The seniors grasped the situation quickly.

Ricardo looked down at the back of his hand and cursed in an unknown language. I could not understand the words, but it was clearly a curse.

Asil followed his gaze and looked down at his own hand, eyes widening.

Bobby stared at the back of her hand and fell into panic.

“Huh?”

She kept wiping the blood off frantically, as if she could not believe it was still flowing.

“Huh? Why isn’t it healing? Huh?”

“Goddamn it...”

Ricardo rolled his eyes upward.

After holding back his anger and staring up at the sky, he clenched and unclenched his blood-stained hand.

“My strength’s gone... completely powerless....”

“Your body’s all right besides reverting to normal, right?”

“You lost strength like that even though it wasn’t a drug round?”

Bobby, pale, turned to look at Ricardo.

No one answered my question. Asil’s face had stiffened.

They were in shock at this unexpected situation. The place had grown even quieter, the air heavy.

The one who broke the suffocating silence was Bobby.

“There’s no way those mafia bastards could get their hands on such a strong Green Dream!”

So even Green Dream seems to have stronger and weaker versions.

The male seniors frowned without answering. Watching them still shaken, I narrowed my eyes slightly. Of course, Marie—the girl who had handed out those hot dogs herself—was nowhere to be seen.

But that no longer mattered. Honestly, I did not care where Marie had gone now. Whoever she was and whatever reason she had for doing this, what mattered was deciding what to do next.

Should we report this?

Just as I thought that, Asil pulled out his phone.

“I’ll report to HQ.”

But things did not go smoothly.

He was not used to his reduced strength; even taking out the phone and trying to use it took effort.

I watched him tap the screen too carefully and slipped my hand into my pocket.

“Sir, I’ll call.”

“You’re fine?”

Bobby looked at me, eyes round.

“Why are you fine?”

Bang!

Just as I turned my head to answer, the phone in my hand exploded into fragments from a gunshot.

The shattered pieces scattered across the ground.

“What the hell?”

“Mother of God!”

The bullet that destroyed the phone buried itself in the dirt.

Bobby, whose foot had nearly been pierced, screamed and stumbled back.

“What the hell is this now!”

The answer came quickly.

From behind the food truck, several armed men—clearly mafia—approached us with their guns raised. They surrounded us, forming a circle.

Pistols and knives gleamed under the light in their hands.

Ha...

Perfectly tangled ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) now.

Those without weapons were filming us on their phones.

Ricardo sighed deeply and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

The mafia pressed gun barrels against our temples.

I felt the cold metal on my skin but did not move, narrowing my eyes slightly.

The seniors stood frozen, their eyes shifting rapidly.

Ricardo radiated irritation; Asil’s icy blue eyes scanned the scene with controlled rage; Bobby was stiff but held her chin high, glaring down at the gunmen.

The criminals smiled triumphantly at our restraint.

My gaze drifted to the phones in their hands.

We’d been trapped.

There was no immediate way out. The Green Dream did not seem to work on me, but with the guns aimed at the seniors—now ordinary humans—I could not risk a move. All three of them were hostages.

And the video recordings.

They were exploiting the rule: Black Badgers must never harm civilians.

Whose plan was this?

Who had orchestrated it so precisely?

As I strained to sense any clue, a voice cut through.

“Well, it’s been a while. Nice to see you all again.”

A satisfied tone.

Our eyes turned toward the sound. A man walked lazily out from the building where the match had been taking place.

He looked like a field captain—shoulder-length curly hair, both hands in his pockets, dragging steps.

He walked between the men aiming at Ricardo and Asil, smiling wider as his cold eyes met theirs.

“Sordi, Fiscer, Winter. None of you have changed since last time.”

“Mick.”

Asil’s voice trembled with suppressed anger.

“What the hell is this?”

Mick’s smile brightened.

A man grinning like a lunatic, he threw up his hands in mock celebration.

“My plan to put you in the arena is working perfectly!”

Just keeps getting worse.

The seniors’ faces twisted at his words; so did mine. The meaning was obvious enough—we had been watching the matches only minutes ago.

Ricardo exhaled a long sigh.

“How stupid can you get....”

“Stupid? The audience is going to love this!”

Mick was ecstatic.

“The arena’s going to go wild! The very Black Badgers who used to raid the fights alongside the police—standing in the arena themselves! And as ordinary people! It’s the most thrilling setup imaginable! We’re going to make a fortune!”

“What about the police?”

At his stamping laugh, Bobby suddenly looked around the empty wasteland, eyes wide.

“Where did all the police go?”

Were they in on it?

Or had they, too, fallen into this trap?

Asil and Bobby frantically searched for any sign of officers.

The mafiosos burst into laughter at their panic.

That laughter echoed harshly through the desolate air.

Ricardo looked up at the sky without a word, while Asil and Bobby stiffened with rage beside him.

Watching them, Mick raised both hands again, shouting theatrically,

“The police withdrew under orders from above!”

The flashy piercings on his ears jingled loudly.

“A young officer came to deliver the message himself!”

I saw Asil freeze.

His blue eyes widened; the emotion in them shifted from shock to suspicion to anger. The reaction was strangely extreme.

He was reacting to the words young officer.

Why did that phrase rattle him so much?

But it was no time to dwell on that—

The woman aiming at my temple broke the silence sharply.

“Mick. The Green Dream didn’t work on him.”

Mick froze mid-smile.

He slowly turned his eyes toward me.

Those eyes—filled with warped values and cruelty—met mine.

With his frozen grin still on his face, he spoke.

“Why?”

“How should I know? Anyway, it didn’t work on him.”

The woman holstered her gun and pulled out a knife—a short jackknife. She flicked it open smoothly and slashed my forearm.

“See?”

Blood welled from the cut.

Everyone’s eyes darted to my arm. The seniors also glanced at the wound—blood flowed briefly, then began to close.

It healed slower than a Badger’s would, but much faster than a normal human’s.

Mick’s smile disappeared.

“You’re right.”

He lowered his raised hands.

“Why’s that? Not enough dosage?”

“No. You said yourself this Green Dream’s so potent it works just by breaking the skin like a drug round.”

The woman folded the knife with a snap.

“It’s not the dose. That idiot must’ve injected him wrong.”

“Damn it. Got any left?”

Mick muttered without taking his eyes off my arm.

“She didn’t leave any?”

She?

Did he mean Marie? I narrowed my eyes, recalling the girl I’d shoved to the back of my mind—the high-schooler with that morbid fascination. She was the one who’d slipped the Green Dream into us.

So she was not actually on their side?

The woman snapped irritably, “None.”

“Shit! Then what now?”

Mick cursed under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair, then shrugged in frustration.

“Maybe we should just pump them full of regular drugs?”

Still no opening.

The mafia kept their guns pressed to the seniors’ temples. They did not plan to kill us yet—probably wanted to drag the seniors into the arena to fight Creatures as entertainment. We would be taken up that elevator to where the illegal implants were kept. Somewhere along the way, there might be a chance to fight back—once their vigilance loosened.

That would be the moment to strike...

“All right! Bring the drugs!”

“What about that bastard—can’t we just kill him?”

Mick finally made his decision and gave orders, but one of the mafiosos filming spoke up.

Everyone turned toward him.

I looked too—at the gaunt man pointing at Ricardo.

“Holiday got caught because of that bastard!”

Ricardo lifted one eyebrow, then smiled thinly, meeting his accuser’s eyes with a sneer full of contempt.

A chill ran down my spine.

Sir, please—this is not the time to provoke them.

The gaunt man snapped.

“He’s gonna die anyway! Let’s kill him ourselves!”

“Hmm.”

Mick rubbed his chin, pretending to consider it.

“Shall we?”

Asil and Bobby whipped their heads toward him, terror flashing in their eyes. The mafiosos around the accuser, by contrast, gleamed with sadistic excitement.

Ricardo blinked calmly, expression unchanged.

Before Mick could speak—or the others could cry out—I spoke first.

I said flatly, “No.”

Heads turned toward me.

“If you kill Ricardo, I’ll kill you all.”

The air froze.

Silence fell—heavy, stunned silence.

No one moved. Everyone stared at me with wide eyes—the accuser, Mick, Asil, Bobby, even Ricardo Sordi himself.

I ignored the shock flickering in Ricardo’s green eyes.

“I’ll bury every single one of you here along with your phones. So don’t pull the trigger.”

“You ever killed anyone?” Mick asked.

Even with his hands still in his pockets, his voice dripped with twisted confidence.

“You think you could slaughter all these people and stay sane afterward?”

I once handed my sword to a human and told him to kill my comrade.

Would something like this shake me? I’ve done worse and lived. Trash that I am, I can function just fine.

I did not voice those thoughts.

Instead, I gave a short laugh—ignoring the woman clutching the back of my neck with trembling hands and the seniors staring at me like startled rabbits.

After letting the laugh fade, I looked back at Mick and smiled faintly.

“You think avenging an enemy would drive me insane?”

For the first time, fear entered Mick’s eyes.

I could feel the same fear stiffening the mafiosos around him.

If there had been only one hostage, this would have been the perfect timing. Too bad there were three. I could not move yet.

Suppressing a sigh, I sealed it with a final warning.

“Mick. Don’t pull that trigger. If you do, all of us are going down together.”

One of the mafiosos raised his palm slightly, agreeing silently.

And so the seniors, powerless but unharmed, were dragged to the holding area for illegal implant users.

They were cuffed hand and foot and thrown behind bars with mocking laughter—told to “wait their turn.”

Still, that was the best possible outcome under the circumstances.

As soon as the mafia left, I let go of the last of my composure.

Whatever they had injected was potent—the world spun, nausea rising. My head pounded, my stomach twisted.

So dizzy... so loud...

Sleepy...

Darkness closed over my mind.