The day rolled on quietly, with Josef returning to his usual business, and Vito, along with the others, carrying on with their daily routine. The atmosphere in the former inn was relaxed, tinged with a calm that had become increasingly rare in recent weeks. Everything seemed mundane, uneventful—at least on the surface.
Beneath that calm, there lingered a faint tension from earlier: Mine and Sheele had been surveilling them from above. Their presence hadn't lasted long. Somehow, Vito had sensed their eyes, his sharp instinct scaring them off before they could linger. How he managed to detect them, even without a single glance upward, was something that remained a mystery.
That evening unfolded without incident. After a hearty dinner shared among the men and children, laughter had returned to their table, accompanied by the smell of roasted meat and wine-soaked bread. The warmth of the hearth filled the room, and for a time, it felt like the worries of the Empire were far away.
Then, just as the children were being tucked in for the night in their house nearby, and the wine was being poured once more, a knock echoed from the front door—firm, but not aggressive. The conversation stilled.
Tatsumi stood up instinctively and walked to the entrance, cautious yet calm. Upon opening the door, he found a young woman standing in the fading lamplight. She was dressed in the plain garb of a cook, with sleeves rolled to her elbows and her hair tied back in a neat knot. In her arms, she carried a wooden crate stacked with fresh fruits, leafy vegetables, and generous cuts of meat wrapped in clean cloth.
"Can I help you?" Tatsumi asked, eyebrows raised.
"Good evening," she said, offering a polite bow. "We came to bring this to you, Mister Tatsumi. My husband, Josef, asked me to deliver it personally. He wanted to thank you—deeply."
Tatsumi looked down at the crate, surprised by the weight of the gesture.
"Oh… This is?"
"Enough to keep you and your companions well-fed for at least a week or two," she replied with a warm smile. "We thought you might need it."
Tatsumi blinked, taken off guard. For a moment, he fumbled for words, clearly humbled by the gesture.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "But… this is a lot. Are you sure we can accept something this generous?"
"Please, we insist," she said firmly. "Josef said this is the least we could do. Consider it a small token of appreciation. You're looking out for my hudband, even when we don't ask."
Left with no room for refusal, Tatsumi nodded and accepted the crate with care, bowing slightly in return. "Tell Josef we're grateful."
He carried the crate into the kitchen, where the others were still seated. The room turned to him as he entered, the crate in his arms drawing curious looks.
"What's with the crate?" Genco asked, setting his wine down with a raised brow.
"From Josef's wife," Tatsumi replied. "They sent us these provisions as a token of goodwill."
Gauri leaned back in his chair, eyeing the vegetables sticking out from the top. "More like a tribute, if you ask me," he muttered with a wry smile.
Vito looked up from his seat, his eyes steady and voice calm.
"If it is given freely, without fear in the heart, then it is not tribute," he said. "It is a gift."
The room fell silent for a moment. Vito's words settled like dust on polished wood—quiet, yet solid.
"Perhaps," Genco said thoughtfully, nodding as he considered the meaning.
With the moment lingering, Vito reached for his glass of wine and raised it. The others followed suit without hesitation, lifting their cups high.
"Cent'anni," Vito said clearly, voice rich with feeling.
Tatsumi, Genco, and Gauri exchanged puzzled glances, momentarily unsure of the phrase.
"Vito-san, what does that mean?" Tatsumi finally asked.
Vito smiled gently, the light from the lantern casting soft lines across his face.
"In my tongue, it means 'best wishes for a hundred years.'"
Their glasses clinked together in quiet celebration, the moment marking not only a gesture of thanks—but a growing bond forged in simple kindness, trust, and hope.
The following morning, Tatsumi rose from his bed and began preparing coffee and breakfast for everyone. Just as he poured hot water into the kettle, something unusual caught his eye.
A series of shadows stretched across his window, the faint light of dawn barely illuminating them.
What the...? Intruders? This early in the morning?
Cautious, Tatsumi placed a steady hand on the hilt of the kitchen knife he'd been using, ready for anything. Quietly, he stepped toward the door and slowly opened it—only to be greeted by a completely unexpected scene.
Ehh??? Tatsumi screamed internally, confused and stunned.
A group of men and women stood outside the inn, calmly chatting amongst themselves. Some were speaking with the neighborhood children, laughing and gesturing as if this were all perfectly normal. They didn't look like bandits, nor soldiers. Instead, they carried a curious assortment of items: handcrafted goods, tools, and raw materials. There were even basic provisions—poultry eggs, fresh milk, and bread.
Despite his bewilderment, Tatsumi took a closer look at the gathering. Judging by their demeanor, clothing, and the wares they brought, he could tell—they were merchants. But from where exactly, he had no idea.
Vito-san needs to see this... now.
Not wasting a second, Tatsumi rushed back inside the inn. He made his way to the second floor and knocked hurriedly on Vito's door.
"Vito-san, you need to come and see this. Right away."
Vito opened the door, his expression unreadable but calm as ever. Gauri and Genco, having overheard the urgency in Tatsumi's voice, joined them as well.
Tatsumi led the trio to the doorway of the inn, gesturing for them to look outside.
What they saw made both Gauri and Genco pause, jaws slightly slack with surprise. The sight of nearly a dozen merchants casually presenting gifts and wares to the children and others in the neighborhood was almost surreal. It was like a spontaneous marketplace had appeared overnight.
Vito, on the other hand, remained composed. He studied the scene with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp, lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line.
Something about the moment—quiet, generous, and strangely peaceful—settled in the air like a warm breeze. Whatever this gathering was, it wasn't hostile. It was a gesture. A profound, collective show of respect and gratitude that transcended words.
And Vito understood gestures better than anyone.
Stepping forward from the crowd was Josef, the merchant from yesterday. He looked slightly nervous but carried himself with intent.
"Vito-san, I just want to apologize for disturbing you early in the morning, but it's the only time when the patrols here are quite slack."
"No need for you to apologize, my friend. And these are?" Vito motioned gently toward the group standing behind Josef.
A man with a burly build stepped forward, arms crossed, but his expression was warm.
"Josef here has been giddy about the oil he's been handing out to us, so we figured we'd give it a try. Turns out, this stuff is more than just for cooking."
A woman interrupted him, her voice clear and friendly.
"True enough. I used it on my hair, and it felt soft and smooth. Left a nice fragrance too."
Another voice chimed in—this time a herbalist, holding a satchel of herbs.
"I tried applying it to a wound. Healed quicker than usual, and without infection. That oil's something special."
The rest of the crowd erupted in boisterous agreement, speaking over one another with excitement and newfound appreciation. The burly man raised his hand, calling for silence.
"So, when I asked Josef here who gave him that olive oil, he led us to these slums—or what used to be slums. That's why we're here. We want to offer a helping hand."
The group nodded in unison, their expressions earnest. Tatsumi, Gauri, and Genco were momentarily stunned by the collective goodwill, but Vito remained firm, calm, and composed.
He finally spoke, his voice steady.
"Did Josef tell you when we plan to start opening our business?"
"Yes, he did. That's why we're here. We figured this home of yours could use a little makeover, a fresh start."
Vito stepped forward with slow, deliberate strides. The crowd instinctively parted to make way for him as he made his way to the center. He raised a hand and pointed toward the worn, familiar building behind him.
"The house where we live is my home… as is the house these children call their own. The home that stood empty for years… and the rundown place where an elderly couple quietly endures their days."
He turned back to face the crowd, his voice carrying the weight of truth and purpose.
"These slums have been abandoned and left to rot by the Prime Minister's indifference. But that I will not ignore. That is why I have chosen to stand watch over this place and treat it with the dignity it deserves. Should you choose to be under my care, then I ask only one thing: treat these slums as if they were your own home. Treat the people who live here as if they were your own kin. Show them respect. Show this land respect. Never desecrate it with cruelty or carelessness. Do that, and I promise you, no one will come to harm—not under my watch… not under our watch."
From that charismatic speech, a heavy silence followed, not from fear, but from the weight of realization. The authority in Vito's words wasn't forced. It was earned. This was the presence of a true leader.
A leader whose strength came not from violence, but from compassion, loyalty, and honor.
So this is what it feels like, Tatsumi thought, to be in the presence of a man who holds power without ever needing to draw a weapon.
The crowd seemed stunned. As though something invisible yet potent had washed over them—greater than any Killing Intent they had ever felt. One by one, without a word, they began to kneel, bowing their heads low in reverence.
"We swear on our lives, we will uphold your word. We won't let you down."
Vito gave a slow, deliberate nod, accepting their loyalty.
"Very well. You will all start small. We'll change this place, piece by piece, until every last trace of despair is gone."
The burly man finally stood, eyes gleaming with a new fire.
"What are you waiting for? Let's get moving! Let's make this place into the kind of home Vito-dono envisions!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and scattered, tools in hand, ready to get to work. Determination lit their eyes, purpose now guiding their steps.
The work came to an end the moment the golden rays of the sun touched the rooftops, signaling the close of another long but productive day. Despite the temporary halt, they had accomplished something meaningful—a huge first step in reshaping the area. What was once a slum filled with despair and neglect had begun its slow transformation into a neighborhood brimming with new life and hope.
"Vito-sama, we have to return to our usual lives for the time being. But we'll be back tomorrow. Same time," one of the workers respectfully said.
"Understood," Vito replied with a nod, his eyes lingering on the progress they had made.
Before the group fully dispersed, one of them stepped forward with a thoughtful gesture. He handed Vito five large, fully filled sacks of freshly harvested olives.
"When I heard you were making that oil from olives," the man said, "I figured you could use these. I don't have any real use for them myself, and I'd rather not sell them to Honest or anyone like him."
Vito took the gift calmly but sincerely. "Very well then," he said, accepting it with a subtle nod of gratitude.
The four men—Vito, Genco, Gauri, and Tatsumi—stood side by side, looking over the area that Josef and his group of merchants had helped to improve. Even with the sun retreating behind the rooftops, the difference was already apparent. What used to be broken cobblestones and crumbling structures now bore signs of care and labor.
"You know," Genco said, breaking the silence with a chuckle, "you told us to 'start small,' but honestly, that feels like an understatement now."
The group broke into warm laughter, the kind born of shared purpose and the quiet joy of progress.
They turned back toward the inn together, their steps lighter, their bonds strengthened, and their minds quietly hopeful for what the next day would bring.