The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 84: Have You Worked in This Line of Business Before?

We stood in front of a run-down, almost derelict building.

The street was so shabby that even the regular people rarely ventured here. Just glancing at the passersby gave a clear sense of how neglected and dangerous this area was.

“This place could be acquired as early as tomorrow.” Rob said politely.

“It’s poorly managed, and there are plenty of troublemakers nearby, so people don’t come here.”

“That much is obvious.” I nodded.

“So, is this seriously the best option?”

Zizek shook his head emphatically.

“Even thugs wouldn’t live here. Isn’t this the kind of place where evil spirits show up at night?”

Rob, wary of Zizek’s reaction, cautiously added.

“If this doesn’t suit you, we can look elsewhere.”

At that, Zizek subtly glanced at me for my decision.

“It’s fine.”

I replied nonchalantly.

“It’s appropriately eerie. This’ll do.”

“Ugh.”

Zizek sighed as if resigning himself to the situation.

“Well, if the boss is fine with it, then so be it.”

“Put the contract under your name.”

Zizek nodded knowingly.

“A figurehead?”

Pointing at Zizek, I replied.

“Exactly.”

“Damn it.”

“From now on, this is Zizek’s orgainzation’s base of operations. Once it’s cleaned up, we’ll start a new business here.”

“What kind of business? Should we deal drugs?”

Without hesitation, I smacked the back of his head.

“Are you out of your mind? Not that kind of drugs—real medicine.”

Zizek gave me a look as if he’d just heard something utterly unbelievable.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Real medicine? Like an herbal pharmacy? Seriously?”

“This punk’s getting casual with his tone.”

I muttered, though I didn’t find it particularly offensive.

To be fair, in this underworld, having this much tact in conversation could already be considered cultured.

“I told you—no dealing drugs or trafficking people. Those are off-limits.”

Zizek exchanged glances with Rob before asking again.

“Then what exactly are we supposed to do? I’m honestly asking because I don’t know.”

“Security services, restaurants, distribution. Things that can operate on both the legal and underground sides.”

I counted off on my fingers as I spoke.

“Not just simple herbs—handle potent medicines adn spirit medicinestoo, if possible.”

“Hmm, boss.”

Zizek said hesitantly, his face uncertain.

“That’s easier said than done. There are already established trade networks…”

“That’s why you’ve got to muscle your way in. Set the principle that we’re the ones handling distribution in this area and enforce it. Don’t you know how to do that?”

It’s not like this is your first day in business.

“It’s not that, but… So basically, you’re asking us to challenge the existing networks and claim their territory for ourselves?”

“As expected, an experienced guy like you picks up on things quickly.”

"Tch."

Zizek smacked his lips.

"Whether they're denizens of the underworld, honest merchants, or locals struggling to find work day by day, make it so that they absolutely have to go through you in this district. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"...Hmm."

For some reason, Zizek alternated his gaze between the night sky and the ground, then sighed and answered.

"You mean to make it so that even honest and powerless people can come to this Zizek without fear."

I nodded with satisfaction. "That's right."

"To do that, we'll also need to build a reputation in the underworld, one that makes the thugs of the underworld respect this area and fear to trespass."

"Exactly."

"...This is like telling me to be a gangster and a philanthropist at the same time."

"You idiot." I shook my head. "None of the high-ranking figures in the underworld fail to manage their reputation. Even if it's a reputation for being evil."

I looked at Zizek and Rob in turn.

"Look at the Godfathers who reign over this city. They have authority. Merchants, underworld figures, and sometimes even artisans and mercenaries seek them out. It's because they believe that he can resolve disputes. Where does that belief come from?"

"...Reputation."

I asked again.

"Godfathers resolve disputes and handle incidents outside the realm of the law. Sometimes, they even receive praise from people for their righteous actions. Why do they do that?"

"To gain reputation and prestige, to reign supreme?"

Zizek's answer showed a perspective that indeed looked at the bigger picture.

"Zizek, remember this. First and foremost, win the hearts of the weakest and most insignificant people. Their support will provide you with information you wouldn't otherwise know and allow you to respond to crises you wouldn't otherwise be prepared for."

I pointed at Zizek.

"In return, you protect the people and resolve disputes. Do you understand what this means?"

"...It's like a lord and his serfs."

"Correct, Zizek. You're becoming a small lord who governs the territory of the night."

"But I'm just a front."

"Shut up. Let's skip the small stuff."

Zizek laughed like someone who had been enlightened by an unexpected words.

"This is making my heart swell with ambition. I've never thought of it this way."

"Is that so. But to play the role of a Godfather, you need to have the appropriate power. It won't be easy to make money through shady dealings, buy spirit medicines with that money, and compete with other organizations that are recruiting strong members. And if you consider their backing organizations..."

Zizek was a man who, while his heart fluttered with romanticism, also kept his perspective grounded in reality.

The answer I had for him was simple.

"I'll make up for the lack of military power. Trust me with the conflicts with the higher-ups. Remember who is behind you."

"...."

Zizek clicked his tongue.

“Damn, you’re obnoxious, but you’ve got an annoying way of making me feel reassured.”

“Did I seem cool just now?”

“Not really.”

I chuckled and instructed Zizek.

"Since there's plenty of space, set up a pawnshop in a corner on the first floor."

"A pawnshop? Does that even make money?"

"Not really."

"Then why do it?"

I ignored him and continued what I was saying.

"Find an old man who has some appraisal skills, is trustworthy, and has a good reputation, and put him there."

"No, what on earth is the identity of our establishment?"

"What else could it be? We're blending into the neighborhood while doing various things. I also plan to use it as a window for receiving guests. If someone has a request or is a person from the underworld, they can come to the pawnshop old man."

"Huh."

"When people with nothing want to sell something to get money, what's better than a pawnshop?"

Zizek muttered to himself.

"...That's true."

"That's why a pawnshop. We'll also sell medicinal herbs on the side. A strangely talented old man who can also prescribe simple medicine."

"Is there such a person?"

"That's what you need to find from now on."

"I'm going crazy, really."

"Let's also set up something like a code. If they say the code, they'll be sent upstairs to hear the story. You roughly understand what I mean, right?"

"You mean to hear underworld stories and stories about various disputes separately?"

Zizek smacked his lips. He had an expression that said it sounded like nonsense, but the more he heard, the more it made sense.

"Later, when the scale grows, hire presentable guys for sales. If they're too handsome or pretty, it'll just cause trouble, so hire moderately good-looking ones."

"...."

Zizek's expression was strange.

"Why?"

"No, Boss. Have you perhaps… spent some time in this business?"

Zizek clicked his tongue.

"Why are you so skilled? I feel like I'm serving an old monster who's been around for decades as my boss."

"Hmm."

It wasn't entirely wrong.

"Anyway, let's go back. Make sure to do what I told you."

"Okay."

"You remember everything I said?"

Instead of answering me, Zizek turned his head and asked Rob.

"You remember everything, right?"

"Y-Yes?" Rob asked back with a blank face.

"Me?"

"Then what were you doing just standing there? You're supposed to remember it and tell me."

"Ah..."

"Oh my, you stupid bastard. How are you even going to make a living like that?"

Without realizing it, Rob had become something like a secretary. I couldn't help but ask.

"But you, can you even write?"

"Ah, yes."

"Really? Excellent."

Just being able to read and write was enough to be considered a valuable asset in this world.

"Where did you learn to write?"

"Ah, I used to work at a trading company, but I got fired..."

"Why did you get fired?"

"The trading company owner's son was too much of a troublemaker."

"Oh, you beat him up and got fired? Turns out you were a righteous guy."

"It's not like that. The son beat someone up pretty badly, and because of the trouble, I took the blame and went to prison instead."

"...."

I nodded.

"He was a son of a bitch. I'll get revenge for you later."

Even though we only exchanged a few blows, I could do that much for him.

"It's nothing. It's already in the past. Besides, I'm not originally from Litvaleur."

"Oh? Turns out you're a foreigner too."

A guy like that was patrolling around here, then met me, got beaten up, and became my subordinate. Fate is truly unpredictable.

I chuckled for no reason and smacked Zizek on the back of the head.

"Why did you hit me?"

"Just because. It's my prerogative."

* * *

Jeffrey was working back and forth between the Royal Guards building and the annex.

His recent routine was to guard the annex and Allenvert in the form of a dispatch, while also handling various paperwork and training instruction at his main unit.

"Captain.”

"Is there any progress?"

"Yes."

And one more thing—

He was continuing to investigate the incident where the prisoners in the dungeon that Allenvert had captured were assassinated. It was a matter of the Royal Guard's prestige.

"Though it's circumstantial evidence, I've succeeded in narrowing down the likely suspects."

"Who is it?"

"...."

"Speak."

The Royal Guard carefully answered.

"First, it's presumed that it's not the direct descendants."

Jeffrey's eyes narrowed.

"If so, then?"

"...."

As if it was too difficult to say, he lowered his voice and whispered into Jeffrey's ear.

"Actually, there's a Clan suspected among the Young Masters' maternal relatives..."

* * *

Since being caught in an uncomfortable weakness by Allenvert and offering up spirit medicines, Third Young Master Somerset Grunewald had been living quietly, constantly receiving his mother's displeasure.

Of course, the fact that he was living quietly at the annex was like hell for the annex's employees.

"Bring me more alcohol."

"Y-Young Master. If you drink any more, it will affect tomorrow's schedule..."

"What?"

Clang!

Somerset, throwing his glass on the floor, glared at the servant.

"Do you think you're my mother? How dare you meddle."

"I-I'm sorry."

“What’s so important about patrolling the underworld like some leashed mutt?”

Staggering drunkenly, his face flushed from the alcohol, Somerset rose to his feet.

“...You’re making a scene. Is that it? A damned scene?”

The servant quickly lowered his eyes at the gaze of the half-crazed drunk Somerset.

"Hehehe. Heeheehee!"

Somerset, cackling like a madman, beckoned the servant with his finger.

"Prepare. I'm going out tonight."

"Huh?"

Somerset kicked the servant in the shin for daring to question his order.

"Kugh!"

"Don't make me say it twice. Do you want to die?"

"I-I'm sorry."

The servant, barely suppressing a groan, quietly left the bedroom.

"...Haha."

Somerset, sprawled haphazardly on the floor, looked at the spinning ceiling and let out a laugh filled with perverse pleasure.

"The underworld... A nostalgic name."

There were many things there that could release his pent-up feelings.

...All the impulses that had been suppressed and controlled.

Tonight, Somerset is going to the underworld.

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]