The Mafia Empire

"Where's Graf?" Mr. Kre was sweating profusely, sured by loads of cargo waiting to be moved. Once again, Graf, who could do the work of five m, had vanished, leaving Mr. Kre seething. The railroad and steam gines were not public property of the Empire but were built and owned by powerful financial groups for their own needs. In other words, the station was a private company, and Mr.

Kre was the owner.

History had prov that no capitalist was ever truly bevolt. Their fridliness toward workers was nothing but a performance, a means to exploit them more efficitly. To capitalists, every worker had a precise value that represted how much they contributed physically and how much they could be exploited.

Graf wasn't a good worker, but he was an excellt target for exploitation. Despite his many flaws, Mr. Kre wouldn't make things too difficult for him because Graf's output far outweighed the trouble and losses caused by his absces.

But all of this depded on one thing: Graf had to be prest to get exploited. Without this, Graf was worthless.

"Has anyone se that guy?" Mr. Kre roared, ripping op his collar. Another train would arrive in an hour, requiring a massive load of goods to be unloaded and transferred. Several workers were already exhausted, and without Graf, efficicy had dropped by over t perct.

As Kre searched the station, his frustration mounting, he finally shouted in front of the workers that Graf would be palized according to the contract.

It was nothing more than a wage deduction and perhaps a fine.

Jobs with strict deadlines oft had harsher contractual clauses to prevt workers from slacking off or skipping work.

Clearly, Graf had breached the contract.

But did Graf care?

He didn't care at all!

Compared to toiling at the station, selling high-proof fruit liquor privately was far more profitable and faster.

"We can't keep working alone; we need a proper team to help us with this," Julian explained, imparting his thoughts to Graf. "After all, our business isn't exactly legal. We need to disguise ourselves, sure we have ough protection for wh things go south, and manage the risks."

Over the past two days, Julian had be constantly thinking about how to grow the business. After expericing the failure of his first vture, he had become more cautious and had gained a deeper understanding of what he had se in his dreams.

No one can succeed alone. Competition is fierce, in any society and at any time. In such an vironmt, the only way to protect one's core interests is by gathering more vested parties. It was like that incidt with the car wash—if Julian had had Graf and maybe three or five others by his side, would that thug, Mad Dog Wilson, have dared to mess with him?

No, he wouldn't have!

Having expericed something that had affected him personally, Julian now had a clearer sse of the direction his future needed to take.

"The trading company I registered can import some low-proof liquor as a cover. Low-proof liquor also has a huge market, and if we can figure out how to refine it, it will be a goldmine. We'll also need about t to twty people, individuals with the ambition and courage to pursue dreams. We might be facing some competition sooner than you think."

Graf immediately puffed out his chest, "Who? Who's coming for us?"

Julian sighed, his head aching. Who? Of course, it would be the high-proof liquor merchants and distilleries whose profits were being threated. Introducing a new high-proof fruit liquor to the market, one that attracted drinkers, meant people would abandon their previous choices. This was no differt from taking someone's market share.

It wasn't legitimate business; Julian had known from the start that this was a shady operation.

Shady businesses, like legitimate ones, were still subject to brutal competition. In the world of legitimate business, market competition could be managed through business tactics. But in the shadows, competition was oft settled with violce and dirty tricks.

If you destroy someone's livelihood, don't expect them to smile and speak kindly to you—it'll come down to fists.

After a long explanation, Graf slapped his forehead with a loud thwack, a look of exasperation on his face. "Why didn't you just say you want to start a gang?"

Start… a gang?

Julian fell silt. Wh he left the countryside, Mr. Kesma had hoped he would become a productive member of society. His mother wanted him to be successful, and his siblings wanted him to be a role model.

No one had ever hoped he would become a gangster, let alone a gang leader.

Wh had his grand dreams of wealth become twisted into something so far from his original aspirations?

Julian glanced at Graf, considered the physical disparity betwe them, and sighed. Maybe it was fate.

Julian said nothing, but Graf became ev more excited, laughing aloud. "I've always wanted to start a Guar gang! We Guars are all strong and brave warriors..." He glanced at Julian with the same look Julian had just giv him and added, "Well, most of us, at least… haha! Once our gang is up and running, those damned Ordinian people won't dare to bully us anymore. It's a great idea, and I'm with you!"

As one of the Empire's minority groups, the Guars lived in less-than-ideal conditions. During the war, the governmt had conscripted many Guars, and their numbers had be severely reduced, leaving their communities weaked. This made them a frequt target for bullying, especially by the Ordinian people.

In Ternell, most of the gangs were controlled by Ordinians, like Mad Dog Wilson, who was a prime example.

Julian pondered for a momt before raising his head. "I don't think we need a gang. What we need is an organization—something for the Guars, like a… a Fellowship association!"

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