"Let's go to a private room upstairs. It'll be quieter there for talking."
As he spoke, Phaga swept his gaze around the café.
Both customers and staff looked on in fear.
Especially after hearing that a large gang was surrounding the café outside, everyone looked utterly horrified. Not a single person dared step past the doorway.
Better to move somewhere quiet. Knowing too much isn't always a good thing.
"Ellen, pay for the private room. Then keep watch downstairs. If anything happens, contact me immediately."
Phaga waved a hand, lowered the brim of his top hat, and headed upstairs.
The old man followed close behind.
Ellen sighed and turned toward the trembling girl at the front desk.
"Hey, how much for the private room?"
...
On the second floor.
"To be precise, you aren't the actual client for this commission—it's your business partner."
Phaga's tone toward the old man grew noticeably colder, his demeanor purely professional.
"Somehow, he learned of this gang ambush in advance. Then, ninety-two minutes ago, he placed a commission with Victoria Housekeeping. The mission objective: ensure your safety and escort you to a secure location."
"As you just heard, the commission fee was eight million dennies. Seems your business partner values you highly."
The old man chuckled softly and shook his head, offering no explanation. Business matters were best left unsaid.
But one thing in particular caught his attention.
"Victoria Housekeeping?" Confusion flickered in his eyes—he had never heard of such a company.
But he quickly realized his tone, bowing his head apologetically. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to question your professionalism."
"No offense taken."
Phaga pressed his hand down lightly, signaling he didn't mind. "Victoria Housekeeping primarily serves high-net-worth clients. We don't rely on publicity. With the trust of our long-term clients, we've never lacked commissions."
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card, sliding it across the table.
The old man grabbed it immediately, clutching it tight without even looking at it, and stuffed it straight into his own suit pocket.
Phaga narrowed his eyes slightly. Whether the man would ever call that number would depend entirely on how smoothly this commission was carried out.
Opening his laptop, Phaga not only kept the surveillance feed running, but also pulled up a map of New Eridu.
He zoomed in, locking onto the area around the café, and marked each gang position identified from the cameras with red dots.
He even layered the map for clarity.
Then he pressed his earpiece and said, "Rina, I've sent over the gang distribution map. It's in your hands now."
Soon, a familiar gentle voice came through his earpiece, tinged with playfulness.
"Copy~ that!"
The old man looked puzzled and quickly asked, "What are you planning to do?"
"Deliver results to Public Security. Come on—no one's going to stop us now."
Phaga stood, straightened the desk, packed up his laptop, and strode downstairs.
The old man hurried after him.
As soon as they reached the first floor, sirens blared outside. Over a dozen police cars had surrounded the café, sealing it off completely.
Hearing footsteps, Ellen turned and asked flatly, "Rina's doing?"
"Yeah. We'll give Public Security some credit for this. We're heading out the back door."
Phaga glanced at his phone. Time was running late.
Ellen nodded to herself. Victoria Housekeeping's vehicle was already parked at the rear entrance—set up precisely for this moment.
Without hesitation, Phaga led the way, Ellen followed, shielding the old man between them.
Moments later, Phaga shoved aside the food cart blocking the back exit, yanked the door open, and quickly pulled the old man behind it.
"They opened it—fire!"
At the command, hundreds of syringes launched in unison, peppering the carpet until it looked like a pincushion.
If he guessed right, the syringes were filled with anesthetic.
They wanted the target alive.
"What now?!"
The old man shouted at Phaga. The gangsters were blocking the way out—there was no escape!
"Break through," Phaga answered.
"What?!"
The old man thought he was insane. These gangs had guns—maybe even worse weapons. And his plan was to charge straight through?
Phaga gave him a sidelong glance and let out a faint chuckle.
"Please don't worry about us."
"Every penny you spend on Victoria Housekeeping is worth it."
With that, Phaga stepped out the door.
"Fire!"
The leader bellowed the order the moment someone emerged.
In an instant, hundreds of syringes rained down, blotting out the sun.
Phaga narrowed his eyes, gripped the umbrella handle in his right hand, and thrust his left forward.
Whoosh!
The canopy snapped open. What looked like soft fabric was actually unyielding.
The syringes bounced harmlessly off its surface without leaving so much as a scratch.
Phaga charged forward, pressing against the barrage, using parked cars for cover. He was already closing in on the hundred-strong mob.
"Switch gear! Fast! Use Ether rifles and energy weapons—kill on sight!"
The leader's voice cracked with panic.
The mob scrambled, but sheer numbers meant some were quick to react.
Whoosh!
A brilliant purple beam smashed against the canopy.
It held firm, but his advance slowed.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two more beams struck, halting him completely, as though he couldn't withstand the Ether firepower.
The leader's face lit with triumph. He raised his arms, ecstatic.
"Fire! Fire everything! Kill this bodyguard and take the cash cow! We'll be rich for life—money to waste forever!"
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Countless beams poured down like rain, battering the canopy until it staggered back and finally toppled over.
The leader stared, astonished that the umbrella hadn't broken under the assault.
But then his expression twisted.
Wait—where was the man behind it?!
Suddenly, he froze. A blade pressed against his back, biting into his skin, a thin line of blood welling.
"Who did you just call a bodyguard?"
The chilling voice came from behind. Stiffly, he turned his head—
A face, framed by a monocle. Cold. Merciless.
The blade drove in deeper.
His heart seized.
A blinding white light flared, brightening the entire alley.
Ssshh!
Phaga drew his long blade, and the leader's body crumpled to the ground.
Phaga turned his gaze across the mob. Every thug he looked at shuddered under that cold stare.
Within seven steps… was the blade faster, or the gun?
Phaga's answer: fire was faster.
"[Wispfire: Skychain]!"
...
Inside the café, Ellen peeked out the back and called without looking back.
"Clear! Let's go!"
She led the old man outside, pausing only to scoop up the umbrella canopy Phaga had dropped.
The old man followed, sneaking glances as they ran.
That fighting style… brutal.
But if he were a teammate, it was reassuring beyond measure.
The old man couldn't help thinking that as he slid into the backseat of the car.
Ellen started the engine, backed up toward Phaga's position, rolled down the window, and shouted, "Get in!"
Without hesitation, Phaga vaulted through the window into the car.
He grabbed the canopy Ellen handed him, pulled down the sun visor to block the glare, and panted heavily, his face pale as death.
"This sun is unbearable. Someone just blow it up already."
"What's wrong with the young man?" the old man in the backseat asked.
Ellen shifted into fifth gear, starting forward as she answered casually, "He's allergic to sunlight."