Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, rising from factories and locomotives that never ceased their work. The sound of steam engines echoed through the brick buildings, a testament to how Sheffield thrived under human ingenuity and machinery.
In the heart of the bustling market, people moved in every direction, dressed in classic English attire. Men wore suits and fedora hats, while women carried baskets filled with goods. Merchants shouted to advertise their wares, some proudly displaying steam-powered devices—machines with spinning gears and hissing pipes.
Then, suddenly—
"Don't let him escape!"
The sharp cry sent a ripple through the crowd. A young man with short black hair sprinted through the masses, his ragged white shirt and worn-out cloth trousers making him stand out. His breaths came in short gasps, his eyes locked ahead.
"I have to be quick!" he muttered.
Behind him, a group of soldiers in cream-colored uniforms, each bearing a distinct emblem on their chests, chased him relentlessly. The crowd became both a shield and an obstacle—he tried to blend in, while the soldiers shoved past, determined to catch their target.
His legs kept moving without stop, his body adapting instinctively. He weaved through merchants, leaping over their stalls, sending crates and goods toppling to the ground. Angry shouts followed him, but he didn't stop. He slipped into a narrow alleyway, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. Finally, he ducked behind a building, pressing his back against the cold brick wall.
The soldiers chasing him rushed past, their voices sharp with urgency.
"Keep after him!"
Bayu exhaled, relief washing over him as he watched them disappear into the crowded streets. His body was still tense, but for now, he was safe.
"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "How many times is this now?"
Cautiously, he peeked around the corner, scanning the streets. No sign of them. He sighed, shaking his head.
"Alright, Now is safe."
With that, he stepped out, letting the wind guide him forward.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of a brick-and-mortar building. Inside, several men stood in rigid rows, dressed in sharp black suits with matching ties. Some wore top hats, others donned bowler hats. Their faces were set, their gazes locked onto each other in tense silence.
Above them, hidden among stacked wooden crates, a young man watched. Dressed in a white shirt and a leather jacket, he remained still, his sharp eyes tracking their every move. A cable ran from his ear into his shirt—his communicator.
"This is Bagas," he whispered. "The target is making the deal."
Below, the conversation shifted. Two men faced each other at the center of the room. One was tall, wearing a striped brown vest over a white shirt, a newsboy cap tilted on his head. The other was stockier, clad in a formal black suit, a top hat perched on his head, and a cigar smoldering between his fingers.
"So, where's my stuff?" the man in the newsboy cap asked, his voice calm but firm.
The stocky man chuckled, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he flicked his cigarette aside.
"Heh," he smirked. "Bring it in."
At his command, one of his men stepped forward, carrying a black suitcase. With a smooth motion, he placed it on the table and flipped it open, revealing its contents—plastic-wrapped packages stacked neatly inside.
From his hiding spot, Bagas tensed. His eyes widened.
"That's…"
Meanwhile, Bayu walked the streets, his stomach twisting in protest. A loud growl rumbled from within, and he clutched his belly, groaning.
"Ugh… I'm starving…"
Even as hunger gnawed at him, he kept moving. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small fruit stand.
"Fresh fruits! Straight from the source! Come and get them!" the vendor called out cheerfully.
Bayu's mouth watered at the sight of the vibrant selection—shiny red apples, tangy oranges, and other ripe fruits displayed like rare treasures.
"Whoa! So many kinds…" he muttered in awe.
The vendor, noticing his interest, beamed. "Go ahead! These are the freshest you'll find!"
Without hesitation, Bayu's hand reached for a glossy red apple. The moment he held it, his hunger overpowered him. He sank his teeth into the fruit, savoring its sweet, crisp taste.
"Ahh… so good…" he sighed, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.
But his moment of bliss was short-lived.
"That's great to hear," the vendor said with a grin. "That'll be one dollar."
Bayu froze mid-chew.
"…What?"
"The apple. It costs one dollar," the vendor repeated, holding out his hand expectantly.
Panic set in as Bayu quickly patted his pockets. His fingers scraped against a few lonely coins—not even fifty cents. His face fell.
"Uh… I only have this…" He held out the measly change, hoping for mercy.
The vendor's expression darkened. His smile twisted into a scowl, and his face flushed red with anger.
"You little—! If you don't have money, don't touch my fruit!"
Bayu flinched at the outburst, his head lowering in shame.
"S-sorry…" he mumbled.
Unfortunately, their conversation was cut short. A patrolling soldier happened to spot Bayu. His eyes widened in recognition, and he immediately shouted.
"There he is!"
Bayu's body stiffened. His gaze snapped toward the soldier, and in that instant, he knew—he had to run.
But first—
He quickly lowered his head toward the vendor. "I'm sorry!"
Then, without another word, he bolted.
"Hey! Get back here, you thief!" the vendor yelled after him, his voice full of rage.
Several soldiers pushed past him in pursuit of Bayu. Frustrated, the vendor grabbed one by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"Hey! You must be with that brat, right? He stole my fruit! You need to pay for it!"
The soldier barely looked at him. "How much?"
"Five dollars!" the vendor declared confidently, convinced he had just outsmarted them.
But fate had other plans.
A gunshot rang through the air.
The vendor's body went rigid. A pistol was pressed firmly against his forehead, its cold metal biting into his skin.
A single shot.
The surrounding merchants gasped, their faces draining of color as the vendor's body crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the dirt road.
The soldier, unfazed, holstered his gun and glanced at the corpse with indifference.
"Keep the change," he muttered, before turning to continue the chase.
The chase continued.
Bayu ran through the marketplace, his breath ragged, his legs burning from exhaustion. He didn't care who he bumped into or which merchant's stall he knocked over—anything to slow down his pursuers.
"I have to keep running!" he gasped, pushing himself forward.
Meanwhile, inside a dimly lit warehouse, a negotiation between two mafia factions was underway.
A man wearing a newsboy cap stroked his beard, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he admired the product before him—several tightly wrapped bricks of contraband.
"Well, well… I must say, this is quite impressive," he murmured. "Fine, I'll buy it for 100 million."
He reached out to take one, but before his fingers could touch the package, the briefcase was suddenly slammed shut.
A low chuckle rumbled from the overweight mafia boss sitting across from him. "Ah, how unfortunate, sir," he said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "100 million… is far from enough to cover the cost of this fine merchandise."
The man in the newsboy cap narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? We agreed on 100 million, remember?"
The mafia boss chuckled again, shaking his head. "Heh. That was merely the down payment. The full price… is 250 million dollars."
"250 million?! Are you insane?!" the man snapped, his patience wearing thin.
Watching from the shadows above, Bagas smirked to himself. "Hmph. As expected. That fat bastard always finds a loophole to fill his pockets."
Back outside, Bayu's desperate escape led him deep into the city's maze of buildings. He finally stopped, panting heavily as he leaned against a cold brick wall.
"Damn it… I don't even know where I am!" he muttered.
Unfortunately, fate had no intention of giving him a break.
A group of soldiers spotted him from afar. Their voices rang out like alarm bells.
"There he is!"
"Ah, crap!" Bayu cursed under his breath before taking off again.
As he sprinted through the alleyways, his eyes darted around in search of an escape route. That's when he spotted a metal staircase leading up the side of a building.
An idea struck him.
"The rooftops… I can lose them up there!"
Without wasting a second, Bayu dashed up the stairs, his heart pounding.
Gunshots rang out behind him.
Bullets ricocheted off the metal railing, sending sparks flying. Bayu flinched, nearly missing a step.
"Damn it!" he yelped.
"Hold your fire!" one of the soldiers barked, yanking the shooter's rifle downward. "The generals want him alive!"
Bayu didn't hesitate. He climbed higher and higher, taking full advantage of the soldiers' hesitation.
Seeing him reach the top, the squad leader shouted, "Don't let him escape! Get up there, but don't kill him!"
The soldiers obeyed, scrambling up the stairs in pursuit.
Bayu finally made it onto the rooftop, but the moment his feet touched the surface, a loud creak echoed beneath him.
His stomach dropped.
The roof was made of thin sheet metal. Every step he took caused it to groan under his weight.
"Oh, hell no… I'll fall right through this thing!" he muttered, wincing.
He glanced back just in time to see the soldiers reaching the rooftop, their weapons trained on him.
"There he is!" one of them shouted.
Bayu's breath hitched as he heard the shouting behind him. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to move. But, as if misfortune itself had marked him, trouble found him once again.
"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath.
Meanwhile, inside the building, tension crackled between the two mafia factions like a live wire. Their leaders locked eyes, the air between them thick with hostility.
"You! You lying snake! You tricked me!" the man in the newsboy cap spat.
His opponent, the overweight mafia boss, merely chuckled. "Heh… If you're not interested in doing business with us, then we'll be on our way." He grinned. "With the goods, of course."
"You think you can just walk away?" the man growled.
A metallic click echoed through the room. Guns were drawn, each side arming themselves for the inevitable.
From his perch above, Bagas's stomach twisted into a knot. "Shit! They're about to start a war!"
Before the situation could explode, a sudden, sharp creak from the ceiling interrupted them.
Bagas frowned. That sound… He had been hearing it for a while now.
"What the hell is that?" he muttered, looking up.
And then—
CRASH!
Something broke through the ceiling, bringing a downpour of crates and debris. Dust filled the air as the impact sent shockwaves through the warehouse. The mafia leaders flinched, their attention snapping toward the sudden disaster.
As the dust began to clear, the figures of two people came into view—
Bagas lay sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain.
And right on top of him, lying flat on his back, was Bayu.
"Agh… Damn it…" Bayu groaned, rubbing his head.
From underneath him, Bagas gritted his teeth. "Oi! Get off me!"
Bayu blinked, dazed, before realizing where he had landed. Scrambling to his feet, he gasped at the sight of Bagas lying face-down, still struggling to move.
"Are you okay?!" Bayu asked, concern lacing his voice.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
The man in the newsboy cap, still recovering from the shock, narrowed his eyes at the two intruders. His gaze turned sharp, then filled with fury.
"You bastard!" he snarled, spinning back toward the overweight mafia boss. "Not only did you try to scam me, but you also hired mercenaries?!"
The overweight man raised his hands defensively. "No—No! I have no idea who they are!"
But it was too late. The fury in his rival's eyes had already ignited.
"You'll pay for this." He turned to his men. "Kill them!"
Gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore through the air, finding their mark on unlucky mafiosos. Chaos exploded as the mafia factions turned on each other, filling the room with the deafening roar of battle.
"Shit!" the overweight boss cursed, dodging behind cover. "Fight back! Take them out!"
A full-scale shootout had begun.
Bayu's heart pounded. His instincts screamed at him to run. He staggered to his feet, ready to bolt—
Then he saw Bagas.
Still on the floor. Still unable to move.
"Shit! My mission's a complete failure…" Bagas groaned, forcing himself onto his elbows.
But before he could fully rise, a shadow loomed over him.
The man in the newsboy cap stood before him, his eyes cold with fury.
"You… You and your damn mafia will pay for this!" he snarled, leveling his gun straight at Bagas's face.
Bagas's eyes widened.
"Shit!"
Bayu's mind was suddenly struck by a fleeting memory—an image flashing across his consciousness. A man, bound and forced to sit, his head trembling under the barrel of a gun.
"Bayu... I love you."
Then, a gunshot rang out. The sound echoed in his mind, snapping him back to reality. His breathing grew ragged as he clutched his forehead. "Why...?" he murmured, his voice trembling.
Bagas, unable to move from the pain, could only watch as the gun barrel was now aimed directly at him. His muscles screamed in protest, but he was powerless to react.
Then, out of nowhere, Bayu let out a sharp cry and charged forward, slamming into the mafia leader with full force. The man was thrown to the ground, his weapon clattering away.
Bagas could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. Before he could even process it, Bayu crouched beside him. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
Bagas nodded weakly, struggling to get up with Bayu's help. But just as he steadied himself, the mafia leader pushed himself back to his feet, eyes burning with fury. "You bast*rd! Die already!"
A gunshot.
Bayu barely had time to react. He instinctively moved, shielding Bagas with his own body. The bullet tore through the air and struck him in the back.
A sharp, agonizing groan escaped Bayu's lips. His body tensed from the searing pain, his breath ragged as he stumbled forward.
Bagas's eyes widened in horror. "No!" he shouted, his voice breaking with panic.
Before the mafia leader could fire another shot, a new flurry of bullets rained down from above. The sound of gunfire erupted as soldiers stationed on the rooftop fired mercilessly. The mafia leader gasped, barely dodging the first few bullets.
"Kill them! Don't let that boy fall into their hands!" a voice barked from above.
Chaos erupted. The mafia members were gunned down one by one, collapsing onto the floor, their screams drowned out by relentless gunfire. Bagas's stomach churned as realization struck him.
"Shattered Star..."
His hand shot up to his earpiece. "Requesting backup! We need support now!"
As the Shattered Star soldiers ruthlessly cut down the remaining mafia, another squad of armed forces stormed in. A sudden counterattack caught the Shattered Star troops off guard, forcing several of them to fall back. Some were shot, their bodies rolling off the rooftops.
"Shit! Fall back!" one of them shouted.
The remaining Shattered Star soldiers retreated, disappearing into the shadows. Inside, Bagas let out a shaky breath, scanning the scene. The battle had finally ended.
He turned to Bayu, who lay groaning in pain, barely conscious on the floor. Without hesitation, Bagas lifted him onto his back and carried him outside.
"Why do things always go wrong in the middle of a mission?!" Bagas grumbled under his breath.
Stepping out into the open, he spotted several officers and soldiers securing the area. A police captain approached him immediately. "Sir, were you able to retrieve the package?"
Bagas let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, Captain. Bernard tricked us. He took the goods and escaped right before everything went south."
The officer exhaled sharply in disappointment. "I see... Well, at least now we know where he's headed."
Bagas nodded. "I'll leave that to you for now. There's something I need to take care of first." He subtly gestured towards Bayu.
The police captain gave a knowing nod and stepped aside, allowing Bagas to proceed.
He found a quiet spot and carefully lowered Bayu onto a chair. "I don't know who you are, but after what you just did, I owe you one," Bagas admitted, a rare moment of sincerity in his voice.
He reached for Bayu's shirt, intent on checking the wound. But as he pulled the fabric aside, his eyes widened in shock.
The bullet wounds... were gone.
Only the torn fabric of his shirt remained, with five holes marking where the bullets had struck. But Bayu's skin—smooth and unscathed—was completely untouched.
"What the hell...?" Bagas whispered in disbelief.
Then, another thought hit him.
"Wait a minute... Shattered Star had nothing to do with this mission. So why did they suddenly show up? And why did they attack everyone... except me and this kid?"
His jaw clenched as realization set in.
"Is he...?"