Chapter 4: "Echoes of the Lost Kingpin"
Lucas Cain's alarm buzzed an hour late, but he still rose with practiced calm—after all, today was an actor's schedule. He fancied himself a method performer now: tired with lingering bravado.
He slipped on his semi-formal blazer and retrieved the sealed scroll from his desk. Inside the envelope: a new contract stamped **"Stellar Arts Agency"**—or so he thought. To the rest of the world, it was believed to be a coded charter from the Underblack Circle, confirmed by whispered rumors in the alleys below.
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## Underblack Circle Sanctuary, Dawn
The Hand sat at the head of the oak table, flanked by his lieutenants. Candlelight trembled over dossiers and the battered photograph of a man in a tailored suit, aviator sunglasses perched on his head: the original **Mr. Nobody**.
"Three years ago," The Hand began, voice low, "the real Mr. Nobody vanished in a helicopter crash over the Eastern Ravines."
Leora traced her finger over the photo's edge. "No body recovered. Officially declared dead. Many believed he faked his end."
Vance tapped the prosthetic hand. "Our intel said he lamented growing old, missing his youth."
Rikard shuffled maps. "He wanted retirement—maybe even to become an actor, according to our sources."
The Hand closed his eyes. "Yet his last message to his confidant, Sebastian Mohram, hinted at one final dream."
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Flashback: The Real Mr. Nobody's Last Conversation
A sleek rooftop helipad under a lavender sunset. Mr. Nobody—Alexander Cain, thirty-eight—stood beside his manager, **Sebastian Mohram**, pouring over performance contracts.
"Sebastian," Alexander sighed, staring at his reflection in the helicopter's chrome rotor, "I miss the thrill of the stage. The roar of applause. Do you think... I could ever act?"
Sebastian's eyes shone. "Of course, sir. You have the gravitas of a king. You'd be brilliant."
Alexander smiled wistfully. "One day, perhaps. But first… one last flight."
A final handshake.
Moments later, the crash.
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Back in the sanctum, The Hand tapped the photograph. "This young 'Cain student' who re-emerged last night... his mannerisms, his modulated voice, the uncanny acting flair—it matches Alexander's hobbyist recordings."
Leora frowned. "He returns under a student's mask. The half-truth is perfect."
Vance leaned in. "Then our theory solidifies: this Lucas Cain *is* the Kingpin reborn."
Rikard smirked. "My scouts saw a man matching Alexander's build slipping through campus gates with a bodyguard."
The Hand nodded. "Dispatch coded missives: 'He walks corridors of learning by day.' Let the myth grow."
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Surface World, Morning Rush
To Lucas, Sebastian Mohram was simply the "Manager-Secretary" assigned by Stellar Arts—a zealous fan who arranged press and protected his schedule. Sebastian greeted him outside the college gates with the fervor of a guardian.
"Mr. Cain," Sebastian exclaimed, adjusting Lucas's blazer lapel. "Fantastic morning buzz! The press is calling you 'the student-phenom.' Shall we take calls?"
Lucas yawned gracefully. "Sure, just don't schedule anything during lectures."
Sebastian consulted his portfolio. "Lecture at 10, interview at 11, workshop on method acting at 2."
Lucas shrugged. "Perfect."
As cameras flashed, Lucas remained serenely aloof, convinced he was living his big break.
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Underworld Whispers Spread
By dusk, the Underblack network bristled with half-truths:
"He commands scholarships by day, syndicates by night."
"His bodyguard, Sebastian Mohram, is more than he appears."
"This is no mere return—this is a resurrection."
All credits pointed to Lucas Cain, the freshman drama student.
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Finale: Convergence
That evening, Lucas arrived at the campus theater—scroll in hand, mind on monologues—only to find the stage crew staring at him in expectation.
Sebastian bowed. "Your entrance, Mr. Cain."
Lucas offered a polite nod and stepped forward. Unbeknownst to him, cameras hidden in the wings captured every move—fuel for rumors on both sides of the surface–and sparks for legends below.
*Curtain rises.*
And so the performance continued...