The Mafia Empire

Julian was a diligt person, and there was no doubt about that. Back in the countryside, working the fields under Mr. Kesma's supervision, there was no room for slacking. This upbringing instilled in Julian a strong work ethic. It only took him two days for the upper-class patrons of the Ternell Grand Theater to recognize the name Julian, the car washer.

He made sure every corner of each car was spotless, ev using a sharped wood stick wrapped in a cloth to clean out hidd crevices. Unlike the other roadside car washers who did a hasty, half-hearted job and shamelessly pocketed their fees, Julian took pride in his work.

Within just two days, Julian had built a reputation, and he was thrilled. His plan was moving forward, and he ev began to consider absorbing other less successful car washers to work for him after a while. Before long, he could rt a storefront along the street and op a dedicated car detailing shop.

The term "car detailing" was something he had learned in his dreams. It wasn't just about washing cars but also included maintance and modifications. While Julian didn't know much about those areas, he knew there were people in Ternell who did, and he only needed to hire them to work for him.

Unfortunately, Julian's dream of a "car-washing empire" barely took its first step before it was shattered.

"That's the guy! He's breaking the rules, stealing all our customers!" A dark-skinned, skinny man in a flat cap pointed at Julian, who was busy washing a car at the roadside.

In this city, there were aspects of life that most ordinary people didn't understand. We could call it the darker side, or perhaps refer to these people and their world as the underworld. Gangs wer't unique to Ternell City. Ev in the more prosperous, distant core of the empire, similar phoma existed.

Just as there is darkness where there is light, everything has two sides. The Empire of Shining Star, still recovering from the wounds of the North-South War, was striving for change. But any significant change that could alter people's lives oft came with great risks—and great rewards. Some befits were bathed in sunlight, while others thrived in the shadows.

These gangs didn't exist to make the city more chaotic. In fact, one might find it laughable, but in many ways, they acted more like the police than the police themselves. They used violce to maintain order in their territories, forcing rules that no one dared to break. In doing so, they made the city somewhat more peaceful, reducing the number of petty criminals who sought quick, easy scores.

They were like dark viruses, slowly consuming the light.

Beside the scrawny man stood four sturdy young m. The leader wore a blue-and-red checkered shirt with a short jacket over it and a cream-colored flat cap. He clearly wanted to look respectable, but the twitching muscles on his face made it hard to believe in his appearance of authority.

This man was known as "Mad Dog Wesson" to those familiar with him in Ternell. In his own bragging stories, he claimed to have single-handedly killed sevte or eighte emies in a street gunfight. His ruthless and wild nature earned him the nickname Mad Dog, and he was quite fond of it.

Wesson and his three m approached Julian. Julian was in the middle of washing a car, with two more waiting behind it. He was just about to dip his cloth back into the bucket wh a polished brown leather shoe appeared in his line of sight and kicked the bucket over.

Julian was still unsure what had just happed. Straighting up, he looked at the four m, who had fierce, hostile looks in their eyes. Puzzled, he nodded politely. "Gtlem?" He didn't understand what they wanted, but he had a sinking feeling that he was in serious trouble.

Wesson gave Julian a scornful once-over and th glanced at the half-washed car. "Have you paid your 'protection fee'?"

Protection fee?

"What's that?" Julian asked, bewildered. He ssed they were trying to cause trouble, but the term "protection fee" didn't sound particularly intimidating.

Two years ago, the term "protection fee" hadn't ev existed; back th, it was called "safety fee." It was a mandatory fee collected by the local gangs from everyone operating businesses in their territory.

Only after paying the safety fee could businesses operate without harassmt, and the gang would offer them "protection." If they didn't pay, they'd be harassed dlessly until their business couldn't function.

After an incidt involving a baron who had refused to pay the fee and was attacked by gang members, the Empire took notice. The gang responsible, which was less a gang and more a family-run, quasi-religious organization, managed to settle the matter after a lgthy court battle lasting over 70 days.

Since th, the term "protection fee" was phased out and replaced by the more neutral-sounding "comfort fee." Though old-fashioned, the term conveyed the meaning quite well.

Wesson was dumbfounded. How could anyone in Ternell City, or ev in the Empire of Shining Star, not know what a comfort fee was?

In the next momt, he assumed that Julian was mocking him, and in a surge of anger, he swung his fist!

In the countryside, how did people resolve disputes? There were no police, and certainly no judges, so fairness was oft determined by who had the strongest fists. Mr. Kesma's family had be in a few disputes themselves, like over that borderline stone that weighed several doz pounds but was light ough to be blown away by the wind. Fights over land ownership were common in the countryside.

The Kesma family, being skilled fighters, usually won those disputes.

Seeing the fist coming his way, Julian instinctively leaned back, narrowly dodging the punch, and th instinctively countered with a punch of his own.

His punch was precise and powerful, striking Wesson squarely in the jaw from below. Wesson's head snapped back, saliva flying from his slightly op mouth. His eyes wt dazed as he stumbled back a step, unsteady on his feet.

Onlookers, both pedestrians and shopkeepers, sighed inwardly. This young man had really gott himself into trouble. Over the past two days, Julian had made a good impression on the local businesses. He always washed the pavemt clean after washing a car, never leaving dirty water behind. If he borrowed water, he would give a pny for it, never taking it for free.

And if anyone needed a hand with something, Julian would always help if he had time.

What a good young man, but how could he not realize the trouble he was in?

With someone like Wesson, you had to talk nicely and carefully appease him. Only by keeping him happy could things remain peaceful. After all, Wesson was a mad dog!

"Sorry… it was just instinct…" Julian apologized as he stepped back, still looking slightly guilty. Wesson hadn't hit him, but he had landed a solid punch on Wesson. For some reason, this guy didn't seem nearly as tough as Julian's sister.

It took Wesson a while to come to his sses. His face burned—not from the punch, but from the shame of being watched by others. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away the man who had be helping him and drew a long blade from behind his back, charging at Julian with a yell.

"Let me teach you what respect is!"

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