Nyxander and his first team had arrived at the Flame Astro Station, entering through its northern gates beneath the relentless blaze of the day. Yet, despite spending an entire day scouring the streets, alleys, and corners of the bustling district, they had found no trace of the rogue fighters they sought.

Now, as the midday sun of the second day hung high in the sky, its scorching rays spilled like molten gold across the crowded streets, casting sharp shadows and blinding reflections off the metal signs and stone buildings.

The daylight burned brightly overhead, spilling its molten gold across the bustling district, casting long, jagged shadows that danced beneath the feet of the crowd. The murmur of voices blended into the hum of the marketplace, a chaotic symphony of bartering, laughter, and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps. But despite the noise and the familiar energy of the Flame district, something felt off-kilter, like a melody just slightly out of tune.

Inside a busy restaurant nestled on the second floor, Nyxander and his three closest subordinates sat around a table, their hushed conversation weaving through the clinking of utensils and the buzz of conversation around them. The scent of roasted meats and spiced vegetables hung in the air, but none of them seemed to notice, it was tension, not hunger, that gripped them.

Kal leaned forward, his hands clenched tightly together, knuckles white as his eyes darted around the room with barely concealed frustration. "Boss, it's already been more than a day. They should know we're here by now," he muttered, his gaze darting nervously around the room as though expecting their enemies to materialize from the shadows.

"It's impossible for rogue fighters not to show up when outsiders enter their territory." His voice trembled with a mixture of anticipation and unease, his restless eyes scanning the crowded restaurant in vain hope.

Nyxander sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, his face carved from stone. "Yes, that's how it should have gone," he replied, his voice smooth, but laced with a quiet intensity. He unfolded his arms slowly, leaning forward as his gaze swept across his subordinates. "I considered this possibility, but I didn't expect them to handle it like this."

Bili, ever the inquisitive one, frowned slightly, his curiosity pushing through the tension. "Boss, what do you mean?" he asked, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup as his eyes locked onto Nyxander's.

Nyxander's gaze darkened slightly, his thoughts unfolding like a map as he spoke. "You all know the Flame and Aqua Astro Stations don't exactly exchange friendly greetings," he began, his voice steady as a river current, but with an undertone of something more volatile.

"On top of that, the leader of Flame and I have a... silent, burning misunderstanding. I suspect they're interfering with our recruitment of rogue fighters here. That's also why I suggested we start with the Mountain Astro Station. I was expecting a direct confrontation, not this cool-headed, calculated silence."

His words hung in the air like smoke, and for a moment, the only sounds were the muffled conversations around them and the faint clatter of dishes. Kal's brows furrowed, his mind racing ahead of his words. "Then what's the solution, Boss? Since you've already figured out the problem."

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Nyxander's lips, the glint in his eyes like the first spark before a fire roars to life. "It seems you're starting to know me well," he said, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and challenge. "We'll pull them out with the one weakness no rogue fighter can resist, their pride. The pride that boils over when someone dares to take advantage of their territory."

Nyxander rose from his seat, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor with a sound that sliced through the ambient noise like a blade. His team followed, one by one, their movements fluid, rehearsed, a silent symphony of purpose.

As they stepped out of the crowded restaurant and into the bustling district, The bustling district greeted them like a living beast, its sounds, scents, and energy pressing against their senses as they melted into the crowd, ready to ignite the flame that would draw their enemies out from hiding. the daylight blazed above them, casting their shadows long and dark against the bright, unforgiving streets of the Flame Astro Station.

An hour had passed since Nyxander and his team exited the bustling restaurant, and now the Flame District simmered with a new tension. Taking full advantage of the strained relationships between the locals, the rogue fighters, and even the Flame Astro team itself, Nyxander's plan had begun to take root. Rumors, like wildfire in a parched forest, spread swiftly and without mercy.

Word on the street claimed that Nyxander and his team, out of funds and desperate, had resorted to collecting taxes from the townsfolk to sustain themselves. The tale was as ridiculous as it was believable, perfect bait for the rogue fighters' pride to latch onto.

Nyxander had carefully selected ten shops to cooperate with their scheme, weaving their owners into the fabric of his deception. He then divided the remaining thirty fate coins among his team, coins that would soon become the centerpiece of their ruse. Like actors on a stage, his members dispersed across the district, adopting the guise of ruthless tax collectors, their actions drawing whispers and glares from the watching crowd.

By evening, as the sun dipped below the rooftops and the sky blazed in hues of amber and crimson, the plan had run its course. Each member returned, their hands full with the same coins they had "collected," and Nyxander gathered the money back into his worn fabric sack.

"Finally, we can get something to eat that'll last us more than a day," Kal said, his voice tinged with relief as he handed over the coins.

Nyxander grinned, slinging the money sack over his waist with a triumphant flourish. "Yeah, boys, let's have some meat soup!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the evening air with a rare burst of enthusiasm.

Kal, Bili, and Bako shared a look, their forced smiles betraying the exhaustion simmering beneath their confident façades. Despite the victory, the air around them felt heavy, as if the district itself held its breath, waiting for the inevitable spark that would ignite the tension.

They began their walk back toward the restaurant, Nyxander leading the way, his strides confident and unhurried. The streets had thinned, the once-crowded walkways now quieter, but the silence was deceptive, like the stillness before a storm.

Then, without warning, Nyxander's demeanor shifted. His steps quickened, his body lunging forward like a predator catching scent of prey. He darted ahead with such speed and precision that his subordinates lost track of him in an instant, their eyes widening in shock.

"Boss?" Kal called out, swiveling his head in every direction, his pulse quickening. Bili and Bako mirrored his frantic glances, but Nyxander had already melted into the shadows of the winding streets.

Meanwhile, Nyxander moved with silent precision, his gaze locked onto a figure cloaked in a dark hoodie, the subtle bulge of his money sack swaying from their side. His steps were light, but his eyes were sharp, tracking every subtle movement of the thief.

The figure led him through a maze of narrow alleys and crooked walkways, turning left, then right, slipping between buildings like a phantom. But Nyxander was relentless, his footsteps as silent as the dusk around him.

Finally, the hooded figure paused in front of a dilapidated house, its walls weathered and its door slightly ajar. "Sisters, I've brought it," the figure announced, pulling back the hood to reveal a cascade of long, black hair that glinted faintly under the dim streetlights.

Two women emerged from the shadows of the doorway, their features eerily similar to the first. They were of the same height and slender build, their movements graceful yet sharp, like coiled serpents ready to strike. "I told you I wouldn't be caught," the first woman boasted, pulling the stolen coins from her pocket, the metallic clink echoing softly in the stillness.

"Yeah, you did great," one of her sisters replied, stretching out her hand to receive the money. But before her fingers could close around the coins, a calm, icy voice sliced through the air. "That's my money."

The sisters froze. In an instant, the easy camaraderie vanished, replaced by a tense, electrified silence. Each of them instinctively reached for the daggers strapped at their sides, their eyes narrowing into sharp, dangerous slits.

Nyxander stepped forward, his gaze flicking between them, a spark of surprise glinting in his eyes as he took in their identical faces. "Wow… triplets," he murmured, a hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips. But his lighthearted comment did little to ease the suffocating tension now hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

The three women crouched slightly, their daggers gleaming in the fading light, poised to strike. Nyxander's eyes narrowed, his playful smirk fading into something colder, sharper.

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