Tatsumi ventured through the bustling marketplace in the early morning, the sun just beginning to cast its golden glow across the merchant stalls and rooftops. He was running an errand for Vito, weaving through the throngs of shoppers and hawkers with a practiced ease. He dodged a couple of oxen carts, stepped around a broken crate of tomatoes, and made his way past a line of musicians tuning their instruments, when a familiar voice called out from the crowd.
"Hey, Olive Oil Boy!"
Tatsumi turned with a deadpan smile, raising an eyebrow in quiet amusement. Olive Oil Boy? That's new.
"Oji-san, how can I help you today?"
The older merchant approached with a cheerful grin and a noticeable bounce in his step.
"I tried that thing you gave me, and I have to say, it worked wonders."
Tatsumi blinked in surprise, curiosity piqued. He hadn't expected immediate feedback, let alone the kind brimming with enthusiasm.
"How so?" he asked.
"We used it for cooking first," the merchant said, rubbing his stomach with satisfaction. "Fried up some river fish with it, and let me tell you, it tasted real good—way better than any of the regular oils we've been using here in the Empire. Even the customers noticed the difference. My wife ran a food stall at the harbor. She thought I had picked up a new recipe or found some exotic spice."
Tatsumi nodded slowly, absorbing every word. So it worked...
"But that's not all, kid. Later that evening, I poured a bit of it into our lamps when we ran out of whale oil, just to see what would happen. It burned slow, clean, and bright. It lasted until daylight, no sputtering, no smoke. I didn't even need to refill it overnight. That stuff's got versatility."
The more the merchant spoke, the wider Tatsumi's grin became. There was no need to feign pride—it was genuine and radiant. Their gamble with olive oil was beginning to pay off in more ways than one.
"I'm glad you liked it," Tatsumi said with sincerity. "I hope you continue to put it to good use."
The merchant's eyes lit up with a new idea. He leaned in, lowering his voice slightly as if whispering a trade secret. "Say... you're planning to sell this olive oil, right? How about we strike a deal? I'll help you get it into more hands. I know traders, innkeepers, food stall owners—people who'd jump at something like this. Give me half the bottles you have right now, and I'll distribute them personally. No markups, just get the name out there. We make it known."
Tatsumi studied the man carefully. The excitement in his voice was real, and so was the sincerity in his gaze. He saw no hint of deceit—just raw entrepreneurial spirit.
After a quiet pause, Tatsumi nodded with a slight smile. "Very well then. Come with me. I want to introduce you to the man behind that product."
The merchant's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wait, you mean you're not the one who made it?"
Tatsumi chuckled. "It wasn't just me. This whole thing... it all started with someone else's vision. Someone who saw potential where others only saw waste. He's the real mind behind this."
He motioned for the merchant to follow, leading him through the winding streets of the Capital and deeper into the outskirts. Their destination: the slums. But not the kind the merchant had in mind.
In his imagination, the slums were places of rot and despair, thick with filth, decay, and people draped in rags, begging for a crust of bread. The image was burned into his mind, repeated from stories and gossip passed around his fellow traders. But what he found instead was something far from it—something unexpected. It was... clean. Surprisingly clean.
The ground was free of litter, the alleys smelled more of dried herbs than sewage. The homes, though simple and weatherworn, had been carefully maintained. The people, while still bearing the marks of poverty, carried themselves with a certain dignity. Many wore simple, but fresh peasant clothing—shirts patched neatly, skirts and trousers washed and sun-dried. Children played nearby under the watchful eyes of elders who offered warm smiles to passersby. Laughter echoed between the stone walls, and a faint scent of baked bread drifted from one window.
The merchant's mind turned.
If this young man and his people really lived here, and managed to turn this place around... what kind of work did it take? What sort of leadership? What kind of people devote themselves to something like this?
Soon they reached a modest but lively inn nestled among a series of stone and wood dwellings. The building had a fresh coat of whitewash, and its sign—though modest—was carefully carved and painted. Girls tending to the inn were the first to greet them.
"Oh, Tatsumi nii-san!" one of them beamed, rushing over and embracing him like a little brother returned home. A few others joined, creating a cheerful little reunion. One tugged at his sleeve, another offered a tiny loaf of sweetbread.
"Watch it, girls. We've got company," Tatsumi said with a half-grin, gently pulling away and gesturing toward his guest.
Just then, Vito emerged from the rear, sleeves rolled and forearms damp with water. He had been helping Gauri scrub out the olive press area in preparation for their next production cycle. He wiped his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder.
"Tatsumi, my boy, you're back already?"
"Yeah, and I've got someone I want you to meet. This here's the guy I handed a bottle of our oil to yesterday."
The merchant stepped forward, straightening his posture, clearing his throat slightly.
"Josef. Nice to meet you."
"Vito Corleone," the older man replied, taking Josef's hand in a firm, respectful shake. "Pleasure's mine."
As they shook hands, Josef felt it immediately. There was something about Vito's demeanor—his calm gaze, his unhurried gestures, the measured tone in his voice. He carried himself with a composed authority, like a man who'd survived many storms and learned to stand firm against them. There was no need for bluster; Vito didn't have to raise his voice to be heard.
In that moment, Josef understood instinctively:
This man... is not to be underestimated. Better to treat him with all the respect I've got.
"So, how can I help you?" Vito asked calmly, his tone measured and his gaze unwavering.
"I want to help out with your business," Josef replied.
The two sat at the counter, where Genco poured them each an exotic drink, its aroma rich and unfamiliar, the kind found only in distant corners of the world.
"I just want to say," Josef continued, "the thing that Tatsumi gave to me—to us—has been a huge help. I've never come across oil like that."
"I appreciate it," Vito said with a nod.
"So when I heard that this hasn't hit the market yet, I figured it was only right to offer my support."
Vito listened intently. It was rare for a man of Josef's sort to appear in this part of the Empire—someone earnest, resourceful, and willing to lend a hand without a hidden blade. The olive oil venture was young, still ripening like the fruit it was born from, and allies were always welcome.
"And what exactly do you have in mind, Signore Josef?" Vito inquired, his voice smooth but cautious.
"Give me half of your bottled stock right now," Josef proposed confidently. "I guarantee you—a flock of merchants will come knocking, asking where to get more of the oil you've made. Word will spread fast once they see what it can do."
Vito leaned back slightly, considering the offer. His silence wasn't doubt—it was calculation. Josef could tell he was already playing out the next several steps.
"Trust me, Corleone-dono," Josef added with a respectful tone, "this oil is something yet to be discovered. Especially considering it was made from the olives you bought from me just last month. That alone is a story worth selling."
Vito's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. In the flicker of lamplight, a new opportunity had begun to take form. The room, silent just a moment ago, now felt charged with the weight of decision. Every word, every pause, seemed to echo louder than it should.
But before any deals could be made, he needed to determine if the man before him was truly trustworthy.
"Signore Josef, if I may ask," Vito said carefully, his voice smooth but firm, "How can we be sure that we can trust you?"
Josef straightened himself, hands calmly at his sides. He was not a man known for deception, and he held no intention of starting now.
"I understand your doubts, Corleone-dono," Josef replied with quiet conviction. "To you, I am a stranger. But Tatsumi helped me once, when I had nothing. I owe him more than I can repay. I simply want to return that kindness by helping him however I can. I'm not here to deceive—only to offer honest labor."
At that moment, Vito studied Josef closely. There was no tremor in his voice, no flicker of deceit in his eyes. The man meant every word. The sincerity radiating from him wasn't just convincing—it was undeniable.
And with that, Vito made his choice.
"Josef, rise," Vito said with quiet authority.
Without hesitation, Josef stood. He didn't bow, nor fidget. He stood proud, dignified, and ready.
Vito turned toward Gauri and Tatsumi. "I want the two of you to bring half of the bottles we have right now and place them on the counter," he instructed.
The two men nodded in understanding and quickly disappeared into the storage room. A moment later, the sound of shifting crates and clinking glass echoed from the back as they gathered the containers of precious golden oil.
Returning with the bottles stacked securely in their arms, they placed them neatly on the counter, the light catching in the clear glass and glinting with promise.
Vito turned back to Josef, who watched with both excitement and reverence.
"Signore Josef," Vito began, "in exactly one week, I will formally open our olive oil venture to the public here in the Empire. Until then, I'm entrusting you with a vital task. You are to seek out merchants, shopkeepers, and vendors who are willing to spread word of this product, and if possible, help sell it themselves."
He placed a firm hand on Josef's shoulder.
"In exchange for your services—not just to me, but to all those standing here—you will receive fifteen percent of the profits from every bottle sold through your contacts. More importantly, you have my protection. Any man or woman who walks this path with you, who shares your honesty and resolve, will not be taken advantage of. Not while I'm here."
Josef's eyes gleamed, and his lips curled into a smile. For him, this was more than a business venture. It was a new beginning.
"Thank you, Corleone-dono. I won't let you down."
Vito gave a small nod, his face composed yet approving.
"Then let us begin," he said, the spark of enterprise flickering in his gaze like the lamplight around them.
The first step of something greater had just been taken.
At a rooftop near the slums, Mine and Sheele had been observing the unfolding events from above, cloaked in the quiet stillness of the early afternoon.
They had recently relayed Leone's account to Najenda. In response, Najenda gave Leone a thorough scolding for allowing the situation to escalate so recklessly. As a consequence, Leone was suspended indefinitely from all Night Raid missions. Additionally, she was banned from setting foot in the Capital, a severe blow to someone so embedded in its alleys and nightlife. That left Mine and Sheele to pick up the slack, tasked with overseeing all operations involving the mysterious newcomer and his business dealings.
Leone accepted her punishment begrudgingly but was visibly frustrated, especially at the notion that she wouldn't be able to indulge in alcohol anytime soon. Sheele, ever cheerful despite the tension, jokingly offered to smuggle her a drink, only to receive a light slap on the back from Mine in response.
From the moment the pair had claimed their vantage point, something about the scene didn't sit right with them. The slums looked transformed.
"Can you see it, Mine?"
"Yeah. The slums… they don't look the same as they used to. It feels like someone's claimed this place as their own and actually took care of it."
Mine found herself reluctantly impressed. Whoever had taken the time to breathe new life into the once bleak and somber slums had done so with care, even respect. Children played in the alleys without fear, vendors conducted business with ease, and the oppressive haze of desperation seemed to have lifted.
Still, they remained focused on their mission: to surveil Tatsumi and his mysterious associate known only as 'Vito.'
They had trailed the boy since spotting him at the market that morning, keeping a watchful eye as he moved about the revitalized slum area alongside a merchant.
"So… what do you think of Tatsumi?" Sheele asked softly.
"Today? He comes off kind of aloof. Not what I expected. According to Leone, he was more calculating when she first met him. This version doesn't seem calculating at all," Mine said with a skeptical frown, her eyes narrowing beneath her cap.
"Maybe he's only like that around Leone," she added, her tone tinged with both sarcasm and disappointment.
"Could be," Sheele replied, shrugging as she kept her rifle balanced across her lap.
Several minutes passed before the merchant emerged from the building, now carrying a crate brimming with neatly sealed glass bottles. Each bottle shimmered in the sun, the golden liquid within catching the light with an almost luxurious glint.
"Are those... the 'olive oil' Leone mentioned?" Mine asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Looks like it. The way they're handling it, I'd say it's more than just cooking oil."
As the merchant turned to leave, he waved farewell to someone still inside. A moment later, a man stepped out into the doorway, his posture relaxed, hands clasped behind his back.
He appeared to be in his early fifties, his face lined with age and experience, bearing the marks of someone who had weathered storms and emerged stronger. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, held a quiet command that immediately caught the girls' attention. One cheek drooped slightly, the skin there softer than the rest of his chiseled face. His clothing was simple but well-fitted, favoring muted earth tones that suggested understated taste rather than extravagance.
There was a stillness to him, a centered calm that spoke of someone who had seen enough bloodshed to know when to raise a hand—and when to keep it lowered.
The girls exchanged a look.
"That guy... That must be Vito, right? The one Leone talked about?"
"I'm not sure, Sheele. Leone never got a good look at him. But the way he responded to the merchant's farewell—it fits. That has to be him."
Just as Vito turned to retreat indoors, he paused for a long moment, his fingers briefly tightening around the edge of his coat.
Slowly, with the quiet deliberation of a man who had lived through too much, he looked upward. His sharp eyes swept across the empty rooftops above the narrow street with methodical precision, as if reading the wind and the shadows for hidden signs.
As if he sensed, without a doubt, that he was being watched.
Up on one of the rooftops, Mine froze.
A chill ran down her spine.
Without a word, she turned and darted away from the slums, her boots barely making a sound on the tiles.
"Mine, wait up!" Sheele called after her, her tone both confused and alarmed.
She followed quickly, keeping pace until they were several blocks away. Eventually, the two stopped at a narrow alley far removed from the slums, and—more importantly—from the eyes of any passing Imperial patrols.
Sheele turned to her companion, her breath light but steady. "Mine, what's wrong?"
"He knew... he knew we were watching him," Mine replied, still trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were wide, haunted by something she couldn't quite explain.
"How?" Sheele asked, glancing back toward the direction they'd come. "We were a few feet above him. He never looked directly at us."
"I don't know," Mine said, wiping a small bead of sweat from her brow. "He just... knew. Even before he turned his attention to us, it was like he had already marked our presence."
The unease in her voice lingered. The quiet confidence of Vito's subtle glance had unnerved her more than any of the loud threats they were used to from lesser men.
Mine was slightly sweating, her nerves rattled in a way she rarely admitted. Sheele, silent now, looked at her friend and frowned with concern. Something about Vito Corleone had shifted the tone of their mission. And they both felt it.