At first glance, since the letter had been hand-delivered rather than sent through any regular courier, Max assumed it might have been an invitation.
It was only a fleeting thought , one that crossed his mind and vanished almost immediately. After all, invitations of that kind were reserved for people with far higher standing than he currently held. He hadn’t yet reached the kind of influence or recognition that would earn him one.
If someone wanted to invite the Chairman of the Billion Bloodline Group , perhaps that would make sense. But even then, Max doubted his reputation had spread far enough for that.
Besides, from what he remembered, true invitations were never handed off casually to a staff member. Those who delivered them always did so in person, presenting them directly to the intended recipient with ceremony and respect.
This delivery had been silent, discreet , almost cautious.
Still, when Max opened the letter and read the contents, his expression froze. For several long seconds, he just stared at the words, processing them.
"Warma," Max said finally, lowering the letter, "this is... a different matter. Can you give me and Aron a few minutes to talk privately?"
Warma raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him. He had long suspected that Max’s operations extended far beyond the polished world of venture capital. He knew there were other things , things that didn’t exist on any business ledger.
Part of Max had been tempted to tell Warma everything, to pull him into the full picture. But the more he thought about what had happened to Abby , and how much blood already stained his hands , the more he hesitated. Warma didn’t need to be dragged into that world.
For now, it was safer to keep things divided.
When Warma left the room, Max turned toward Aron, holding up the black letter between his fingers.
"This," Max said, "is from the Black Hounds."
Aron’s eyes narrowed immediately. "So, they’ve finally decided to make a move." His voice was low, controlled, but his stance shifted slightly , the reflex of a man ready for trouble. "What are their demands?"
"That’s the strange part." Max spread the letter open on the desk. "There aren’t any."
Aron frowned. "What do you mean?"
"They’re not threatening us or asking for money," Max explained. "In fact... they’re being polite."
"Polite?" Aron repeated, as if the word itself were an insult.
Max nodded. "They’re inviting the Billion Bloodline Group to attend one of their VIP underground fighting events. The same kind Chad used to go to."
At that, Aron’s frown deepened. "Those events... they’re held in the Black Hounds’ core territory."
"Exactly," Max replied. "Since we shut down most of their outer fighting rings, only the major venues remain. That means this event will be full of their strongest members , people like Jett."
Aron’s voice grew heavier. "And if the event is being hosted at that level, it won’t just be spectators. The participants themselves will be dangerous , organized, trained, and likely Superhuman-level fighters."
He paused. "So the question is , are they inviting you as a spectator
By now, Max was sure the Black Hounds knew the truth: that the leader of the Billion Bloodline’s VC branch and the leader of the gang under the same name were one and the same.
However, there was still one thing he believed Jett didn’t know , that he was a member of the Stern family.
Anton had shouted a few things during the confrontation, but Jett didn’t seem the type to care about business details or family lineages. Men like him only cared about power, money, and survival.
That, at least, was Max’s gamble.
He glanced down again at the letter.
"It seems they’re asking for both," Max said. "They want us to attend as guests, free to spectate and place bets. But they’re also offering us the option to nominate participants from our own organization to join the fights."
He exhaled slowly. "It’s written almost like a peace offering."
"Or a trap," Aron said immediately. His eyes didn’t waver. "They might be looking for an excuse to test us , to measure your strength, your influence, or your resources."
"Maybe," Max admitted. "But ignoring them might be worse. If we refuse, they could take it as an insult , as if we’re too afraid or too proud to show up."
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned about these people, it’s that perception is everything. They respect power, not absence."
Aron crossed his arms. "Then what are you planning to do?"
Max stayed silent for a moment, thinking through the consequences , the angles, the risks, the potential reward.
Finally, he made his decision.
"This event," Max said, "we’ll attend it. It’s two weeks from now."
"Max," Aron said sharply, the protest immediate.
"Relax," Max interrupted with a small smirk. "We’re not joining as participants. I’ll go as a spectator. You’ll stay by my side."
Aron didn’t look convinced. "And what do you plan to gain from this?"
"What I need most right now," Max said, tapping the letter with his finger, "is money. The Black Hounds have plenty of it, and this gives me the perfect way to get some of it back."
His smile grew more determined. "They’ve just opened their doors to me , and I intend to make use of that. If I play my cards right, this event could refill my coffers and restore my strength."
Aron stayed quiet for a moment, then sighed. "And the Rangers?"
"They should all be done with their Vows soon," Max said confidently. "A week, maybe less. Once that’s done..."
He stood up, his voice firm. "It’s time for them to test their new strength. This underground arena will be the perfect place for that."
For the first time in a long while, there was a spark in Max’s eyes , a glimmer of excitement behind all the weight he carried.
"Money, influence, and power , all in one place," Max murmured, his grin sharpening. "If this goes the way I think it will, we’ll come out stronger than ever."
Aron, however, wasn’t smiling.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "But the real question is... once those Vows are made , will they be strong enough to face Jett again?"
He met Max’s gaze directly.
"Or worse... those above him."