044, Gao's Chamber of Commerce!

Zaire, now dressed in a crisp white chef's uniform, carried two heavy takeout boxes as he wove through the bustling crowd.

He stopped in front of a grand, ancient-looking building adorned with intricate carvings. This was the headquarters of the Gao Corporation.

Perhaps because there was an important meeting happening today, even the entrance was guarded by a tall, thin man in sunglasses, who was busy turning away unwelcome tourists and passersby.

With a professional smile, Zaire approached the man, lifting the takeout boxes as proof.

"Hello, food delivery for the corporation."

Before he could step through the door, the tall man raised a hand to stop him.

"Hold on a second."

The man's abrupt action made Zaire's brow furrow slightly, but he remained silent, patiently waiting.

The man pressed a button on his earpiece, murmuring a few words:

"The delivery's here... understood."

He then shifted his gaze back to Zaire and said, "Go straight down the hallway to the banquet hall. Don't wander around, got it?"

"Got it."

Zaire's smile faded slightly as he nodded, hefting the takeout boxes and stepping into the building.

The opulent front hall was empty, save for the hum of several air conditioning units.

Following the man's instructions, Zaire walked down the wide corridor that connected the hall to the banquet room at the far end.

Thud!

Zaire pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Instantly, four or five dozen pairs of eyes turned to him in unison.

Despite the tense atmosphere, Zaire, with a stiff smile, didn't flinch. He simply raised the takeout boxes in his hands and said quietly,

"Food delivery..."

Whether it was his chef's attire or his casual words, something seemed to diffuse the attention. The eyes quickly turned away as the guests resumed drinking tea and talking amongst themselves.

It was as if Zaire had become invisible—nothing more than a fleeting presence not worth acknowledging.

At that moment, Zaire's eyes narrowed. Most of the men in the room wore the same white shirt and black suit, with their only difference being their hairstyles. They looked like cheap, mass-produced copies.

And every single one of them was a young, strong man—there wasn't a single woman in sight.

After standing there for a while, no one approached Zaire to take the food.

Slightly exasperated, Zaire walked over to one of the men closest to him and whispered,

"Hey, where should I put the food?"

"Hmm?"

The man seemed startled by the question, hesitating before replying,

"Madam Gao and her guests are in the second-floor meeting room... but the manager who handles things is on the third floor. You could go straight up and find him."

"Thanks."

Zaire thanked him and, after a moment of thought, placed the takeout boxes down in the hall. He then headed toward the nearby staircase.

As he ascended, his hand brushed the intricately carved dragon stair rails. Without pausing, he reached the third floor.

There was no need to search—the manager's office was clearly marked.

Walking down the plush, carpeted hallway, Zaire approached the office door with a relaxed expression. Just as he was about to knock, he overheard a heated argument coming from the other side of the door.

"Without the support of the Triads, half the junkies on the East Coast would rebel!" a strong female voice shouted, filled with anger.

"The Kingpin has made it clear: either hand over the Blueberry Nightclub operations, or keep dealing in powder. No one in this world gets all the benefits without paying the price!"

A man's lazy voice responded from within, but the use of that title—Kingpin—instantly caught Zaire's attention. His hand froze mid-knock.

As Zaire debated whether to leave or continue eavesdropping, the woman's cold laughter cut through the tense air.

"If Blueberry Nightclub loses our smuggling routes and our... personal training, do you really think it would still attract all those powerful financiers and elites? Dream on!"

"And besides, who in all of New York could take over the Blueberry Nightclub territory now? The Tracksuit Mafia? Last I heard, their brains and bodies are still rotting in the morgue."

Before the woman could finish her mocking rant, Zaire's eyes narrowed further. He had made up his mind—it was time to leave this dangerous place. He had forgotten to bring his plasma pistol.

But before he could move, the woman's sharp words seemed to strike a nerve with the man inside.

His previously lazy tone turned dark and menacing.

"Madam Gao! The Kingpin doesn't make requests. He gives orders that must be obeyed! Unless your Triads want to start a new war, challenging the new order, my advice is to behave."

"A new war? Everyone knows the Kingpin is already in hot water because of the Tracksuit Mafia incident... I've even heard there's a shadowy, brutal federal department tracking him down," the woman scoffed.

"His days... are numbered!"

"You—"

Before Zaire could even process the escalating tension, the door in front of him was suddenly yanked open with a loud bang!

Standing in the doorway was a white-haired woman dressed in a traditional cheongsam. Beside her, a cold-eyed blond man twirled a pencil between his fingers before flicking it toward Zaire's face with deadly precision.

But Zaire, seemingly caught off guard, merely tilted his head slightly.

His hand shot up like lightning, catching the pencil just inches from his eye.

Snap!

Without hesitation, Zaire's fingers tightened, effortlessly snapping the pencil in two.

His gaze fixed on the two people standing so close to him.

"Hoo—"

Zaire took a deep breath, a faint, resigned smile crossing his face.

"I'd like to say this was just a misunderstanding... would you believe me?"

"A little rat, eavesdropping," the blond man sneered, cracking his neck side to side.

With a flick of his wrist, a stack of metallic playing cards gleamed between his fingers.

........

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