Mandarin Island South is one of the largest islands in the Orange Archipelago. It boasts bustling cities and quiet towns, with a busy port town in the north and a military base stationed at the island’s southwest tip. To the east lies Yambera, a historical town known for its ancient culture and well-preserved architecture from a nearly forgotten era. Tourists and honeymooners frequent its charming alleys, drawn to its old-world charm.

  Edo John, a worker at one of the more reputable inns in Yambera, was trudging home after a long shift.

  ‘Sigh… When will this end?’ he thought bitterly, shoulders sagging under the weight of a routine he no longer cared for.

  Just then, a voice called out cheerfully down the road. “Hey Edo, why so glum?”

  Looking up, Edo saw Mrs. Patricia Palmer, a plump woman in her late forties, strolling toward him with her Persian walking primly at her side.

  With a tired but polite smile, Edo greeted her, “Good evening, Mrs. Patricia. How do you do?”

  “I’m feeling great now that I ran into you,” she replied, flashing a grin.

  ‘Wow. Straight to the point, huh? Whatever happened to the posh flirt routine?’ Edo thought to himself.

  At 30, standing an even six feet with disheveled blonde hair and a lean physique, Edo was the quiet crush of many middle-aged women on the island. Yet, despite their best efforts, they never seemed to get past his polite boundaries.

  “I thought Mr. Palmer started joining you on your evening walks. Or am I mistaken?” Edo asked, trying to deflect.

  “Oh, that man couldn’t stay disciplined to save his life,” she scoffed. “Not like you and me, keeping active and healthy.” She reached into her handbag. “Need an energy drink? I’ve got one right here—”

  “Oh no, Mrs. Patricia, I just want to get home quickly and take care of some errands I’ve been putting off. See you, ma’am,” Edo replied, excusing himself with a bow of the head.

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  As he continued walking, his phone rang—an unknown number.

  He hesitated, then answered.

  “Hey man! Long time no see,” came a cheerful voice from the other end. “We restarted the club again—we’re meeting in Yambera. See you tomorrow. I’ll send the location. Bye.”

  Click.

  The call ended before Edo could even speak.

  His face drained of color. Passersby noticed the stunned look in his eyes.

  Goosebumps.

  He knew that voice. He had heard it countless times… but not in years.

  ‘Restarted the club?’

  He walked differently after that—head on a swivel, as though someone might be following him. Questions swirled in his mind:

  ’Does it mean what I think it means?’

  ’Where did they get my number?’

  ‘Why now?’

  He stopped walking and took a deep breath, steeling himself.

  “Doesn’t matter… it’s restarted. That’s all that matters.”

  The next morning, Edo received a message. The “club meeting” was in one week.

  Those seven days crawled by, each one slower than the last.

  Wake up. Work. Eat. Sleep.

  Repeat.

  The Day of the Meeting

  It was a quiet Monday evening—most of the city had settled into sleep. Edo followed his GPS to a trail that wound through the woods outside town. With every step along the narrow manmade path, the silence deepened, broken only by the occasional hoot of a local Hoothoot.

  Finally, he reached a small waterfall.

  “A waterfall? There’s no one here…”

  Cautiously, Edo scanned the area and moved closer. As he did, a platform of steel slowly extended outward from behind the cascading water, forming a walkway that led through the falls.

  From the mist emerged a man in his late thirties.

  He smiled. “Come in.”

  Edo smirked. “Imagine my shock, realizing who that obnoxiously cheerful voice belonged to.”

  The man chuckled. “Shock and awe has always been my theme.”

  Edo’s tone shifted. “So, Jared… what’s happening?”

  “That’s what we’re all here to find out,” Jared replied nonchalantly.

  Still the same, Edo thought. Always trying to be mysterious.

  They walked through a dimly lit corridor. There were doors on either side, each leading to rooms hidden underground behind the waterfall—no sunlight, no windows. Just cold, artificial lights humming overhead.

  Finally, they reached a set of double doors.

  Inside was a large room, big enough to host a hundred people. A small stage stood on the far end. Edo followed Jared toward it, taking in the familiar—but aged—faces scattered around.

  There were about 25 people. A few dock workers. A ferry operator. A security guard. A clerk from the Orange Archipelago branch of Archbank. An employee from the Museum of Culture. Men and women of various backgrounds, all wearing the same expression: curious, cautious, hungry for answers.

  And then…

  He appeared.

  The man who once moved Kanto’s underworld with a flick of his wrist. The one who built an empire in the shadows. The one they all once served.

  He stepped onto the stage, his Persian by his side, its narrowed eyes gleaming with superiority.

  He looked around at them all—smirking with calm confidence.

  “Welcome back, one and all,” he said. “It’s been a while. I’m sure the world has missed us.”

  Giovanni.