There was a sharp contrast between the men and women sparring in the Fortis Group's training hall and the people Max had come to know in his Bloodline Gang.
The Bloodline Gang had been built from the ground up out of delinquents, people society had already discarded. They weren't children with bright futures or professionals trying to climb a corporate ladder. They were survivors. People who had already accepted they had no place in the ordinary world and chose to carve out their own path in the underworld. After everything that had happened with the Chalkline Boys and the Rejected Corps, the Bloodline Gang members had entered that life with open eyes. They knew exactly what they were stepping into, and they knew the risks.
The Fortis Group, however, was another story entirely.
Their guards were recruited from polished resumes and athletic careers, not back-alley fights and broken homes. They were Olympians, ex-soldiers, and decorated athletes. They were professionals lured by promises of high salaries, cutting-edge facilities, and a sense of prestige. They weren't like Wolf's hardened fighters or Na's blood-and-steel kind of warriors.
Which made Max wonder: if these people couldn't be used like his own gang, what roles could they fill? Could they be turned into something useful for his broader goals? Could they serve as a respectable front while his own men worked in the shadows?
There was only one way to know for sure, he had to see what they were capable of.
Nesa caught herself stealing glances at Na. He stood silently at Max's side, towering in his dark suit. The cut of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, the way he carried himself, it all screamed power. He wasn't just big; he was built like a man who lived his life in combat.
She tried to keep her tone even, but a flicker of worry tugged at her words. "Although your guard seems… fit for purpose, and I'm certain he does a fine job protecting you, putting him against our personnel might be… unfair."
Max tilted his head, studying her carefully.
"I mean no offense," she hurried to add. "But many of our recruits were the best of the best in their fields before coming here. Ex-soldiers. World-class athletes. Champions in their own right. And unlike most personal bodyguards, they train every single day, together, under a system that refines them constantly. I'm sure your man is strong, but I don't think a comparison would prove much. Still, I'd be more than happy to show you a demonstration between some of our own people."
Nesa wasn't just being polite. She was worried. They had already risked offending the Billion Bloodline Group once. If Max's guard was humiliated in front of everyone, what impression would that leave? Not a good one. In her mind, the safest outcome was no fight at all.
Max, however, wasn't letting her off so easily. "I think you weren't fully aware of the situation," he said casually. "Earlier, when your colleagues tried to attack us, Na was the one who dealt with them in seconds. I'd say that puts him on par with some of your personnel."
Nesa forced a polite smile. "The men at reception… are actually our lowest-ranked employees. It's the entry-level post, more about presence and courtesy than skill. Even the ones Chief Nonto brought down weren't exactly our finest. They participate in training, yes, but they aren't like the people you see here." She gestured toward the fighters below, men and women slamming batons into each other with sharp cracks that echoed through the hall. "Besides, our people can get… extremely competitive. It's not uncommon for injuries to happen, and I'd rather avoid that."
Max's smirk told her he wasn't convinced.
Before she could argue further, movement drew everyone's attention. From the tunnel connected to the training floor, a familiar figure swaggered into view, tight black tank top stretched across his chest, gum popping between his teeth as though he owned the place.
Darno.
Max's eyes narrowed. The very same man who had nearly run him over outside, the same arrogant thorn from reception, had strolled straight into the hall.
"Darno!" Nesa's voice cracked like a whip.
He turned, clearly irritated at being interrupted, but the moment he saw her face, saw who stood beside her, he straightened his back and shifted his demeanor. The swagger faded. He gave a sharp nod and quietly turned back toward the others. He knew exactly why she was calling out. It wasn't a request. It was a warning. Behave. You're being watched.
Max's grin widened ever so slightly. He'd already decided the perfect punishment for Darno wasn't fists, it was torment. Letting the man stew, forcing him to wonder whether every action would be his last inside this company.
Still, Max didn't want the moment to slip away. He leaned slightly toward Nesa, his voice calm but firm. "I promise this won't reflect badly on you. If anything, I need to know if your personnel are truly up to the task. Who knows, if I'm impressed, I might even consider making one of them my personal guard."
Nesa hesitated. The logic made sense, and Max's tone carried the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed. She exhaled slowly, realizing she had no polite excuse left. "…Very well."
The group descended the stairs into the main training floor. The clang of batons and the heavy thuds of fists slowed, then stopped altogether as the guards noticed Nesa leading a red-haired stranger and his towering companion into their midst.
Conversation hushed. Dozens of eyes followed them, tension thickening the air.
"Listen up, everyone!" Nesa clapped her hands sharply. "We have a, " She paused, glancing at Max, unsure how he wished to be introduced.
Max stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Competitor," he said smoothly. "We work in the same field as you."
The subtle lie made Nesa's brow twitch, but she understood instantly. Max didn't want these people holding back. He wanted them to see him as an equal, not as a guest to be humored.
"Right," she said briskly, turning back to the room. "We have a competitor here. We'd like a friendly bout. Any volunteers?"
Silence stretched. Guards exchanged uneasy glances. The stranger looked young, but his companion was enormous. No one wanted to be the first to step up and risk humiliation, or worse.
Darno kept his head down, jaw tight. He knew he couldn't move. If he volunteered and lost, he'd dig his grave deeper. If he won and hurt the man, the fallout could be just as bad. Better to let someone else take the hit.
Finally, a voice broke through. "I'll do it."
A man with a buzz cut stepped forward from the crowd. He was nearly as tall as Na, his frame wide and solid, eyes steady with calm confidence. He looked like the kind of soldier who'd seen more than a few tours, someone who lived and breathed discipline.
For a moment, the tension eased. This was the kind of volunteer Nesa had hoped for, someone capable, professional, not reckless.
But then Darno couldn't help himself. He stepped up beside the man, leaning close, voice low but loud enough for Max to catch.
"Don't go easy on him," Darno muttered, smirk curling across his lips. "Use everything you've got. Crush him."