Hermes spent the walk back to the manor emphasizing his precarious position in this world. The revelation that the villagers loathed him—and that his former self had terrorized them purely for sport—burdened him immensely. In the original [[Mafioso]] code, villagers were programmed to be neutral background assets, and the "Hermes" he had designed was many things, but he wasn't a petty bully who wasted resources on meaningless cruelty.
'What did you do to this world, Stump G?' Hermes thought, his lips retracting in a grimace.
The young Don was determined to change his fate, adapt, and survive. He had no education regarding the common sense of this new 1811 reality, so he had to go back to basics. Knowledge was power, and in Hermes's philosophy, people with brains lived long lives.
Thankfully, the perfect source of information was nearby: the Don's Office. This room captivated him because, in his past life, Aljen himself had been the one to design its aesthetic layout for the game.
His excitement was cut short when Justin appeared in the blink of an eye, making him jolt.
"Good morning, my Don." Justin lowered his head, pressing a hand to his chest.
The butler looked terrible. He had heavy circles under his eyes and produced a depressing aura like a dried fish that had lost its way. Hermes flinched, his lips pursing. "That was a pretty cool ability, Justin. I didn't sense your presence at all."
Justin didn't respond with his usual zeal. Instead, he opened the heavy double doors with an emotionless face. "My Don, you may enter now."
The butler's face was a mask of agony, looking like a man who had lost his purpose in life. Hermes decided to leave him be. "Uh, thank you, Justin."
Hermes stepped inside, avoiding eye contact. Justin bowed ninety degrees and clicked the door shut behind them.
The office was a masterpiece of corporate power and high-class antiquity. In the center sat a single-seat black leather chair, facing a massive ironwood table. A portrait of Hermes hung on the wall, and a small, empty vase sat beside the desk. The room was divided by a rectangular transparent glass table surrounded by long black leather sofas—a perfect place for intimidating "special guests."
Hermes's eyes glistened with pride. He praised himself for creating such a marvelous space. His heart pumped like a passenger on a high-speed roller coaster as he approached the bookshelves at the left corner, nestled beside a huge Gothic painting.
Two hours and thirty-four minutes passed in a blur of rustling paper. Hermes poured over four major volumes: Geography, History, Magic, and the Confidential Ledgers of the Archnemesis Clan.
As he read, a sudden chill swept through the room. He checked the window—it was sealed. He checked the door—it was closed. He realized the freezing atmosphere was radiating directly from Justin, who stood in the corner like a vengeful, depressed spirit. Hermes remained apathetic; he had too much to process.
The year was 1811, the height of the Victorian era and the final age of colonization. The currency was the Luzer.
As he flipped through the pages, he found startling deviations from the game's original plot. His family hadn't been exiled; they had died under "unknown circumstances" five years ago. He had seized their assets at age ten, rising to power despite the Mafia Council's criticism and the burgeoning feminist movements of the era.
But the most shocking updates were the current events:
The Fifth District of his territory was currently occupied by bandits.A surge of immigrants from Naples was flooding the village.Malta Pirates had seized control of the Southern coast.An economic crisis in Romue had forced the Pope to sign a separation of Church and State.
Just as he was about to read a paragraph regarding a dungeon falling to a rival family, Justin spoke up.
"My Don, pardon my manners. I have something to ask you," Justin said, his voice heavy.
Hermes glared at him with displeasure, closing the book. "I don't know what you want, but you are forgiven. Proceed."
"My Don," Justin hesitated, heaving a deep sigh. "It is regarding your plan. Living as a normal teenager... it will cause the Mafia Council to disband our organization. The Archnemesis name, feared throughout Sicily, will cease to exist. You were a prodigy—a Don at ten years old! Why are you planning this? What is your true goal?"
Hermes wanted to lie, but he knew Justin's eyes were too sharp for a simple excuse. He couldn't divulge the truth: that he was a transmigrator terrified of a public execution three years from now.
According to his analysis, trying to lead this crumbling, hated organization was a waste of time. He wasn't compatible with the role of a bloodthirsty tyrant. He needed to secure his future, and the only way to do that was to move onto a different route entirely.
"Tell me, Justin," Hermes said, his eyes turning sharp as he leaned over the desk. "Do you think a prodigy like me makes decisions without seeing ten steps ahead?"
"You know what? I think it's a good idea to let it happen. Time to say goodbye to our criminal life... for good," Hermes declared, a small, resolute smile playing on his lips.
"But... my Don!" Justin gasped, clutching his chest as if his heart were physically breaking.
"But I ain't planning to disband our business entirely," Hermes clarified quickly, sensing the butler's murderous instability returning. "Only the illegal activities will perish, okay? Not all of it. Got it?"
Justin's eyes turned watery, but a sharp, dangerous glint remained. "T-then, my Don? Do you mind telling me which illegal activities we should... remove? For if we stop the blood-flow of our income, we are but a corpse waiting to be picked by vultures."
Hermes leaned back, tapping a pen against his chin. He knew he needed a "villainous" alibi, or Justin would view this as a sign of weakness and "purge" him to save the Archnemesis legacy.
"I'll tell you everything after I'm done here. I'll write it down on this paper, okay? Take it easy, will ya," Hermes said. "A'ight, how about you use your [Agenda] to patrol the place while I'm doing this? And stop bugging me. I'm doing my assignment."
"Assignment?" Justin looked bewildered. "You don't even attend a school, my Don. This is my first time seeing you so interested in those books."
Hermes turned toward him, his lips curled. "Who do you think I am anyway?"
"You're the slacker king of your peers, sir," Justin explained, grieving. "Honestly, all the business is usually taken care of by me while you're busy watching your collections. You never liked to work. But now... you're showing interest in education and business problems!"
'Isn't it good for your master to study rather than slack off?' Hermes thought, his face wrinkling in confusion. He placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. "Just do it already," he commanded.
"A-as you wish, my Don," Justin replied. He closed his eyes and cast the spell, [Agenda]. The room fell into a heavy silence.
Hermes began to draft his plan. He needed to wash away his bad reputation by befriending the villagers and building a legitimate business.
'I'll start by removing the "Human Trafficking" and "Protection Rackets,"' he wrote. To Hermes, this was about morality and survival. But as he scribbled notes for Justin, he phrased it differently to avoid being killed for "softness."
He wrote: "PHASE 1: CEASE ALL PROTECTION RACKETS AND SHIPMENTS."
When Justin opened his eyes and leaned over to read, his face turned pale. "My Don... you wish to stop the protection money? Without that, the villagers will stop fearing us!"
"Exactly," Hermes lied through his teeth, his heart racing. "If we stop taking their pennies now, they will grow fat and wealthy. And once they have built a prosperous village with my permission... we will own the entire economy. Why take their lunch money when we can eventually own the lunchroom, the school, and the land they walk on? It's a Long-Term Hostile Takeover, Justin. Legality is just a mask for total monopoly."
Justin's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "A... monopoly? You mean, we don't steal the gold... we become the bank that holds the gold? So we can seize everything at once when they least expect it?"
"Precisely," Hermes sighed, relieved the butler bought the "Greed" angle. "Now, I will then commence my plan to disband the 'illegal' parts of our business to lure them into a false sense of security. It's a masterstroke of cunning."
"Oh, my Don! Your cruelty has reached a level of sophistication I can barely comprehend!" Justin wept with joy. "I shall help you maintain this 'peaceful' facade!"
Justin exited to process this "brilliant" evil, leaving Hermes alone. Hermes stretched, returning the books to their shelves. He decided he needed some fresh air to unwind.
"Y' finally here~ darling," a strange, melodic female voice whispered.
Hermes paused, hand on the doorknob. He ignored it, but as he turned the handle, a black miasma suddenly engulfed his entire body. His vision blurred, and the wood of the door melted away into something soft and fragrant.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the office. He stood in the center of a breathtaking, ethereal flower garden that seemed to exist in a pocket of eternal twilight.
The garden was a sprawling labyrinth of silver-petaled roses and lilies that glowed with a faint, bioluminescent pulse. Above, there was no sun, only a vast expanse of violet nebula and stars that looked close enough to touch. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and something metallic—like the smell of a coming storm.
Vines of "Gloom-Bell" flowers hung from arched trellises made of polished white bone, their tiny blue blossoms chiming softly in a wind that shouldn't have existed. In the center of the garden stood a fountain, but instead of water, it flowed with liquid moonlight that cascaded into a basin of obsidian. The ripples in the pool didn't show Hermes's reflection; instead, they showed scenes of a burning village and a man with silver hair standing over a mountain of gold.
The grass beneath his feet was a deep, impossible shade of indigo, soft as velvet and cool to the touch. Scattered throughout the flora were statues of women draped in veils, their stone faces carved in expressions of eternal sorrow. One statue held a stone pitcher that perpetually poured real, crimson wine into the soil, feeding a patch of blood-red poppies that grew aggressively around its base.
As he walked deeper into the thicket, the flowers seemed to react to his presence. The "Moon-Turners" twisted their glowing heads to follow him, their petals unfurling like reaching fingers. The deeper he went, the more the garden felt like a living, breathing entity. Massive weeping willow trees with leaves of translucent glass swayed overhead, clinking like a thousand crystal chandeliers.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic thumping of his own heart. It was a place of impossible beauty and profound dread—a hidden sanctuary that Aljen didn't remember from any of the game's maps. The silver petals of the roses seemed to pulse in time with his breathing, turning a deep, bruised purple as he brushed past them.
"Do you like it, darling?" the voice returned, coming from behind a curtain of silver vines. "I built it from the secrets you keep."
Hermes stood frozen. Emerging from behind the silver vines was a girl who looked like a living painting: golden blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, violet eyes that held a hypnotic depth, and lips the color of crushed peonies. She wore a simple white summer dress and wooden slippers, looking entirely too innocent for the seductive, knowing gaze she leveled at him.
Before Hermes could speak, a tall, dark-haired teenager in ornate, ancient armor approached her from the shadows. The man's face was a mirror of Hermes's own, but older, harder—a version of himself that had survived a thousand wars.
Suddenly, tears pricked Hermes's eyes, blurring his vision. A sharp, stinging pang of jealousy flared in his chest—which was absurd. He had never even had a girlfriend in his past life. Why did this feel like a personal betrayal?
These characters were nowhere in the [[Mafioso]] source code. As the woman invited him forward with a tilt of her head, the armored man embraced her, kissing her neck with possessive intensity.
'This woman is a dangerous siren,' Hermes thought, revulsion warring with the strange grief in his heart. 'Does she want me to join them? Disgusting.'
He valued loyalty; he would rather marry one woman than become a trophy in a harem. But the girl ignored his glare, calling out to him again as her suitor swept her up like a princess. As their lips met, Hermes felt his heart wither like a flower in a drought.
The vision snapped.
Hermes found himself back in his office, kneeling on the floor as severe dizziness washed over him. He wiped the phantom tears from his face and delivered a sharp slap to his own cheek to clear the hallucinations.
"What the hell was that? Who is that bitch?" he hissed, gulping air. He forced himself to stand. He couldn't afford to lose his mind to ghosts. He had a plan to commence.
When he reached the main hall, a cacophony of noise erupted from outside the heavy oak doors. He threw them open, only to stop dead in his tracks.
Justin was standing there, waving a massive wooden board. He wore a white headband and a look of righteous fury. The sign read: "STOP THE DISBANDMENT. NO TO LIBERALISM! MORE VIOLENCE! MORE BRUTALITY! RETURN TO REALITY!"
"What the heck are you doing, Justin?" Hermes asked, his voice flat with disbelief.
"Isn't it obvious? My Don, I am expressing my protest! I am disagreeing with your democratic idea of disbanding our glorious organization!"
"Give me that," Hermes demanded, reaching for the board. "Stop this madness, stupid. It's useless."
"Nonsense!" Justin pulled the board away. "I refuse this treatment! You're being too nice! You must be more impertinent! Scold me! Threaten my life!"
Hermes's patience snapped. His veins popped, his lips curled, and he shifted into an offensive stance. "Why you... what is wrong with you, you dirty-minded maggot?!"
Hermes threw a heavy, desperate punch aimed straight at Justin's jaw.
Clack.
With the fluid grace of a master instructor, Justin didn't flinch. He simply opened his palm and caught Hermes's fist, the impact absorbed effortlessly by his leather glove. He didn't push back; he held the fist there, checking Hermes's form like a mentor grading a student.
"There! That's it!" Justin's eyes sparked with unholy, teacherly pride. "The focus! The intent to harm! The complete lack of hesitation to strike your own subordinate! My Don, your form is slightly off, but your spirit is finally returning to its roots."
Hermes tried to pull his hand back, but Justin's grip was like an iron vice. The butler looked at him with a terrifyingly level-headed expression, as if he were delivering a lecture on etiquette.
"Boss, please... end this New Year's resolution," Justin begged, his tone turning into that of a concerned guardian. "If the illegal activities go, we'll be mocked! You told me... you wanted to become the next Godfather of Italia when you were nine years old! Don't you see this photo?"
Justin reached into his suit and pulled out a photograph. It showed a nine-year-old Hermes in a black suit, his hand raised in a sharp, chillingly familiar salute during a "revolt" against his parents.
"Where and when the fuck did you take that?" Hermes's face burned. "Destroy that photo right now!"
"There it is! The word 'fuck'!" Justin released Hermes's hand and wiped a tear of joy. "You must look down on others, my Don. That is the quality of a true leader. You are merely testing me, aren't you? This 'peaceful life' is just another one of your cruel psychological games to see if I would remain loyal even if you became a saint. How brilliant! How terrifying!"
Hermes felt his brain melting. The misunderstanding had reached a level he couldn't even fight. "Enough! Stop bullshitting me, Justin! I'm going to change it (my future). Prepare the car. That's an order."
Justin smirk upon hearing it.
"Yes, my Don! Right away!" Justin bowed ninety degrees, the wooden protest sign forgotten on the floor. "I shall be your sword and your shield, even as you pretend to be a commoner for your grand scheme."
Hermes turned and marched away, his boots clicking sharply on the marble.
"But my Don," Justin called out, his voice now calm and professional again. "Where are we going?"
"I'll tell you later. Do what I told you and don't ask again. Got it?"
Justin's eyes sparked. He watched Hermes walk away, his heart soaring with the belief that his "Master" was simply playing the greatest long-con in history.