Chương 58: The Old Fox

Facing Aren's malicious question, Eisenhower Fanobi clenched his fist under the table so tightly that his nails dug into his palm. Blood dripped from the wound onto his expensive trousers.

'Not hate him? How could that be possible?' No normal person could fail to hate him. Eisenhower did not believe Aren truly thought he felt no hatred. The boy merely wanted to satisfy his own twisted amusement. But Eisenhower had no choice but to play by Aren's rules. For the first time in more than eighty years of life, he tasted true helplessness. In his youth, he had been bold and proud. He had taken a common mafia family, one of countless such groups in Gambi Town, and lifted it into the position of ruler.

Now its influence had begun radiating outward from Gambi Town. He had never imagined that in his old age, he would end up like this. But people in their line of work eventually had to pay. Eisenhower knew that even if he survived today, he could never take revenge with his own strength. His only hope was the Zoldycks, the legendary family of assassins. Before that, however, he had to live. He took a deep breath and forced his face into an obedient smile.

"Of course not. Although they were heirs of the Fanobi Family, our family keeps its own private sperm bank. If we need heirs, we can have as many as necessary."

"So there is no need for you to worry, sir. I hold absolutely no hatred toward you. In fact, I sincerely hope to cooperate with you."

"Your power is exactly the kind of strength our family has always pursued. From today onward, the Fanobi Family can submit to you and handle every trivial matter on your behalf."

"You do not need to pay anything. You only need to provide a certain degree of protection. Of course, whatever you want right now, we will hand over without hesitation. What do you think?" Aren almost wanted to applaud. It was a masterful deflection. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Eisenhower used a seemingly reasonable excuse to brush past the fact that Aren had killed his son and grandson in front of him, then threw out a new subject: cooperation.

He pretended to admire Aren's power so deeply that revenge was impossible to imagine. A man seeking cooperation would not look like someone secretly planning revenge. The whole speech tried to make Aren weigh the advantages and disadvantages of cooperation instead of focusing on hatred. An ordinary person might really be led around by him.

'If you want to play this kind of psychological game, I will play with you.' Aren pretended to follow his logic.

"Cooperation? That does sound pretty good. But before we cooperate, you need to give me what I want." Eisenhower bowed his head respectfully.

"Please speak. I am willing to listen." Aren's figure flashed. He appeared behind Eisenhower. This time, he did not use spatial movement. It was pure speed. Leaning close to Eisenhower's shoulder, Aren whispered into his ear.

"Your lives." His knife-hand strike, carrying spatial power, pierced straight through Eisenhower's chest and through the back of the chair. Eisenhower's eyes widened as he stared at the hand protruding from his chest. Blood surged up uncontrollably and spilled from his mouth. He had never imagined that Aren would ignore the expected course of the negotiation completely.

'The boy came all this way for my life?' Then Eisenhower understood. Aren's group must be something like assassins, hired by someone or some force to kill him. Once he reached that conclusion, he stopped suppressing his emotions. Hatred seized his eyes as he stared at Aren's too-young face and cursed.

"You'll join me in hell eventually. With a personality as rotten as yours, you will die soon. And you will die miserably. I will wait for you below." If he had been a Nen user, perhaps that hatred might have become post-mortem Nen. Unfortunately, he was not. Like his son and grandson, he could only fall at Aren's feet, bitter and powerless.

"Ah. A beaten dog's howl really is ugly." Aren did not care about Eisenhower's curse.

'He would die?' Even that was doubtful. His vitality was so excessive that using restrictions and vows did not even feel meaningful. As for Eisenhower saying his personality was rotten, Aren had no intention of denying it. From the moment he decided to pursue pleasure, part of his personality was destined to look vile in some people's eyes. Perhaps even perverse. To others, however, he could seem like an angel: warm, selfless, and protective. Machi and Neon were examples.

Aren was destined to be half angel and half devil. Whether he became one or the other depended entirely on his mood. That was the right of those with power. It was also the truth of this world.

"Um..." After Eisenhower died, Jeff spoke carefully.

"Since Eisenhower Fanobi is dead, I have no intention of opposing you anymore. My employer is gone, after all. May I leave?" All of his earlier momentum from catching the door was gone. Truthfully, seeing Eisenhower killed made Jeff feel relieved. If the negotiation had failed while Eisenhower survived, the old man might have ordered Jeff to fight Aren. That would have been a disaster. If escape were possible, perhaps he could try. But with Chrollo's group surrounding him, escape was impossible.

And then there was Aren, whose movements Jeff had not even seen clearly. He could not flee and could not win. With Eisenhower dead, Jeff had a legitimate reason to surrender. The employer was dead, so he had no need to avenge him. It was only a contract. When Jeff spoke, the Troupe looked toward Aren, waiting for his judgment. This was Aren's operation. Naturally, the decision belonged to him.

"Do you remember what I said in the van?" Aren looked at Jeff with a gentle smile.

"I said: kill every last one of them."