Somewhere in Italy
The café terrace was quiet, tucked along a narrow stone street where lanterns glowed warmly against the night. The clink of cutlery and the low hum of conversations drifted from other tables, but at one corner, two men sat apart, their voices hushed.
One leaned forward, restless fingers drumming on the wooden table. His eyes kept darting toward the street as though expecting bad news to come walking around the bend.
The other, older and composed, swirled his glass of wine before setting it down with a calm smile. "You're tense," he said smoothly, his accent soft, reassuring. "But don't worry. My friend will bring her safely."
The worried man's brow furrowed, his hands tightening around his cup. "You're sure? She means too much to risk."
"I am sure," the calm one replied, his tone steady as stone. He leaned back in his chair, gaze lifting toward the stars above the Italian night. "My friend never fails."
A church bell tolled in the distance, the sound carrying through the narrow streets. Between them, the air thickened with silence, filled with the weight of promises and the shadow of something far greater than a simple meeting in a café.
Shouts echoed through the narrow alleys. A young man darted forward, sweat dripping down his brow, one hand clenched around the wrist of a girl stumbling beside him. Behind them, a pack of goons cursed and gave chase, their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.
The young man spun, striking the nearest thug with a sharp elbow. Another lunged, but he caught him with a swift kick to the knee, sending him sprawling into a fruit cart. Oranges rolled across the street as the girl gasped.
"Keep moving!" he urged, pulling her along.
They weaved through winding lanes until the glow of lanterns spilled over a café terrace. The two men at the corner table looked up just as the young man burst into the open, dragging the girl behind him.
The goons didn't follow this far—one look at the café, and they melted back into the shadows.
Breathless but grinning, the young man walked straight to the table. He gave the tense man a quick once-over before nudging the girl forward.
"Here," he said with a cocky smirk, brushing dust from his sleeves. "Your girlfriend."
The girl stumbled into the arms of the man who'd been waiting, his relief breaking into a trembling smile. The calm man at the table only raised his glass, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
"As I told you," he said, sipping his wine, "my friend never fails."
Music thumped through the old warehouse, its walls pulsing with the bass of cheap speakers. Strings of neon lights hung crooked from the rafters, bathing the crowd in wild color. Bottles clinked, laughter rang out, and the smell of fried food mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol.
At the center of it all sat Eiden, the undefeated street fighter, surrounded by his crew. His friends raised their glasses high, cheering, "To twenty-one wins! To the King of the Streets!"
Eiden smirked, lifting his drink but saying little, letting their excitement fuel the celebration.
The doors banged open. One of his closest friends stumbled in, clutching his cheek, eyes wet and nose red as if he'd been crying. The music faltered as heads turned.
"What happened to you?" Eiden asked, voice sharp, rising from his chair.
The friend sniffled. "I—I got into it with some girl… and she beat me."
The room burst with laughter, the crew slapping their knees and jeering. "A girl? With her hands?" someone shouted.
The friend's face burned. "N-No… with her shoe."
The laughter grew louder, echoing off the walls. But Eiden didn't laugh. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.
"With her shoe?" he repeated slowly.
The friend nodded miserably.
Eiden's voice cut through the noise, low and angry. "And you just stood there? Let her do that to you?"
"I—I didn't want to hit a girl!" his friend protested.
Eiden scowled, slamming his drink down on the table so hard the glass cracked. "Doesn't matter if it's a girl or not. You let yourself get humiliated. You carry my name on the streets—you don't get to walk in here crying because someone smacked you with a shoe."
The laughter died down, replaced with a tense silence. Eiden's gaze swept the room, cold and commanding.
"Find out who she is," he ordered. "No one—man or woman—makes a fool out of my crew."
The friend nodded quickly, wiping his face. Around them, the party resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted. Eiden leaned back in his chair, his smirk gone, a fire sparking in his eyes.
Whoever that girl was, she had just stepped into his world.