Two long, rectangular packages were brought forward by the office staff and handed over to Na and Darno. The two men exchanged a look of pure confusion, their eyebrows shooting up in unison. They had no idea what was happening or why Max was presenting them with gifts; after all, he had already authorized a substantial financial bonus for their successful operation against the Gilt Rats.
As they tore into the packaging at the same time, their eyes widened, reflecting the metallic sheen of what lay inside.
’I guess Wolf was right,’ Max thought, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched their reactions. ’They really do appreciate the gesture. I’m actually a bit surprised that even Na seems touched by it. He’s usually so hard to read.’
"Damn, this is incredible!" Darno exclaims, lifting the contents of the box. "Can I try it on right now? I want to see how it looks in the mirror."
"I would save it for special occasions," Max advised, his tone shifting back to that of a leader. "Those items signify that you are now a core part of the Billion Bloodline group. You aren’t just hired muscle or temporary associates anymore. When you wear those, you represent the Bloodline in every way, just like the rest of the inner circle. You’ve proven your loyalty and your worth. If you accept the gift, you accept the responsibility that comes with it. You should only wear them when you’re truly needed for the heavy lifting."
They understood the gravity of his words immediately. The "gift" was more than just equipment; it was a badge of office. The two of them nodded solemnly.
"Well, you don’t have to ask me twice," Darno said, his usual cocky grin returning. "I’ve wanted one of these ever since I saw the others wearing them. It’s like a rite of passage."
Na remained a bit more hesitant, his fingers tracing the fabric. "I already have my own Vow to keep me busy, but I will accept this as well. It’s an honor."
With that silent agreement, two new Rangers were officially added to the upper echelons of the group. As for when they would make their public debut in their new colors, only time would tell.
Max glanced at his watch. The hands were ticking toward the evening hours, and he imagined the other students were already gathering for the senior event. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Donto had planned for the unsuspecting freshmen.
The gathering was taking place at a massive, multi-level bowling facility on the edge of the campus district. It was a famous local spot; during the day, it was a family-friendly alley, but at night, half the building transformed into a high-end nightclub capable of accommodating thousands of guests.
Tonight, the venue was packed. The event was being hosted by a coalition of seniors, primarily from the various sporting departments—the soccer club, the judo team, and the rugby squad. They were the self-appointed kings of the campus social hierarchy. While they hadn’t invited the entire freshman class, they had targeted specific departments, resulting in a crowd of around two hundred students.
Yovan and Talia walked toward the neon-lit entrance of the bowling alley, meeting a visibly nervous Steve along the way.
"Man, I guess not everyone is as worried as we are, right?" Steve asked, gesturing toward the groups of students passing them. Many of the freshmen had large smiles on their faces, already clutching drinks and laughing loudly as they headed toward the music. For the majority of the students, this was just another exciting party—a chance to climb the social ladder. But for those in the business department who had witnessed Sylan’s brutality, the atmosphere felt like a trap.
"We should just stick together and be extremely careful with our drinks," Yovan warned, her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the soccer team. "We know these seniors are up to no good. Forcing everyone to attend an event like this means they’re planning something big. I’ve heard rumors about what happens at these ’mandatory’ mixers."
"You’re right," Talia added, her voice low. "For once, Yovan, I don’t think you’re being paranoid. But I do wonder why only certain departments were invited. If this was a standard ’welcome’ event, shouldn’t it be open to every first-year student?"
No one had an answer. When they finally entered the facility, their confusion only deepened. The sports seniors were positioned strategically throughout the room, watching the newcomers like hawks. Standing out amongst them all was Donto Stern. He was leaning against a bar, wearing a black leather jacket that made him look like a professional model or a high-ranking syndicate heir—which, in a way, he was. Even those who didn’t attend the university knew the name Donto.
As the freshmen entered, each person was handed a small, sealed black bag. The seniors delivering them were firm with their instructions: they were not to open the bag until they received the "signal," otherwise the surprise of the event would be ruined.
The warning was backed by a subtle threat. A couple of curious students tried to peek inside their packages, but their hands were quickly grabbed by lurking seniors who reminded them, with cold eyes, to wait for the proper time.
Despite the underlying tension, it appeared to be a regular party. People were drinking, music was thumping, and groups were gathered around card tables or bowling lanes. The three business students stuck close to each other, constantly looking over their shoulders. They had been checking each other’s drinks for any signs of tampering and swatting away over-eager seniors and freshmen alike.
Suddenly, a man with scruffy black hair and a rugged appearance approached their small circle. He didn’t look like a senior, but he didn’t look like a typical student either. He bowed slightly toward them, his hands tucked into his pockets.
"You three are from the business department, right?" the man asked. "I was just wondering if you had seen a particular student. I was hoping to run into him today. His name is Max?"
The group looked at the stranger, confused. They wondered who this person was and why he was so intent on finding a man who was currently supposed to be in a hospital bed.