"SETTLE DOWN EVERYONE! THE CONFERENCE STARTS SOON!"
A heavy, anticipatory silence descended upon the circular room, so profound it felt like a physical void. The tension was a live wire, humming with the collective power of the assembled players. An elderly man mounted the podium, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. He cleared his throat, and the sound cut through the strained atmosphere like a knife. He carried himself with the weight of immense authority, an impression confirmed by the formidable, controlled aura that radiated from him.
He removed his sunglasses, revealing sharp, discerning eyes that took a few slow, deliberate glances across the sea of powerful faces. He lowered his gaze to the podium, then looked up, ready to begin.
"I am Mario Gurritéz, the Association President of Mexico and the leader of this darn project. I'd like to make things straight: I hate idiots! Okay then, let's proceed." His voice was gravelly and direct, devoid of pleasantries. "The reason this meeting was summoned, as I presume all of you already know, was because of the activities of a certain group."
Gurritéz gestured to the massive screen behind him, which flickered to life, displaying grim scenes of destruction and symbolic insignias. "As you can see, their work has become widespread, causing a lot of damage. The goal of the group is not known yet, but it's not a good one, I can assure you." He gestured again, and the graphic changed to show three portraits. "They have killed a number of players, including three S-ranked ones: Hadil from Turkey, Royes from New Zealand, and finally Petrov from Russia. There are other alleged crimes linked to them that we will not add, as the evidence is not incriminating enough. Because of this, I came up with a big-brain plan: The Alphas. This group will not only be their kryptonite but will also promote peace and security for the people. Any questions?"
A moment of silence followed his blunt speech.
"I'll take your silence as a total compliance to my rules." A faint, mischievous smile touched his lips. "Oh! I almost forgot. You'll be doing a little training session that we planned. It will help us better group you."
A wave of discontent rippled through the room. Many groans could be heard as the players, bored by the politics, now bristled at the implication of being tested.
Gurritéz grinned inwardly; everything was going according to his plan. "Again, most of you will be moved away from your countries, so beware," he added, his smile turning sheepish, though his eyes remained sharp.
Loud chatters once again engulfed the room, until a single, clear voice broke through the din. "This is bullshit! I'm against that idea; it's wrong!"
Everybody turned to stare at the owner of such courage. Ryan?
"I can't help but feel like there is some political stuff being mixed in," Ryan added, his voice thick with annoyance.
Gurritéz was shocked. But he quickly registered the young man's face and remembered that Ryan was the grandson of Hasten. He decided not to act rashly.
"The f**k is this kid blabbering about?" a voice snarled from across the room. It was someone from the US contingent. "Have you lost your mind? As a matter of fact, aren't you still supposed to be grieving right now?" The US tank, Macmiller, tried to mock Ryan, aiming the barb at his companion.
Ryan gritted his teeth, but he wasn't the one who retaliated.
"Shut up, pig."
Macmiller, and the whole room, were shocked into silence.
"This is getting feisty," Gurritéz thought to himself with barely concealed joy.
Macmiller's eye began twitching uncontrollably. "Hey, nobody," he said, his voice dropping into an intimidating growl. "What did you call me again?"
Denzel sighed, a sound of profound boredom. "Do I really have to repeat myself again? I said pigs like you aren't supposed to be running their mouths." He fixed Macmiller with a mocking look of disgust.
Treby, the one who sat beside Macmiller, had to place a firm hand on his arm to hold him back, preventing catastrophe. "Mac, behave," Treby said in a low, stern voice.
Macmiller scoffed, shaking off the restraint. "For an escort, you've got quite the rotten tongue. I'll help you dispose of it real soon."
"Enough!" Gurritéz said sternly, though he was secretly thrilled. "You're interrupting idiots. But if you're ready to settle this scuffle, I'll be much obliged to help you out. There's a training room on the top floor; you can duke it out to your heart's content up there. But for now, you've got to behave."
As the tension slightly eased, a single thought crossed Denzel's mind: "They fell for it hook, line, and sinker." He grinned ominously, a sight that scared Ryan. What was he planning?
The conference went on for forty more minutes as Gurritéz went into more details about the project and their training.
"Finally," Gurritéz concluded, "any deaths that will occur during this training will not be held accountable by the Alpha association. You're dismissed!"
The moment the meeting was over, Macmiller gave Denzel a death glare, and Denzel could feel the venom in it from all the way across the room. The two later met in the corridor, and Macmiller didn't hesitate to confront Denzel.
"Hey punk, let's settle this, shall we?" Macmiller said as he meted out an innocent-looking handshake.
"Settle what?" Denzel said with a face so perfectly, dumbfoundedly blank it could have won him an Oscar six times in a row.
"Hmm... You're very good with jokes, but I don't have a very good sense of humour, you see," Macmiller said as he shoved Denzel aside and stormed off. "I'll be waiting in the training room. Don't be late," he added as he strode away.
Denzel merely shook his head as he stared at the retreating figure. What a wuss...
Ryan immediately pulled Denzel aside, his face etched with worry. "Denzel, I know you're lots strong, but that guy's no joke. He literally cleared two C-rank dungeons alone last week, and on top of that, he's a world ranker and USA rank 3. He'll destroy you." Ryan tried all sorts of words to dissuade him, but he failed inevitably.
"Don't worry, Ryan. I'll be fine," Denzel said with a smile. It was the first time he had been proactive with Ryan in a while, and the calm assurance in his voice was both comforting and unsettling.
Elsewhere, Alcaraz and Lang crossed paths again after the conference. This time, Lang immediately engaged Alcaraz.
"Hey, Alcaraz, will you be watching Macmiller's fight?" Lang said as if he was talking to a long-time friend.
"No," Alcaraz answered coldly, not even breaking his stride. "I don't like watching the strong prey on the weak."
Lang was left standing alone and rejected. "This must be how Emei feels all the time," Lang laughed to himself, a booming, good-natured sound that echoed down the hall.