Gonda did not like unknown numbers anymore.

There was a time when unknown numbers felt ordinary. Now every unknown number felt dangerous.

He looked at the phone for a few seconds before answering.

For one moment, he thought it might be the old man from Adam’s side, the voice that came through Bruno and pulled his gang into a place where one wrong step could kill him.

But when the call connected, the voice was different.

It was the old man from World Zone.

"Gonda," the old man said.

Gonda’s grip tightened around the phone.

"Sir," he answered carefully.

The old man did not waste time.

"I heard what you did."

Gonda’s face became still.

He knew what the old man was talking about. Rust Gate had already been split, and he had stepped in front of everyone. He had killed the man World Zone was pushing forward and declared Tobin’s side as his ally.

There was no way to hide that now.

"Then you must have heard why I did it," Gonda said.

"Why?" the old man asked. "Because you chose him?"

Gonda stayed quiet for a second.

The old man continued, "So this is your answer. You chose the other side."

Gonda closed his eyes for a moment.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say he had not chosen anyone yet. He wanted to say he was only trying to survive. But those words sounded weak even inside his own head.

He opened his eyes again.

"I had no choice," Gonda said.

The old man gave a small breath from the other side. It was not a laugh, but it was close.

"Everyone says that after choosing."

Gonda did not answer.

The old man spoke again, slower this time.

"Listen carefully. I am not calling to beg you back. I am not calling to ask why you moved. The move is already made."

Gonda’s shoulders became tight.

"Then why did you call?" he asked.

"To send a message."

Gonda’s eyes shifted toward the door of the room. His loyal man was standing outside, waiting. Even from a distance, the man could tell this call was not simple.

"A message for me?" Gonda asked.

"For the person behind you."

Gonda’s throat felt dry.

The old man did not know the name. That was still the only good thing.

"Tell him this," the old man said. "He got ahead of us this time. We stepped back."

Gonda could not believe how calmly he said it.

World Zone had lost face. Their man had failed. Their pressure had been pushed back. Still, the old man did not sound like a street boss throwing anger. He sounded calm.

That made Gonda even more nervous.

He was used to men shouting. Shouting gave him something to answer. This calm voice gave him nothing. It only left a weight on his chest, as if the real conversation was happening somewhere far above him and he had only heard the echo.

"But this is not finished," the old man said. "Our next move will not be small. Tell him that no matter how many strings he pulls and how many faces he hides behind, he will not slip out so easily next time."

Gonda said nothing.

"Did you hear me?" the old man asked.

"I heard," Gonda said.

"Then do not change my words."

The call ended.

Gonda slowly lowered the phone.

For a few seconds, he only stared at the screen.

He had wanted power for years. Now it was close enough to touch, but every path toward it was full of people who could crush him without even meeting him face to face.

He had chosen a side because he had been forced to choose. But the old man’s words made one thing clear.

The choice had not ended his danger.

Gonda had thought he could keep standing in the middle for a little longer.

That was the mistake.

Before Rust Gate, he still had a few excuses. He could tell each side what it wanted to hear and pretend every delay was part of a plan.

But the moment he walked into Rust Gate and shot the man World Zone had pushed forward, that middle place disappeared.

The old man was right.

The move had already been made.

Gonda rubbed his forehead and took a slow breath.

He could still hear the old man’s voice.

He got ahead of us this time.

Those words should have made Gonda feel relieved. If World Zone admitted they had been pushed back, then the side Gonda had chosen was not weak. It could move people on every side without showing its own face.

That was exactly why Gonda had chosen them in the end.

But relief did not come.

Only fear came.

Because World Zone had not sounded finished. They had not sounded broken. They sounded like people who had stepped back only because the next strike needed more space.

Gonda looked at the phone again.

The old man had not asked him to return. He had not offered another deal. He had simply accepted the loss and sent a warning through him.

That meant World Zone no longer saw him as someone to win over.

They saw him as a road to the other side.

And roads were used until they broke.

Gonda’s jaw tightened.

"Damn it," he whispered.

He had wanted to become bigger than the streets around him. He had wanted to sit above men like Tobin and Bruno, not get trapped between people whose real faces he had never even seen.

Now he was holding a message from one invisible hand to another invisible hand.

If he delivered it wrongly, he could die.

If he did not deliver it, he could also die.

Gonda leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

For the first time, he understood something clearly.

This was not a normal alliance anymore.

This was already a war.

And he had already been counted as one of the soldiers.