The scent of spilled whiskey and fresh blood lingered in the Celestial Grand Hotel ballroom. The chaos had settled, but the war was far from over.
Ochieng stood at the center, untouched, his midnight-blue Wang Xuan suit now streaked with thin traces of blood—not his own. His presence was suffocating.
Black Lotus smirked.
"Impressive. But this is only the beginning, Ochieng."
Ochieng tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes glinting under the chandelier's golden glow. The moment of reckoning had come.
Wei Xian was pinned to the ground by two of Ochieng's men, his face drenched in sweat. Madame Zhen, ever the calculating serpent, simply swirled her wine, hiding her nervousness behind a poised demeanor.
But the true danger was The Black Lotus.
With a flick of his wrist, he vanished into the shadows. Ochieng's eyes sharpened.
"Tielen, perimeter lockdown," Ochieng commanded, his voice cold and unwavering.
From the second floor balcony, Tielen, his ever-loyal right-hand man, nodded, tapping his earpiece. "On it, boss."
—
A deadly silence enveloped the room.
Ochieng stood still, his heartbeat calm, his every sense heightened.
Then—
A whisper of movement.
Black Lotus reappeared behind him, blade in hand, aiming straight for Ochieng's neck.
CLANG!
The sound of metal colliding echoed through the room.
Ochieng had blocked the attack—with a fork.
The sheer disbelief in Black Lotus's eyes was almost amusing.
Before he could react, Ochieng countered.
A precise elbow to the ribs, a low sweep—and then, a brutal palm strike to the chest.
CRACK.
Black Lotus was sent flying across the room, slamming into a marble pillar.
Silence.
The entire underworld had just witnessed what they never thought possible.
Ochieng wasn't just a player in the game.
He was the game.
—
Wei Xian whimpered. "W-we can talk about this—"
Ochieng kneeled in front of him, his tone as calm as ever. "Talk?"
He held up a document—the one revealing Wei Xian's involvement in his parents' assassination.
Wei Xian's eyes widened in terror.
Madame Zhen exhaled, setting her glass down. "So this is how the game ends."
Ochieng stood, straightening his cuffs. "No, Madame Zhen." He turned to face the entire gathering of elites. "This is how it begins."
A slow clap broke through the silence.
A new voice.
A woman stepped forward—dressed in a crimson qipao, eyes like fire, lips curled in a smirk.
"You finally made your move, Ochieng."
The room tensed.
Because this woman wasn't just anyone.
She was the daughter of the most feared mafia lord in Asia.
And she had just entered his game.