different about her.
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Alright then.
Let's do a little spying.
"I'm gonna follow you, mysterious woman," he muttered quietly to himself.
"And figure you out."
He picked up his pace just slightly, closing the distance while keeping far enough back to avoid drawing attention.
The woman continued walking.
She never looked behind her.
But something odd began to stand out.
Guests standing in her path subtly moved aside as she approached.
Not dramatically, not fearfully, buy deliberately.
Just enough space opened for her to pass.
Shirley noticed it immediately.
That's weird…
His eyes flicked between the guests and the woman.
They're all making way for her.
His brows furrowed slightly.
Is she… August's wife or something?
The woman kept walking without acknowledging anyone around her.
Still not a single glance backward.
Still completely calm.
As she passed people, quiet murmurs began forming behind her.
Guests leaned toward one another, whispering while watching her move through the room.
Shirley's curiosity spiked.
They're talking about her.
His grin returned.
Perfect.
"I just need to get a little closer," he thought.
He slipped into the crowd, weaving through groups of guests until he was close enough to overhear.
Just a little more, Then, Shirley walked straight into someone.
Both of them stumbled backward.
"What the hell—?"
They both said it at the same time.
Shirley blinked and looked up.
The woman in front of him wasn't the one he had been following.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties, maybe a little older. Her hair was styled in thick, well-kept locs that fell neatly to her shoulders. A purple headband rested across her forehead.
Her outfit was simple compared to everyone else in the gala.
Black slacks.
White dress shirt.
Black tie.
Black loafers.
But what stood out most was the katana secured to the belt at her side.
The tray she had been carrying had fallen during the collision.
Several glasses had shattered across the polished floor.
"I'm so sorry, sir!" she said quickly, kneeling down and beginning to gather the broken pieces back onto the tray.
Shirley crouched down to help.
"It's okay," he said calmly, picking up a few shards and placing them onto the plate.
For a moment the two worked quietly.
Then her eyes flicked downward.
Just briefly.
She noticed the cleavers sheathed at Shirley's waist.
Her expression shifted.
But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
She straightened up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, extending a hand to him.
Shirley took it and stood.
"I'm fine."
For a second they simply looked at each other.
Then she stepped back slightly.
"Well then," she said with a slightly awkward smile, "I'll be on my way."
Before Shirley could say anything else, she had already turned and disappeared into the crowd.
"…Weird," Shirley muttered under his breath.
Then his eyes darted forward again.
The space ahead of him was crowded now.
The whispers had faded.
And the woman he had been following, was gone.
Shirley frowned.
"…Great."
He scanned the crowd again, searching.
But she had completely disappeared into the sea of guests.
"I lost my target."
Shirley let out a quiet sigh.
His gaze drifted down to the floor.
Something small caught the light near his shoe.
A playing card.
It had landed face down.
He frowned slightly and knelt, picking it up between two fingers before flipping it over.
A diamond symbol sat in the center of the card.
Shirley's eyes narrowed.
Slowly, he looked up.
Across the entertainment district, one level above him on the second floor balcony, a figure stood still among the moving crowd.
They were already looking directly at him.
Their expression was completely unreadable. No smile. No irritation. No curiosity.
Just a cold, steady stare.
For a moment the noise of the gala seemed to fade behind it.
Then they turned.
Without a word.
Without another glance.
And disappeared back into the crowd of the second floor.
Shirley stared at the empty space for a second longer.
Then he looked down at the card again.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"The second floor… huh?"
He slipped the card into his pocket.
11:14 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District