Inside the Red Circle Club, John Wick had nearly finished his brutal work. Smith and Fox had witnessed the entire fight firsthand.
Back in the car, Smith turned to Fox and asked:
"Thirty-one kills. Four by knife. Thoughts?"
Fox glanced at the screen showing Iosef Tarasov escaping and responded with a trace of regret:
"Efficient and ruthless. Used the Mozambique Drill—two in the chest, one in the head. He doesn't leave survivors."
"He cut down plenty, but clearly his real target was that brat who just escaped…"
Smith nodded. She wasn't wrong.
"Let's go. We've seen enough. Back to the Continental."
Fox hit the gas. As the car sped off, John Wick emerged from the club, wounded. Iosef, however, was long gone.
Room 819 – Continental Hotel
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Fox spoke thoughtfully:
"You're not thinking of recruiting him into the Brotherhood, are you?"
"He's qualified, no doubt. With some training, he could fit in. But are you sure he'd accept our ideals?"
"Honestly, he could just as easily end up one of our targets."
Smith considered her words, then shook his head:
"Recruitment's not on the table—yet."
"But... you make a valid point. I'll think about it."
Fox sighed, poured herself a glass of bourbon from the table, and muttered:
"Let's just hope this doesn't all end up being boring."
Time passed slowly.
John Wick, after receiving treatment from the hotel's doctor, returned to his room to rest.
Hearing the door open, Smith Dole immediately knew John was back.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, sounds of fighting erupted next door.
Fox, already awakened, sat up and got dressed quickly:
"Looks like not everyone honors the rules of the Continental."
"If I remember right, that's John Wick's room."
Smith chuckled. He already knew what was going on. If not for John's friend firing a warning shot outside, Perkins might've succeeded in her ambush.
"Rules exist to be broken…"
"...but only if you can handle the consequences."
Fox smirked:
"Looks like someone's about to pay the price."
"With all that noise, I'm sure guests have already alerted the staff."
Moments later, the fight was over. John had won.
Smith opened his door to see Perkins crawling in the hallway.
"Looks like someone overestimated herself," he said to Fox.
John Wick stepped out, gripping Perkins by the collar, gun pressed to her head. After extracting the info he wanted, he knocked her out with the butt of his pistol.
Then he looked at Smith.
"Smith, mind keeping an eye on this sleeping guest for me?"
"One gold coin. Just hand her over to hotel security at sunrise."
"You know the rules—no killing inside the Continental."
Smith chuckled at the mention of hotel rules.
"Bring her in. I have a few things to discuss with you anyway."
John nodded, returned to his room, retrieved a pair of handcuffs and a Continental coin, and secured Perkins before dragging her into Smith's room.
He placed her on a chair, left the coin on the table.
Smith turned to Fox:
"Fox, could you pour John a bourbon?"
She stepped forward, poured the drink, and stood back—curious about what would be said next.
John took the glass and downed it in one gulp.
"Good stuff. Charon recommended this brand too."
Smith smiled and nodded, then said:
"John Wick, your personal mission isn't finished yet."
"But before that… I want to ask—what's your wish?"
John set the glass down, expression turning solemn.
"My wish…"
He paused.
"Is to bring back my wife. Helen."
Smith could tell he wasn't lying. Still, he studied him for a moment before answering:
"Okay. I believe you—for now."
Fox blinked, puzzled. Wishes?Resurrection? But she kept a straight face and listened.
"The Assassin Brotherhood is a thousand-year-old organization. The Dragon Balls are our sacred relics."
"What you have is the One-Star Ball. If you gather all seven, you can summon Shenron and make a single wish."
John nodded. He had already sensed as much when he first touched the Dragon Ball.
"Sounds like Aladdin's Lamp."
Smith shrugged:
"That was just a bard who twisted the legend of the Dragon Balls into a fairy tale."
John was surprised by the answer.
"Then… why was a sacred relic in my house?"
Smith explained:
"After granting a wish, the Dragon Balls scatter across the world, turn to stone, and lie dormant."
"The Brotherhood doesn't hoard them. We allow fate to decide. When someone worthy finds one, we observe them and evaluate their intent."
"If their wish isn't selfish or destructive, we guide them to the others."
John nodded slowly. He still didn't know what to believe—but at least now he understood the framework.
"What if the person's wish is evil?"
Smith replied:
"Tell me, John. How does your world view the Assassin Brotherhood?"
John thought about the legends: they never took contracts, yet people—powerful people—ended up dead, mysteriously, inexplicably.
Could it be... those people failed the Brotherhood's judgment?
No wonder there were no legends about the Dragon Balls—everyone who knew the truth had been silenced.
(End of Chapter)
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