Meeting Big Deal I

Class finally ended, and with the bell ringing, I figured it was time to head over to Big Deal's turf. I wasn't really in a rush—just had to lay down a few ground rules, nothing major. As I made my way downstairs, I stopped at the sight of a gleaming Rolls-Royce waiting right outside the entrance.

What the hell? I thought to myself. Since when did the Division start rolling in this kind of money? It looked like something out of one of those mobster flicks, the ones where the boss steps out, and everyone around him acts all cool and intimidating.

I walked closer, noticing the line of blacked-out vehicles behind it, brimming with guys holding hockey bats and looking way too serious for what I had in mind. I sighed. "Is this a B-grade action movie or something?" I muttered under my breath. It was almost too ridiculous. We're just going to give them a warning, not start a damn street war. The police would definitely notice us if we rolled up with this many people.

I glanced over at No. 2, who was standing there, arms crossed, with that smirk on his face. "What is this, man? Are we heading to a wedding? You, No. 1, and No. 3 are more than enough." I rubbed the back of my neck, realizing this whole setup was way over the top.

No. 2 clearly misunderstood what I said because the next thing I knew, he was barking orders like we were about to lay siege to a fortress. "Scout the area! If any crew even thinks of making a move, break them apart!" He raised his hand, and the rest of the guys roared in response like they were prepping for battle.

I shook my head, exasperated. "What is it with today's youth and unnecessary violence?" I muttered to myself. It was almost nostalgic, in a way, reminding me of my younger days when violence wasn't an option—it was a job. My mind drifted back to those days, the days when I worked as an assassin. Those were different times. Simpler, even. No fanfare, no loud declarations. Just efficiency and clean work. Those were the days…

The car's engine purred to life, bringing me back to the present. As we pulled away from the school, I noticed the three black Range Rovers tailing us, filled with No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, and a dozen other guys. These kids are really throwing money around like it's nothing. I mean, I get it—we've been on the rise, but this whole setup? Overkill.

Bored, I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram, scrolling through my account. I didn't post much—just five pictures, really. Two of them were with my family, and then there was that one picture No. 3 insisted on taking. It was a group selfie, me in the middle, with No. 1 and No. 2 standing behind me. The guys thought I posted it because I saw them as family. Truth was, I just looked damn cool in that shot.

The other two pics were mirror selfies—just me, looking half-decent. Weirdly enough, those selfies blew up, getting more likes than I ever thought possible. This generation's wild, I thought, scrolling through the comments. One guy said he got pregnant just by looking at the pic. Others talked about "mogging" or whatever the hell that means. And the girls? They went wild, flooding the comments with "Daddy" like it was a competition. Sigh... maybe I should just delete it.

But instead, I decided to stop reading the comments altogether. It wasn't worth the headache. I glanced at my follower count—over 12 million. When did that even happen? And I was verified too, apparently. I wasn't much for social media, but the numbers didn't lie.

I only followed six accounts. No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 were in there, naturally. No. 2 had a bit of a following himself, and No. 1 had a photo of the two of us together that people loved for some reason. As for No. 3? He was surprisingly popular with the girls, even though he looked like a midget next to me. It never made sense to me, but then again, not much about these youngsters did.

The other three accounts I followed? My sister, of course. She made me follow her—it wasn't even a choice. And the other two? They were the only ones who really interested me: Miss Lin and Miss Kim.

Miss Lin was a celebrity, pushing her late 30s, still single. We'd been chatting for months now, and though she was overseas filming for a movie, she'd send me pictures every now and then. It kept me going, but man, I couldn't wait to see her in person. Then there was Miss Kim, the hardworking woman who owned a chain of crab stores. I promised to visit one of her shops soon, and I was already thinking about what kind of gift I should bring when I showed up.

The driver's voice cut through my thoughts. "Boss, we've arrived."

I glanced up from my phone, seeing the familiar streets of Big Deal spread out in front of me. I cracked my knuckles as I stepped out of the Rolls-Royce, taking in the sight of the thugs lined up in black suits, blocking the path.

Behind me, No. 1 and No. 2 followed, their eyes sharp and ready for whatever was coming next.

No. 3 was the first to break the tension. "Move out of the way!" he shouted, throwing threats around like confetti. Honestly, I was starting to feel a bit embarrassed by his antics. Here we were, eight of us—including the drivers—and he was barking orders at a group of a hundred wannabe gangsters in front of us. It felt ridiculous, like a high school play gone wrong.

What's with these students and their obsession with violence? I thought, shaking my head.

Two goons stepped forward, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. One of them, who looked like he'd aged a few decades too early, introduced himself as "Old Face." I guess that's because he looks old, I thought. The other one, with a ridiculously styled haircut that was way too tight, called himself "Line." Seriously? I sighed inwardly. I'm too old for this shit.

"I need to see your boss," I said, trying to sound authoritative. "What was his name again?" I glanced at No. 3, hoping he would have a clue.

"Uh, it's Big Jake or something," he replied, looking just as clueless as I felt.

"Big Jake?" I repeated, shaking my head. "Is that really the best you've got?"

Old Face stepped closer, puffing out his chest. "You've got no idea who you're dealing with. Big Jake doesn't take kindly to punks like you waltzing in here and demanding to see him."

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And what are you going to do about it? Threaten me with your...age and hair?" I shot back, trying to keep my tone light even though I was annoyed. "Listen, I'm not here to fight. I just want to have a civilized chat."

"Civilized?" Line sneered, clearly not buying it. "In this neighborhood? You've got to be joking. This isn't a tea party; it's Big Deal territory."

I sighed again, feeling the weight of the day creeping back in. "No. 2, No. 1, beat them up," I said, tired of the pointless banter.

No. 1 loosened his tied-up hair, transforming from a stoic giant into something resembling an ancient caveman in his oversized suit. The sight was oddly humorous amidst the tension. Meanwhile, No. 2's dark expression shifted to a fierce glare, his eyes glowing with the white dots that mirrored my own. He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

"Who among you is going to kill me?" he shouted, his tone both challenging and intimidating.

I felt a cringe wash over me. This isn't what I wanted to happen, I thought, wishing I could just fast-forward through this awkward confrontation.