Athena’s Auction House.

  As one of the three premier auction houses in the Eastern Eurolasia Alliance, it sat against the jagged, snow-dusted silhouette of Mount Tateyama. Once a quiet ski resort town, Tateyama had been transformed into a sprawling vertical playground of glass needles and cantilevered sky-bridges dripping with neon.

  Massive holographic displays coiled around the spires like digital dragons, drowning out the mountain stars with the golden glow of high-stakes gambling and luxury. It was the pulsating heart of Neo-Tokyo’s elite, where the ‘who’s who’ of the world converged. Nobles, politicians, and celebrities rubbed shoulders with high-ranking Players in a district where the air smelled of expensive sandalwood and money moved things.

  Dominating the district's skyline was the auction house itself: a seven-story architectural marvel that fused the tiered, sweeping eaves of a Japanese pagoda with the heavy, white-stone grandeur of a European fortress. It rose like a modern citadel, its crimson black-tiled roofs lined with gold leaf that caught the neon glare, while marble buttresses and stained-glass arched windows gave the upper floors the air of a western cathedral. It was a palace built for the worship of wealth, standing defiant against the cold mountain wind.

  When Jin and his entourage rolled into the parking area, the atmosphere shifted.

  Despite his simple attire – jeans, a black shirt that hugged a lean, conditioned physique, and a brown hooded jacket – he carried an air of effortless authority. Passers-by lingered; women slowed their pace, their phones angled to steal a photo.

  A few brave souls tried to approach for an autograph, but Ironshied’s hulking shadow and the sharp, territorial glares from Saki deterred them.

  "Would you look at that," Old Man Sid chuckled, cracking a dry smile. "Living the dream, eh, pretty boy?"

  Jin pulled his hood lower, shaking his head. "I need a mask. Or a new face. I can't even walk to the door without a scene."

  The six of them approached the main entrance, a short walk from where they’d parked the bikes. But as they reached the threshold, the smooth velvet-rope hospitality vanished. The security detail stepped forward, their arms crossed, blocking Saki and the rest of the bike crew. Even Jin’s VIP guest pass didn’t move them.

  "Entry denied for these three, sir," the lead guard said, his voice a flat wall of rejection masked under professionalism. "Auction house rules and regulations."

  "The hell do you mean?" Saki snapped, stepping into the guard’s space. "We’re in uniform! You’re telling me our colours aren't good enough?"

  She jabbed a finger towards a group of socialites gliding through the doors in dresses that cost more than her modified motorcycle. "You call that classy? That girl's dress has a slit high enough to see her flat arse, and the other one's about to have her tiny tits spilling out. They’re wearing dental floss and silk, and you let them in, but we’re the problem? You’re nothing but a bunch of thirsty perverts!"

  The guards remained unperturbed, their stony indifference only fuelling Saki’s rage further.

  Jin watched the exchange, noting the hypocrisy. Old Man Sid was in his grease-stained Cleaner uniform, and Ironshield looked like he’d just walked off a battlefield in army pants and a tight tank top. Yet the bouncers waved them through. It wasn't about the clothes; it was about the vibe. Saki and her gang looked like trouble.

  Though Jin had claimed leadership of Saitama’s Mad Angels the night before, letting others looked down on his people, especially in public, felt like a slap to his face. To challenge his leadership was the final straw.

  "So, it's a dress code issue?" Jin asked, his voice calm and cold. His gaze never left the guards.

  "Yes, sir."

  “Is that all?”

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  “Yes, sir. That is all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  This time, no answer came. The security took their attention elsewhere, greeting the other visitors with a total change from how they treated Saki and her crew. This pissed Jin even more.

  "Fine. We’ll be back," he said, adjusting his hood to shadow the upper half of his face. He then turned to Old Man Sid. "You two go ahead. Wait for us inside."

  "Alright. See you in the main lounge," Sid replied. "The main event starts at 8:00 PM. Don't be late, or we’ll miss the opening bid.”

  Jin beckoned Saki and the bikers to follow him. He didn't look back at the guards. He had a point to prove, and this place was full of those high-end clothing stores to exploit.

  ***

  “Big Bro,” Take asked, glancing nervously at the rows of crystal-clean windows, “where are we going?”

  “Shopping,” Jin replied, his eyes scanning the district’s high-end boutiques. “From today onwards, Saitama’s Mad Angels will have a new uniform.”

  Take’s face fell. “B-But what about our colours? Our boilersuits?”

  “Bin them.”

  “But–!”

  “What?” Jin stopped, looking back at him.

  “W-We don’t mind changing, but...” Take rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We don’t exactly have money, Big Bro. Our pockets are as light as our brains.”

  “You mean your brain, Take,” Saki shot back. “Mind is full.”

  “Yeah,” Take shot back. “Of air.”

  Jin didn't say a word as the two bantered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a matte-black bank card. Inside sat three million dollars – a reward Chairman Heihachi had increased tenfold. Gratitude money, they said, for not only saving their heirs, but also to change them for the better. The Lowenhalds, the Wongs, and the Sinclairs had ensured Jin would never have to worry about any bills for some time.

  “It’s on me,” Jin said with a smirk.

  They stepped into L’Eclat, a store that looked more like a museum than a clothing shop. The clerk, a man in a suit so sharp it looked like it could cut paper, immediately wrinkled his nose at the bikers' grease-stained gear. He moved to intercept them, likely to point them towards the exit.

  Jin didn't wait for the lecture. He flicked his card onto the glass counter. "Outfit them. Head to toe. And keep the best for the lady."

  The clerk’s eyes locked onto the matte-black card. His haughtiness disappeared as he folded into a bow so deep his forehead grazed the floor.

  "Right away, sir," he said, his voice dropping to a velvet hush. "Please, follow me."

  Twenty minutes later, the transformation was underway.

  “Whoa! Look at me!” Take shouted, spinning in front of a three-way mirror. He was now clad in slim-fit tactical denim and a high-collared utility vest that made him look like a professional merc rather than a street punk. “Damn! I like this look. Better than our boilersuits a hundred times over!”

  “You can say that again!” Kenji, the third biker, added. He was admiring a pair of reinforced combat boots. “Thanks, Big Brother!”

  But the air in the room changed when the final fitting room door clicked open.

  Saki stepped out, looking like a deer caught in high beams. She was hesitant, her hands fidgeting with the hem of a new jacket. The transformation was total. She wore form-fitting black leather trousers that highlighted her athletic frame, a silk beige shirt, and a tailored black leather jacket. High-heeled combat boots added two inches to her height, giving her a commanding, ‘cool biker chick’ presence.

  Even Jin felt a small jolt of surprise. The ‘multi-coloured hag’, as Take often joked, was gone. In her place was a woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine – or at the right hand of a king of the road.

  “Do you like it?” Jin asked.

  Saki was speechless, staring at her reflection as if she didn't recognise the woman looking back.

  Take leaned over, elbowing Jin in the ribs with a cheeky whisper. “Big Bro... you sure have good taste.”

  Jin walked over to a display case and picked out a structured black leather handbag. It was sleek, expensive, and carried a subtle reinforced strap – perfect for a biker who might need to swing it like a weapon. He slung it over Saki’s shoulder.

  “Perfect,” he murmured.

  Saki’s eyes began to shimmer. “Big Bro... t-this is too much. I can’t accept this.”

  “Consider it a promotion gift,” Jin said, his tone firm but kind. “You’re the Big Sister now. So, you need to look the part. And don't bother arguing. I’m not in the mood to have my gifts rejected.”

  She wiped a stray tear, a small, coy smile playing on her lips. “Y-Yes, Big Bro! If you insist!”

  An hour later – and a hundred thousand dollars lighter – the group emerged back onto the neon streets. Jin had completely shed the ‘casual’ persona he usually portrayed. Gone was the old, threadbare hand-me-down jacket Old Man Sid had given him.

  In its place, Jin now wore a midnight-black tactical duster. The high-collared long coat fit him perfectly, its hem falling past his knees. Underneath, a sleek mask covered the lower half of his face. Combined with the hood pulled low over his brow, the facade of a random jock with a pretty face was gone; only his sharp, cold eyes remained visible beneath the hood, possessing the lethal edge of a high-level Player who meant business.

  Even the bikers stood awestruck for a moment. Their new leader now had the sharp, lethal silhouette of an apex predator. A beast waiting to be unleashed.

  This time, when they approached the gates of Athena’s, the guards didn't say a word. They snapped to attention and opened the doors, ushering the ‘Mad Angels’ into the heart of the elite.