Fox watched the retreating figure of John Wick, her critique unsparing. "If I'm not mistaken, the scar on his face is from a recent injury," she observed, her voice dripping with the scorn of a superior fighter.
"It seems that this retired Night Demon is not very powerful if he can be wounded by common thugs." She then shifted, intrigued by the implications of his presence. "By the way, he came to the Continental Hotel again. Is he planning to make a comeback?"
"If that's the case," Fox mused, her eyes calculating the immense bounty, "I don't mind making some extra money like this, after all..."
Smith gently squeezed her hand, interrupting her profit-driven tangent. "Look, you're anxious again," he chided lightly. "The fun hasn't even begun yet. This isn't about money."
Smith, the heir of an organization that possessed wealth far surpassing that of any criminal syndicate, truly didn't care about the $400 million bounty. The Assassin's League, a fraternity with a history spanning over a millennium, possessed an unimaginably deep financial foundation. They predated the United States by centuries; their antique holdings alone made them one of the wealthiest entities on the planet.
The Divine Coincidence
Meanwhile, Eddie held a freshly poured glass of whiskey and a napkin marked with a lipstick imprint and a handwritten address—the intelligence provided by Winston. "The hotel treats us," he said to John Wick.
Hearing that it was the hotel's treat, John Wick turned and looked at Winston sitting in the booth. Winston raised his glass in a silent, respectful toast. John had his first answer.
Collecting the address, John Wick paused, his mind solely focused on his cosmic hope. He took out his cell phone and one of his few remaining Continental Hotel gold coins.
John Wick pulled up the photo of the One-Star Dragon Ball on his screen, placing his phone on the bar. "I hope to obtain information about this item," he said, pushing the gold coin toward Eddie, "or where I can find similar items."
Eddie picked up the gold coin and then examined the glowing image on the phone screen. He was genuinely surprised. After receiving Smith Doyle's strange commission earlier that day, the Continental Hotel's vast intelligence network had begun churning, but no information had surfaced. Yet, here was the legendary John Wick, presenting a near-identical request so soon.
Eddie took the gold coin and slid it into his till. "It's a genuine coincidence, Jonathan. If it were before today, you might not have gotten anything at all."
John Wick was stunned by the response. "How so?" he asked, a flicker of desperate excitement in his eyes.
Eddie continued, his voice lowered: "But just this morning, a customer posted a commission with a similar picture. If anyone is looking for this, or anything similar, they can go directly to him for information. By the way, he's in the bar right now."
Eddie pointed subtly toward Smith Doyle's booth.
John Wick was momentarily frozen. This was entirely different from his expectation. He had anticipated a fruitless search, maybe a dusty scroll in some forgotten legendary archive. He didn't expect this strange artifact to be known, let alone possessed, by a stranger sitting ten feet away.
John Wick steadied himself, his focus returning. He turned and walked with measured steps toward Smith Doyle's booth.
The Meeting of Worlds
"Four hundred million is walking right toward us," Fox nudged Smith, unable to resist one final, playful joke.
Smith simply smiled, unfazed by the amount or the man approaching.
John Wick stopped before them, placing his phone on the table. The image of the glowing, one-star sphere was displayed prominently.
"Eddie told me that if I wanted to know more about this thing, I could come to you directly," John Wick stated, his voice a low command, not a question.
Fox looked at the photo, then back at Smith, her curiosity now tinged with confusion about what this "crystal ball" could be.
Smith looked at the picture, a genuine, mysterious smile on his face. "It seems you have been awarded a planet," he said, confirming the unbelievable.
John Wick sat down, not because he was invited, but because his knees threatened to give out. He asked, his voice strained with nervousness and desperate hope: "Is the legend true?"
Smith Doyle's smile did not waver. "It's true," he affirmed simply.
Hearing the impossible confirmed, John Wick took a deep, shaky breath to regain his famous composure. "Thank you for letting me know," he said, collecting himself. "I don't know your name yet. My name is Jonathan John Wick."
"I'm Smith Doyle," Smith replied, nodding to his companion. "And this is Fox."
John Wick organized the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He spoke slowly, carefully. "Mr. Smith, how much do you know about this item?" he asked. "Or do you, perhaps, have something similar in your hands? And if I wanted to acquire the item in your hand, what price would I have to pay?"
Smith looked him straight in the eyes, his expression turning serious. "We are from the Assassin's League, and this thing is the sacred object we guard. John Wick, this is not the place to talk about this."
While speaking, Smith subtly pointed to the message ticker above them, the one currently flashing the $400 million bounty. "And you also have important things to accomplish first. But let me be clear: you are now our target of observation."
John Wick stared back, absorbing the stunning information: the truth of the sphere, the identity of his new contact, and the chilling declaration that he was being observed. After a few tense seconds of silence, he spoke.
"I do have something to take care of," he agreed. "I'm wondering when we can talk about the matter regarding Planet One."
Smith gave him the final instruction. "When you've finished what you're doing, and when you are ready, come to room 819 at the Continental Hotel to discuss this."
John Wick nodded once, a gesture of understanding and acceptance of the terms. He stood up and immediately walked out. He had a debt of blood to settle before he could focus on the miracle of Helen's return. He was heading for the Red Circle Club to find Viggo's son, Iosef Tarasov.
The Chase Begins
Watching John Wick leave, Fox immediately turned to Smith. "What was that thing you called a planet? Why has it suddenly become our sacred object? And what exactly are we supposed to observe about John Wick?"
Smith stood up. "I'll tell you about the Dragon Balls and the League's new purpose in detail later," he promised. "Also, remember to control your expression and your eyes. Don't be surprised by anything you see today."
"As for what to observe, we're going to follow him and see exactly what the legendary Night Demon does when he is forced out of retirement."
Fox stood up, leaning in to whisper into Smith's ear, a mischievous threat in her voice: "Hopefully, there will be a surprise at the end of this story. Otherwise... you're dead."
She punctuated her warning by reaching out and giving Smith's waist a sharp, playful twist.
"Ouch!" Smith exaggerated a grimace. "Hurry up! If you don't stop messing around, we won't be able to keep up with John Wick!"
Meanwhile, John Wick was already speeding toward the Red Circle Club, the information from Smith Doyle spinning in his mind. He had also heard the stories of the Assassin's League—an entity that operated entirely outside the High Table's control, yet never accepted contracts for money. Their members possessed abnormal, superior combat capabilities, but his information, five years old, was clearly outdated.
He had some guesses about the League's purpose and why he was now their "target of observation."
Touching the leather pouch containing the Dragon Ball that rested against his chest, John Wick's eyes grew cold and determined. I must resurrect you, Helen.