The branch commanders were supposed to have a meeting prior to the tournament to go over how they were assessing the student climbers. If a climber won all their matches that was an automatic pass. However, if a climber lost, but showed a good amount of strategy, cunning, and power—it was still possible for them to pass.

The branch commanders and the president were supposed to go over this and what unique ways one could judge some of these attributes during the course of the matches.

It all sounded fine. Good, even.

There was just one problem: none of the other branch commanders were here.

Where the heck were they, wondered Sakura to herself.

“Sakura?”

She turned to the climber president. He smiled at her. He was waiting for her reply.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It does go by so fast.”

“Remember, Sakura,” he said, “so long as there are kids willing to train and become climbers, with the hopes of seeking the unknown reaches of the tower, there is still hope for us all. Enough hope to keep a smile on your face each day.”

Sakura nodded.

“Sir,” she began. “Are you not concerned that none of the other branch commanders are here?”

“Huh? Oh yes?” he said, blinking and looking around. “Where are they all?”

Oh brother, thought Sakura. The climber president—powerful climber that he was—was still getting old and senile.

The thing that bothered Sakura the most was that all the other branch commanders were missing. If there was just one more in this box, maybe she’d be feeling confidant about the others being late.

But none of them were here and that included Samuel Archer.

* * *

Samuel turned on the golden tap in the main bathroom of his penthouse apartment.

He ran his hands under the warm water, washing them gently with lavender-scented soap. The water in the tap ran through his fingers, landing on the white porcelain of the sink tinged with red until it swam away down the drain.

The man hummed a tune to himself as he washed, then dried his hands.

Today is the day, he thought to himself. The day of reckoning. The day that he and his family would rewrite the rules of this damned city.

He stepped out of the bathroom, walking over a bloodied corpse.

His entire penthouse looked like a Jackson Pollock painting of flesh and blood.

His most recent opponents had put up a greater fight than he had expected. Powerful as the fools were, they had walked blindly into his trap and he had made sure there was no room for escape.

He laughed to himself.

Riing, riiing!

Samuel pulled out his phone and sighed at the caller ID.

Sakura Sato.

He answered the phone. “Hello?”

The tiresome woman yelled and ranted at him, asking where he was.

“I’m on my way now,” he sighed and then ended the phone call.