Chapter 142: Treatment Like A King Wolf, Max, Na, and Dud had all returned to the Rejected Corps’ hangar base. After pulling up in one of the blacked-out sedans, they were told to wait outside while preparations were made inside. That left Wolf and Max standing just outside the wide industrial entrance, surrounded by a sprawl of activity, cargo being loaded, men moving supplies, and vehicles lined up like a private army. It gave them a rare moment of quiet. Alone, side by side, just observing it all. "Wow," Wolf muttered, his voice carrying a hint of admiration as he took it in. "The number of members they’ve got... it’s way more than I expected. And the base? It’s massive. Flashy, too. I’m starting to wonder if that double fee you offered me is still enough." Max shot him a side-eye glare. "Don’t even think about it. You didn’t even break a sweat out there. And you know jobs like this don’t come around every week." Wolf chuckled. "Relax. I’m messing with you. Mostly. But seriously, this operation? It’s impressive. Between this place and that monster Dud, I’m not sure you can even call them a street gang anymore. Honestly, with this kind of infrastructure... they’re already operating like an organized group." He paused, then added, "Maybe that’s what this whole war is really about. Not just territory, but recognition." Max didn’t say anything right away, but he was thinking the same thing. The Rejected Corps were technically under another group, one with more power. If they started reaching that same level... if they started getting too big, then internal conflict was inevitable. Groups that rose too quickly always threatened the balance. Still, maybe that wasn’t his concern. Not yet. "What do you even do with your money anyway?" Max asked, changing the subject. "You got a big payout last time. You could’ve upgraded your base, started growing your gang. But you haven’t done anything." Wolf scratched the back of his head. His face turned slightly red, and his eyes drifted away. "Well... there is a reason." Max squinted. "What is it?" "Have you ever heard of Gacha games?" Wolf asked, a little hesitant. "Gacha games? What the hell is that?" "You don’t know?" Wolf blinked, genuinely surprised. "You’re younger than me, I figured you’d be all over it. Anyway, Gacha games are these mobile games where you go through dungeons, fight enemies, and, more importantly, you collect characters or cosmetics. Like, ultra-rares, S-ranks, legendary skins, stuff like that. But the drop rate is garbage. Super low. So you have to keep buying boxes or spins to get what you want." Max raised an eyebrow. Wolf nodded solemnly. "It’s... a hobby of mine. A very expensive one. I’ve sunk a lot of cash into it over the years. If I have money saved up, sometimes I skip jobs entirely. But when the Gacha funds run low, " he tapped the side of his head, "I take a job. And your jobs pay better than anyone else’s." Max looked like he was trying to decide if this was hilarious or sad. "So you’re telling me you take on life-or-death combat missions... for digital loot?" "It’s not just digital loot," Wolf defended. "It’s the thrill of it. Like... that rush when you finally pull an S-rank after thirty failures. It’s addictive. Look, I work hard. I earn my pay. If I want to burn it all chasing rare characters, that’s mybusiness." Max shook his head but cracked a small smile. "Sounds like gambling to me." "I don’t bet what I don’t have," Wolf said, folding his arms. "And if it weren’t for Gacha... I wouldn’t be standing here helping you right now." "So what, I should be thanking your addiction?" Wolf grinned. "You’re welcome." As absurd as it was, Max found himself intrigued. It explained a lot. The erratic job schedule. The random bursts of motivation. Even Wolf’s ranking system, calling Dud and Na "A+ class", that obsessive detail felt very Gacha-like. Eventually, Na returned. Dud trailed behind him for a moment, but made a sharp turn and walked off without so much as glancing at Max or Wolf. Na gestured with his hand. "Follow me. The General is ready for you now." Inside, the hangar looked almost identical to last time, crates stacked high, industrial lighting flickering from above, squads busy with logistics. At the far end, seated in his elevated chair like a king surveying his court, was Chrono. "I heard you two did well," Chrono said as they approached. "Na watched everything. It looks like you have an eye for choosing talented students. I knew you were something special the moment I heard you took down Dipter." He leaned forward, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "That’s why I gave the order for Na to treat you like royalty. The luxury car. The access to move freely across the city. The kind of power that gets people to turn their heads when you walk by." He clenched a fist. "The kind of power where, if you want something, you take it. With your own hands. Your own fists." Chrono smiled wide. "This is just a taste of what you can earn, what you can build, if you’re part of a group like ours." He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "So... how was it?" Max paused, like he was truly reflecting. But the answer was already locked in his mind. Maybe Chrono felt the same thing when spinning the Gacha, every victory, every new recruit, every step forward... it was addictive. Growth felt good. Too good. Max let his lips part slightly. "It’s a life I never imagined I could have," he said. "As you said... there’s finally a use for my fists." Chrono grinned, satisfied with the response. He reached under his desk and pulled out two thick bundles of cash, wrapped in rubber bands. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed them across the table. One slid toward Max, the other toward Wolf, though Wolf’s bundle split, bills scattering slightly. "That right there is ten thousand for each of you. Your payment for today’s work. Keep performing like this, and there’s plenty more where that came from." He smirked. "It’s real. No strings. You’ve probably never seen that kind of cash in your life. But I assure you, it’s just the beginning." Max stepped forward to take his money. But just as he reached for it, he heard something behind him. Laughter. Guttural, uncontrollable. "Hahaha!" Wolf was doubled over, one hand on the table, the other holding his stomach, shaking with laughter. Chrono’s smile vanished. "What," he asked sharply, his eyes narrowing like blades, "exactly is so funny?"