Tatsumi and Leone stepped inside the apartment, revealing a rather lavish interior. Velvet drapes adorned the tall windows, and a chandelier—though modest by palace standards—hung proudly over a polished marble table. The walls were lined with decorative scrolls, maps of the Empire, and rare artifacts that hinted at Tariq's wealth and ambition.
"My fellow guests, welcome. Please feel yourself at home," came a voice from above.
Lord Tariq descended the bannister staircase with the grace of a man well-practiced in the art of appearances. His robes were finely tailored, rich with embroidery, and his hair slicked back meticulously. Despite his status as a mid-level noble, he carried himself like someone who fancied himself more important than he truly was.
Tatsumi caught on to his gaze. There was something in it—something unsettling. A gleam that suggested a mind always calculating, always measuring.
Leone stood silently by Tatsumi's side, alert. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp. She knew the kind of man who could afford guards at every door and wore his wealth like armor. She was deep in enemy territory.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Tariq said as he reached the bottom step. "Lord Tariq, one of the overseers of commerce and trade routes across the Empire."
"Tatsumi," the young man replied coolly, then gestured toward Leone. "And this is my enforcer, Natasha."
Leone shot him a subtle glance—Natasha?—but kept her expression neutral.
Tariq's eyes shifted to her with an open leer, trailing down her figure with little attempt at subtlety. "Mmm… strong-looking woman," he murmured with a smirk.
Leone caught the look and slightly flinched in revulsion, suppressing the urge to crush something beneath her heel.
"Anyway," Tariq said, motioning toward the hallway, "since we're here to talk business, allow me to lead you to my study."
"Sure," Tatsumi replied. "I'll take Natasha with me, just for good measure."
"Very cautious man indeed. I respect that," Tariq said with a toothy smile.
With that, the trio walked down the corridor, the luxurious carpeting muffling their steps. Tariq's bodyguards remained behind, closing the door behind them with a low thud. Every step deeper into the tenement felt like entering another layer of a web. Tatsumi knew they had to be careful navigating.
The study door creaked open slowly, revealing a room lined with ledgers, aged parchments, and golden trinkets collected from across the Empire. A soft scent of incense lingered in the air, meant to impress—or distract. Tariq entered first, making a sweeping gesture toward the seats across from his polished mahogany desk.
Tatsumi stepped in calmly, while Leone stood at the doorway, her posture alert, scanning every detail like a trained predator. Her role as the silent enforcer wasn't just for show.
Tariq settled into the chair with a relaxed smile. "So, I heard you have something to show me?" he asked, his fingers laced together.
Without a word, Tatsumi reached into his satchel and retrieved four bottles of pure olive oil. He placed them carefully on the desk, the glass catching the candlelight and shimmering with golden promise.
Tariq raised a brow, visibly impressed. "Hohoh... such fine quality. The kind that citizens would spill blood over just to taste."
"Exactly," Tatsumi said evenly. "That's why I'm here. I'm requesting a trade permit—so we can begin offering products like this in the Capital."
Tariq leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. "I see. But I'm afraid it'll take more than these lovely bottles to get what you need."
Unfazed, Tatsumi reached into his coat and placed a small leather pouch on the table. It landed with a metallic clink. He opened it and calmly pushed forward twenty gold coins.
"Twenty gold coins, plus these four bottles—free of charge," he said, his tone unwavering.
Tariq chuckled, though there was a sharpness to it. "Hah, a mere twenty coins? Mister Tatsumi, surely you jest. I was thinking more along the lines of twenty percent—of whatever you've got in your pockets."
There it was. The corruption, spoken plainly. Tatsumi had been waiting for this exact moment.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. "Too bad. That's the only offer you're going to get. No more, no less."
Tariq's jovial façade vanished. "Boy, so naive. Do you really think you can low-ball me like this? If that's all you have, then walk out. I have no time for amateurs."
Tatsumi sighed softly, his disappointment genuine but measured. He stood up, collected the coins and bottles, and made for the door.
"Very well. I'll just have to sell it without a permit," he said casually. "After all, in the Capital, anyone can do anything they want, right?"
That struck a nerve. Tariq's voice lost all warmth.
"Who do you think you are? You're just another upstart merchant. I'm the overseer of commerce in this district. I could shut your business down in a week."
Leone subtly shifted her weight by the door, her golden eyes scanning every angle. Her hand hovered mere inches from her teigu, ready to act the moment things turned. Though they were here under the guise of diplomacy, both she and Tatsumi knew how quickly words could become daggers.
Tatsumi, meanwhile, remained unnervingly calm. He stood by the window, gazing out over the sprawling cityscape beyond, a slight smile playing on his lips. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but firm, measured like a merchant weighing scales.
"You see, I'm a merchant who knows exactly who to deal with. Do you know why, out of all the bureaucrats, nobles, and officials I could have approached for a permit, I chose you?"
Lord Tariq leaned forward in his chair from the second floor's balcony. Though his face was the picture of noble refinement, his eyes betrayed a sliver of curiosity. "Why is that?"
Tatsumi turned to face him, his smile growing colder. "Because you, Lord Tariq, stand to lose everything. And I, well… I have nothing."
The room shifted. It was subtle—like the way prey reacts when it realizes the predator has stopped playing. Tariq stiffened. The noble's once-relaxed posture began to falter, his fingers curling slightly over the carved arms of his chair. Leone noticed the change, too. Something in Tatsumi's presence had transformed. His words weren't just bold—they carried the weight of intent.
"Let's just say… I have connections of my own," Tatsumi continued, each syllable deliberate. "Don't take it too seriously—just a hypothesis. These connections let me uncover some of your less… public dealings. Like how you've been demanding exorbitant fees from upstart merchants. Especially those who don't flatter you or those you deem… inconvenient."
Tariq's lip curled as he scoffed. "So what? You think you can threaten me with that? I have the Prime Minister's favor. You know what that means, boy?"
Tatsumi's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Indeed. You may enjoy Honest's favor. But let me ask you something—what if my influence doesn't stop within the Empire's walls?"
He let that question hang, giving it just enough time to sink deep into the noble's mind. Then he smiled again, this time with genuine amusement.
"What if my contacts extend beyond? What if they're watching right now, noting every bribe, every silent nod, every coin you skim off the desperate?"
Tariq's self-assurance cracked. His hand twitched slightly. Leone could see it now—his pupils had dilated, his jaw had stiffened. The air felt colder.
Tatsumi took a few measured steps forward, drawing just close enough to let the words hit harder.
"Imagine, for example, if my enforcer here, Natasha, were not just muscle. Suppose she was a liaison—someone gathering information. What do you think would happen if she found proof of your side deals and passed it along… to someone like Night Raid?"
Leone's breath caught in her throat.
Even behind her careful mask and the alias of Natasha, she hadn't seen this coming. She had been so sure Tatsumi was just playing the role of a clever newcomer. But now, even she was questioning what he knew.
How did he find out?
And then, his earlier phrasing returned to her like a whispered echo:
"Don't take it too seriously—just a hypothesis."
Unless that included her, too.
Did he just gamble? Did he bluff? Or… does he truly know?
No one moved. The silence was suffocating. Tariq opened his mouth but no words came. For a moment, it seemed as though the entire world had paused.
Then, as if flipping a switch, Tatsumi laughed.
"Haha! Who am I kidding… I'll just bring you fifty gold coins tomorrow. That should be enough to secure the permit, yes?"
The laugh broke the tension like glass shattering. His grin was too casual, too lighthearted—like a man who hadn't just threatened a nobleman's entire life.
Tariq blinked, stunned and disoriented. His composure had been shattered. "Wait, Tatsumi… I'll take it," he said quickly, his voice cracking under pressure. "Twenty gold coins and the oil. No charge. I'll have the paperwork ready. Just—give me a moment."
He turned and rushed toward his desk, fumbling through scrolls and seals, no longer the poised noble from moments ago. His hands trembled, sweat dripped down his temples, and the air in the room thickened with panic.
After several frantic minutes, Tariq finally handed over the permit—an official document bearing his reluctant approval. His fingers lingered a second longer than they should, as if hoping to delay the inevitable.
"Thank you for your kind cooperation," Tatsumi said calmly, taking the document and sliding it into his satchel with care.
Tatsumi then paused and turned back to the trembling noble. "And one more thing," he added, his voice quiet but firm.
"Yes… what is it?" Tariq stammered, his throat dry and voice uneven.
"It's just a hypothesis, right?"
Tariq's face paled further. He gave a slight, fearful nod, watching helplessly as Tatsumi and Natasha—Leone in disguise—walked out of his study. Though the door closed behind them, the weight of their presence lingered like a stain.
Tatsumi and Leone moved through the crowded streets, the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows along the cobblestone paths. Yet even with the city's usual bustle, a heavy silence followed them.
"So… I didn't expect you to handle a task like that so smoothly," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice held a trace of unease beneath its casual tone.
Tatsumi let out a quiet chuckle. "You either learn to adapt to the Empire's system, or you end up buried under it. That's how this city works. That's how you survive."
She glanced sideways at him, studying his face as if trying to read something deeper behind his words. "Say, Tatsumi… is it really true?"
He raised a brow, arching an inquisitive look. "About what?"
"Do you actually have connections in the Capital?" she asked, a note of concern creeping into her voice.
"Like I told Tariq," he said with a sly smirk. "It's just a hypothesis. A simple guess of mine. But people like him—nobles who've built their power on lies and fear—they don't handle uncertainty very well."
Leone exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Still, some guesses have a funny way of turning out true."
A long pause fell between them, this one colder than the last.
"Just like when I guessed you were the one who killed Janis a few months ago."
Leone stopped mid-step. Her heart jolted, a shiver racing down her spine. She stared at Tatsumi, stunned.
How? How did he know?
He knew Night Raid had targeted Janis. But how had he figured that out? She recalled the moment Najenda gave them the order to eliminate Janis as a tactical move. Despite Akame's precision and their plan, the mission had failed.
Or rather—someone else had gotten to Janis first.
Could it be…
"It was you… who killed Janis?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
Tatsumi halted, slowly turning to meet her gaze. His eyes, once filled with boyish determination, now shimmered with something darker. Cold, steady, calculating.
"So what?" he said flatly. "Aren't you glad I got the job done for you? Then again, it's not like we had the same goals in mind back then. You were aiming for justice. I just wanted to take out a thorn in my friend's side."
Leone's heart sank under the weight of his words. This wasn't the Tatsumi she had once met—the wide-eyed boy with dreams of becoming a hero. This Tatsumi was something else entirely. A survivor molded by the filth of the Empire.
Tatsumi's expression softened, but not in comfort. He offered her a cheerful grin, one that barely touched his eyes.
"Anyway, the sun's setting. I should get back to Vito and the children," he said, his voice almost breezy. "They're expecting dinner, and I wouldn't want to be late."
Then, with the faintest edge to his tone, he added, "Good luck on your next hunt. Just remember… we're always watching."
Leone stepped back instinctively. For the first time in a long while, she felt unsure. The bold, brash woman who often laughed in the face of danger now found herself staring into a mirror—one that reflected a version of Tatsumi shaped by shadows.
And as the twilight deepened, Leone turned and vanished into the crowd without another word, unsure of whether she had just lost a friend… or witnessed the rise of something far more dangerous.