Meanwhile, elsewhere.
While the Sons of Calydon listened as the fiery Lucy methodically arranged everything, Phaga's group had finally driven into a very different kind of town.
"Wow—this is really something the Outer Ring can have?"
Ruby pressed her face to the window, the magnificent sight before her almost beyond belief.
At the end of a road stretching over soft sand, a neatly paved asphalt surface suddenly came into view. After driving at 120 miles per hour for ten minutes, they finally saw a grand settlement ahead.
No—calling it a town wasn't quite right. It was more like a flower struggling upward in the desert, just one step away from blooming into a tender city.
As far as the eye could see, this "town-but-not-quite-a-city" had no walls. Pedestrians moved freely along streets that ran straight through from end to end.
The sun hung high overhead—it was lunchtime.
People poured out of tall buildings and settled into street-side eateries. Some ate alone, but most gathered in groups, chatting and laughing as they enjoyed a rare midday break.
Phaga drove on unhurriedly now, no longer charging ahead at 120 like he had on the road earlier. Instead, he dropped into first gear and crawled forward at a snail's pace of 20 miles per hour.
It wasn't that the SUV was low on fuel. Rather, as he entered the town, Phaga caught sight of a speed limit sign out of the corner of his eye: 20 mph.
The first time he saw it, he was stunned. Especially when he noticed that no matter how recklessly other gang vehicles sped before entering town, once inside, every single one obediently slowed to twenty.
Order… in the Outer Ring?
Not some unspoken rule between gangs—where anyone strong enough could ignore it—but an order set down by an absolute ruler. Absolute authority. Absolute transparency. Absolute effectiveness.
"Pretty impressive, huh?" the Class President said, propping his chin on one hand as he looked out the window. "This is all Pompey of the Vanquishers. It took him years as the Outer Ring's overlord to make this happen."
Outside, children laughed and played. Some clutched their parents' clothes or wrapped their arms around their legs, crying loudly and demanding toys from shop windows. The adults, unwilling to indulge them, dragged them forward instead.
Happy troubles.
Phaga felt a stir in his chest.
While most people in the city remained indifferent, others were still struggling desperately in the harsh sea of sand—cultivating hope until it bloomed.
But…
Phaga narrowed his eyes slightly, lost in thought.
Suddenly, the Class President called out.
"There's a parking spot up ahead, Phaga. Pull over—I see Pompey's bike!"
Oh?
Phaga looked forward in surprise.
Where the Class President pointed, a flashy, ostentatious motorcycle was parked by the street. Its engine was massive—just imagining it roaring to life was enough to make one's ears ring.
Phaga soon found a parking spot, neither too close nor too far from Pompey's motorcycle.
But the moment he shut off the SUV's engine, two burly men in awkward-looking uniforms approached.
Phaga frowned, opened the door, and stepped out, simultaneously pulling open the rear door of the SUV.
In a quick motion, Ellen dropped to the ground, resting one hand on the door and leaving a gap just wide enough to block Ruby from getting out.
"Ellen, take your hand off," Ruby said.
Naive and unguarded around strangers, she urged Ellen to open the door properly.
Ellen ignored her completely, eyes fixed warily on the two men who had appeared out of nowhere.
Only when the Class President opened his door and stepped out—walking toward the men as if nothing were wrong—did he turn his head, having heard the commotion behind him.
At first glance, he looked puzzled, one eyebrow lifting slightly. But after a quick look at the two suited bruisers beside him, understanding dawned. He waved a hand.
"It's fine. Don't be so tense. These two are Boss Pompey's bodyguards."
He then glanced back at them casually and greeted them,
"Amur, Kui—how's the Boss been lately?"
"Little Boss, you're finally here!"
The man named Amur lit up with warmth the moment he saw the Class President. "Haven't seen you these days, and the Boss has been worried sick—said he's even grown white hair. But these gentlemen are…?"
As his gaze shifted to Phaga's group, confusion flickered across his face.
"Oh, them?" the Class President said. "The girl with the plain-looking face is my classmate. The other two were sent by my mom's company to help me negotiate business."
He glanced back at Phaga as their eyes met, then took a small step backward.
Immediately, Ruby kicked him.
"Who are you calling plain-looking?!"
"I wasn't talking about you! I said—uh—plain, as in plain terrain! My off-road vehicle! Yeah!"
Phaga's mouth twitched. He stepped forward quickly, extending a hand with practiced ease as he slipped into work mode.
"Hello. I'm Phaga, a director dispatched from headquarters. This is Ellen, my assistant."
Amur hurriedly shook his hand, though his eyes wandered.
"Hello, hello! A pleasure, Director. It's just that the Little Boss here—"
"The Little Boss's just like that. Don't mind him," Phaga said with a shrug, wearing the resigned smile of a career employee. "Business comes first."
Message received. Password correct.
Amur immediately recognized a fellow long-suffering worker and felt an instant kinship. He stepped aside at once.
"Right this way, Director. Our Boss has been waiting in the private room for—uh—quite some time!"
"…I'm guessing you meant 'waiting for a long time,'" Phaga said.
"Oh! Right, right—same thing!" Amur scratched his head. "I really don't get you Inner Ring folks. How can one saying have so many versions?"
"…"
Still wearing his simple, earnest expression, Amur led the way.
Phaga sighed softly and followed.
Though Amur's idioms were shaky, at least his sense of direction wasn't. He led the group straight into a private room without incident.
Inside, someone was already waiting.
A middle-aged man sat there, broad-shouldered and straight-backed.
Time had not worn him down. For a powerful man, the years merely added ripples—wave-like wrinkles across the face of a sovereign.
The rest had condensed into strength. With just a lift of his eyes, overwhelming pressure poured forth. Though he sat there in silence, it felt as though a mighty lion were roaring in place.
The pressure swept over them—and passed.
Phaga and Ellen remained calm, their expressions unchanged.
The Class President fared decently as well—likely out of familiarity—though sweat beaded at his temple.
Ruby was far less fortunate. She whimpered and quickly hid behind Ellen.
The two bodyguard underlings fared worst of all, panic-stricken and drenched in cold sweat. When they saw Pompey lift his glass in a casual gesture, they felt as though they'd been granted amnesty and fled the room with all the speed they could muster.
"Director, Little Boss," one said hurriedly. "Our Boss is inside. Take your time—enjoy yourselves. If you need anything, just call. We'll be right outside."
Bang.
The door shut at once, followed by hurried footsteps fading into the distance.
Now, only Pompey and Phaga's group remained in the private room.
Pompey's presence was still sharp, his aura undiminished.
The atmosphere stayed heavy and tense.
Until the Class President suddenly stepped forward, took a seat at the table, looked over the dishes, and began mixing chili sauce as he spoke,
"Boss Pompey, don't let their Inner Ring looks fool you. They're all from my mom's company—fair and reliable people."
At that, Pompey immediately withdrew the sharp edge of his presence, his expression softening.
Gone was the earlier aggressiveness. Now, he looked more like a kindly elder.
"My apologies," he said. "Things in the city have been… tense lately. I suppose I've been a bit on edge."