He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and asked hoarsely: "What... what do I have to give?"
"Loyalty." Cloud spoke the two words calmly. "And your power. I need you to become the sharpest blade in my hand, clearing all obstacles for me. Including... the Divine Tribe."
"DEAL!"
Yamazaki practically roared it out, slamming his palm on the table, his whole body trembling with excitement.
"Screw Orochi! Screw the Divine Tribe!" He howled like a madman. "Those broke bastards—what can they do besides PUA? How is that more important than my underworld empire! Boss!"
He dropped to one knee with a thud, his posture so perfect it looked rehearsed countless times.
"From today on, my life, Ryuji Yamazaki's life, belongs to you! You tell me to bite someone, I bite! You tell me to go east, I'll never go west! Through mountains of blades and seas of fire, I'll die ten thousand times without regret!"
This sudden 180-degree transformation left the surrounding gawking gang members completely stupefied.
The "Viper" boss who'd been insufferably arrogant just moments ago—how had he become someone else's "loyal dog" in the blink of an eye? Did something happen in between that they'd need to pay to see?
Cloud nodded with satisfaction. Defection successful.
He stood, helped Yamazaki up, patted his shoulder, and spoke earnestly: "Ryuji, work hard. I'm counting on you. The company's future depends on you."
Mr. Big also stepped forward appropriately, extending his hand to Yamazaki with a smile uglier than crying: "Welcome aboard, Yamazaki-kun. We're colleagues now. Please take care of me."
Yamazaki, overwhelmed by the honor, grasped Mr. Big's hand and nodded repeatedly: "I wouldn't dare! Senior Big, from now on you're my direct supervisor. Any dirty work, just give the word! I'm on call 24/7!"
And so, in this underground club where blood and hormones intertwined, a "black market business iron triangle"—arguably the strongest and most bizarre in history—was officially formed.
Shadow Emperor Angel Investor: Cloud.
Gold-Medal CEO Professional Manager: Mr. Big.
Ace Enforcer Operations Manager: Ryuji Yamazaki.
Looking at these two "capable generals" with their wildly different styles but now unified goals, Cloud was filled with emotion.
It seemed that to thrive in this complex King of Fighters world, knowing how to fight wasn't enough.
You also had to know how to run a company, paint big pictures, and hit your KPIs!
One week until the official opening of KOF97 Global Fighting Tournament.
The entire fighting world had entered the final feverish countdown.
Betting website odds changed three times a day, fans argued themselves hoarse on forums over "who's the world's number one," smashing several keyboards in the process.
Yet amid this pre-storm tension, Cloud appeared as carefree as ever—standing at the entrance of a haute couture fashion studio on Paris's Champs-Élysées.
The studio's signage was tastefully designed, bearing elegant French script—Passion Fatale.
"Sir, do you have an appointment?" The well-dressed receptionist politely stopped him.
"I'm looking for your designer, Miss Shermie." Cloud flashed a standard sunny smile showing eight teeth. "I'm her... let's say, an old flame."
The receptionist took in Cloud's face—handsome enough to be illegal—and his indescribable aura of confidence. Her mind instantly flashed through ten thousand words of CEO romance novel plots. Face flushing, she immediately let him through.
Passing through the display hall filled with gorgeous garments, Cloud found the figure who was the clear purpose of his visit at the back of the studio.
That signature long pink curly hair, wrapped in sexy yet elegant professional attire, traced heart-stopping curves.
Shermie was in heels, holding a measuring tape, bustling around a dress form while humming off-key jazz.
Her focused expression was completely different from her image on the ring—that passionate, uninhibited fighter who could strangle opponents with her legs at any moment. Right now, she was a true artist.
"Well, if it isn't our famous KOF champion, Mr. Cloud?"
Shermie seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, speaking without turning around, her voice sweet and languid with just the right touch of allure.
She turned, arms crossed, body leaning forward slightly, her electric eyes studying Cloud up and down with interest—as if appraising a perfect work of art.
"So, are you here to scout the competition early, or... would you like me to design a special battle outfit for the finals? I can give you 20% off."
"Neither." Cloud walked straight to her, his gaze passing over her to the garment she was designing. "I'm just curious—someone who's about to personally destroy the world, why are you still working so hard to design clothes no one will ever wear?"
The smile on Shermie's face disappeared.
She fell silent, long lashes lowered, casting shadows beneath her eyelids. The studio held only the faint rustle of fabric and the sound of their intermingled breathing.
Cloud knew his words had been like a precise scalpel, cutting into the deepest self-doubt Shermie had always wrapped up in passion and loyalty.
"I..." She finally spoke, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible tremor. "I don't know... I only know this is our lord's will, our mission."
"Mission?" Cloud scoffed. "Shermie, stop lying to yourself. Look at you—you love design, love music, love the spotlight, love the stage, love being praised. You were born to live under spotlights, not to become some god's one-time rechargeable battery!"
"Every piece of clothing you design is full of love for life; every song your band with Yashiro and Chris plays is full of passion. These are your real emotions! And these emotions are fundamentally contradictory to anti-human goals like destroying the world!"
"Ask yourself honestly—when you're standing on stage, hearing fans cheer for you, do you really want to 'purify' them all?"
Every sentence of Cloud's was like a bullet, precisely striking the softest places in Shermie's heart.
...
Get 20+ chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"