One month later…
Vito and Genco have been thoroughly inspecting the first large container of olive oil that was stored.
They checked its clarity… The light from the cellar window filtered through the glass jar they used for testing. The golden liquid shimmered faintly, free of cloudiness or visible sediment. Genco tilted the jar slightly, watching how the oil clung to the glass—thick, slow-moving, just the way it should.
Then its smell… Vito uncorked a small bottle, swirled the contents, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Fruity," he muttered, with a nod. "No sourness. No mold."
Genco did the same. "Fresh grass... and almonds," he said, smiling faintly.
Its taste… They each dipped a slice of crusty bread into a small dish of oil. Vito let it linger on his tongue. "Sharp on the throat—good," he said after a moment. "Means it's young. Still alive."
Genco nodded in agreement. "Peppery, too. That's a strong first press."
Its consistency… They poured a little into a wide spoon and let it rest. Genco lifted it slowly, watching how the oil clung. "Not watery. Full-bodied."
Vito looked at the container again, his eyes scanning the rich golden hue of the olive oil.
"We bottle the first 40 batches of olive oil to be sold. Then we let the rest settle for a week before bottling it," he said with calm certainty.
Gauri stood nearby, arms crossed, but the tension in his posture was evident. He nodded slowly but couldn't keep his concern hidden.
"Vito-san, we still need a trade permit," Gauri said, his voice laced with worry. "We can't just sell olive oil without having one—and it might be hard to get under the Empire's regulations. The guards at the checkpoint are tightening inspections."
Vito remained silent for a moment, his fingers gently tapping the edge of the container. Then Tatsumi stepped forward, a quiet confidence in his tone.
"I'll take care of the permit," Tatsumi said plainly. "I might know... a few people who can help us out."
He turned and gave Vito a firm nod. It was subtle, but it carried weight. Vito understood immediately. This wasn't going to be done through legal applications or waiting in lines. Tatsumi was speaking of favors, of contacts forged in fire and necessity.
Vito's lips curled into a faint, approving smile. "Very well then. Take five bottles with you," he said, his voice low but resolute.
"Let them taste what we offer. That alone might give them the impression we need."
Tatsumi accepted the bottles carefully, securing them in a padded satchel before he turned to leave.
At the bustling marketplace, Tatsumi carried the satchel with extra care as he weaved through the noisy maze of vendors, his eyes shifting between the ledger in his hand and the stalls lining the cobbled street. The aroma of spices and grilled meats filled the air, but Tatsumi kept his focus.
"Let's see here… Lord Tariq…" he muttered under his breath, flipping through the dog-eared pages. "These transactions with our little friend Janis suggest he's been doing some serious profiteering—extorting new merchants trying to get a foothold in the Capital."
As he scanned Tariq's deals with the now-dead Janis, a familiar face caught his attention. An older merchant stood behind a modest produce stall, selling olives and pickled goods—his posture a little more slouched than Tatsumi remembered.
It was the same merchant Tatsumi had bought an entire whale stock of olives a month ago.
Seems like he's been selling less lately, Tatsumi thought, noticing the smaller baskets.
Recalling his promise to show the merchant the final product, Tatsumi moved closer with a grin.
"Oi, oji-san, remember me?"
The merchant narrowed his eyes, then recognition lit his face. "Oh, you're that young man who cleared out my olive barrels! Glad to see you're alive and kicking."
Tatsumi chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "You too. But it looks like business hasn't been kind to you lately."
The merchant sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "You've got that right. Too many competitors are flooding the market, and those blasted import fees have been eating my margins. It's like I'm working just to stay poor."
"I'm no merchant," Tatsumi said, nodding sympathetically, "but I get what you mean by 'import fees.' They make it impossible to grow without owing someone something."
"Exactly! So, what brings you back here? Where's that product you promised?"
With a small flourish, Tatsumi reached into his satchel and brought out a glass jar filled with glistening golden olive oil. The sunlight hit it just right, causing the contents to glow.
The merchant's jaw dropped slightly. He took the jar with both hands and held it up to the light, slowly turning it. Of all the oils he had seen—let alone sold—this was, without a doubt, the highest quality he'd laid eyes on.
"By the heavens... this came from my olives?"
Tatsumi nodded. "First press. Settled for a month. Vito and Genco themselves tested the first batch."
The merchant looked stunned, then slowly broke into a proud smile. "You did good, kid. This… this is something special. I've sold olives for decades, but nothing I've touched ever turned out like this."
Tatsumi smiled back. "It's only the beginning. We've got plans—not just to sell olive oil, but to build something that lasts. Something honest."
The merchant's expression softened with a hint of concern. "Well… I reckon you'd be careful with that new business of yours. The Capital isn't kind to new players, especially the honest ones. Some unsightly folks might take advantage of you. Take Gamal, for example."
"Gamal?" Tatsumi echoed, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Yep. Oil merchant, just like you. Used to sell standard stock—nothing special. But lately, he's been cornering the market, and not through quality or fair trade."
The merchant leaned in, lowering his voice to a near whisper.
"Rumors are, he pays off Captain Ogre to put rival businesses out of order. Accuses them of smuggling or dealing in stolen goods. Worse, he's been known to frame others for crimes he commits—murder included."
Tatsumi's expression darkened. Another name. Another piece of the puzzle behind the Empire's rotting structure. This wasn't just about politics—it was embedded even in the olive oil trade.
For the first time, he fully grasped how deep the Empire's corruption ran. What once seemed like random acts of aggression now appeared part of a broader web of intimidation, bribery, and control. Every layer of the Capital reeked of suppression—even something as simple as a bottle of oil was not untouched by the Empire's influence.
"Very well then… I'll watch my back," Tatsumi said with a nod. "And watch yours too. If anything else happens, or you find yourself in trouble, just look for the name 'Genco' in the slums. We take care of our own."
He bid the merchant farewell with a firm shake of the hand and a final look at the jar of oil, shimmering with potential.
He continued his way through the streets of the Capital, weaving deftly between Imperial Guards and citizens alike. The city bustled with its usual chaotic rhythm—vendors shouting over one another for attention, smoke curling upward from sizzling food stalls, and noble carriages gliding along cobbled roads that flanked alleys steeped in grime and secrets. Tatsumi moved through it all with practiced ease, his eyes sharp, scanning everything, reading every gesture, every shadow.
As he passed a bakery with cracked windows and the scent of stale bread wafting into the street, he spotted a familiar figure leaning casually near a lamppost.
Blonde woman. Black tube top. A curvaceous silhouette that would stand out even in a crowd three times as thick.
Ughh… why of all people?
It was Leone—bold, brazen, and unmistakably one of Night Raid's most infamous members.
The moment she saw him, her posture changed. She stood straighter, pushing off the post, and walked toward him with quick but measured steps—nearly nervous. There was something different about her demeanor this time. An unusual tightness around her golden eyes, a faint hesitance in her typically confident gait. Tatsumi noticed it immediately.
She looked like someone bearing a small, unshakable burden of guilt. And he hadn't expected that from her.
"Hey… young man," Leone greeted softly, rubbing the back of her neck as her gaze slid briefly away.
"Tatsumi," he corrected, his tone guarded, almost clinical.
"Tatsumi… I just want to say…" She paused, drawing in a slow breath, like she had to dig deep for what came next. "About the last time…"
Last time?
He raised a brow in confusion—until it clicked.
"I… I shouldn't have taken your money," she said, her voice low, nearly drowned out by the hum of the city around them.
Oh… that time.
He remembered it all too well—the helplessness, the frustration of being duped by a woman he hadn't even known. She'd drained him of everything he had, left him adrift in a brutal, unfamiliar city.
But what came after changed his life forever.
That betrayal, bitter as it had been, had paved the road to Vito Corleone.
"You don't need to apologize," Tatsumi said, his voice calm but distant. "If it weren't for you, I never would've met Vito-san. Everything that's happened… It started with that moment."
Leone blinked, clearly taken aback.
She tilted her head, puzzled. "Vito? Who's this Vito you're talking about?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gave her a small, enigmatic smile. It didn't reach his eyes.
Something simmered just beneath his composed expression—not anger, not grief. Something else.
Purpose.
Conviction.
Something forged in fire, in the blood-soaked alleys of the Capital.
And Leone felt it.
A shift in his presence.
Something subtle but unmistakable, like a sudden drop in temperature. A prickle of tension in the air. Her instincts as an assassin screamed at her. It wasn't just killing intent—it was colder, more deliberate.
Like the quiet assurance of a blade drawn just out of sight.
Tatsumi wasn't the same wide-eyed, righteous boy she'd once tricked at the Capital.
This was something else.
Something more cold, more calculative. The idealism that once lit his eyes had been smothered, replaced by quiet, sharpened intent. A part of Leone recognized it immediately—it was the look of someone who had seen the system's underbelly and had chosen not to look away.
"Anyway," Tatsumi said with a half-smirk, "since you obviously wanted to make up for it… why not accompany me?"
Leone snapped back to the moment. The shift in his tone unsettled her a bit—too composed, too deliberate.
"Where to?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
"You'll see," he replied, already turning on his heel.
She followed, her instincts pricking at the edges. This wasn't some simple errand.
The two arrived at a simple, two-storey apartment building tucked away between rows of older tenements. Despite its modest structure, it was heavily guarded by mercenaries dressed in leather armor and urban camouflage. Their eyes were sharp, their hands resting near their blades and crossbows. It was the kind of defense that whispered danger in a city built on shadows.
This is Lord Tariq's residence… looks small for a royal crook like him, Leone thought, narrowing her eyes.
Two of the guards stepped forward, their expressions unreadable as they studied Tatsumi and Leone. Their stance was professional, but tense.
"What is your purpose here?" one asked, his hand grazing the hilt of his short blade.
"Business," Tatsumi answered coolly. "New business."
He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and revealed four carefully sealed bottles of golden olive oil. The morning sun caught the liquid, casting a warm glow through the glass. The color was vibrant, the consistency flawless—this wasn't just any oil. It was premium.
Even Leone raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.
"Interesting…" the guard murmured. He gave Tatsumi a lingering glance before nodding to his partner. "Wait here. I'll inform Lord Tariq."
The guards disappeared back into the apartment, leaving the two standing before the gate.
Leone crossed her arms, eyes still on Tatsumi. "So… olive oil, huh? That's your new hustle?"
"It's not a hustle," Tatsumi replied, eyes fixed on the door. "It's an opening. A way into the cracks the Empire pretends don't exist."
He didn't elaborate further, and Leone didn't press. But something about his tone told her this was more than a delivery. This was strategy—carefully laid and quietly executed.
She glanced again at the bottles of oil.
So this is what you've been up to…
The minutes stretched long as the city around them continued its usual symphony of street chatter, cart wheels, and distant horns. Leone shifted her weight, scanning the surroundings, always alert.
Finally, one of the guards reappeared.
"Lord Tariq will see you."
Tatsumi gave a single nod, adjusting his satchel before stepping forward.
Leone followed, eyes narrowing as the door creaked open to reveal the murky interior of a power broker's den.
Whatever was about to happen, she knew one thing for certain:
Tatsumi wasn't playing any ordinary game.
And she was now about to be a part of it.