Chapter 4 The Statue

The living room was dimly lit, the overhead bulb swaying slightly, casting long, shifting shadows against the walls. Smoke curled through the air, thick and heavy, mixing with the scent of aged whiskey and cheap perfume. A man sat in the center Giovanni, his posture relaxed but commanding. His brown suit was crisp, layered beneath a long coat that rested against the chair's arm. A matching fedora tilted slightly over his forehead, casting his face in partial shadow.

The cherry of his cigarette glowed a deep, pulsing orange with each slow inhale. The only sounds in the room were the soft giggles of two half-dressed women draped over him, their laughter hushed, almost nervous. On the table in front of him, a deck of playing cards lay scattered, some overturned, their faded edges curling at the corners. An untouched glass of bourbon rested beside them, beads of condensation trailing down its sides.

A faint knock echoed from the far end of the room. The man exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his sharp gaze lifting toward the door. The atmosphere shifted. The women fell silent.

"Come in," he muttered, his voice low, gravelly.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.

A younger man entered, dressed in a fitted black suit, his posture straight but his aura far from commanding. "Sir, everything is ready," he announced.

The boss took a slow drag of his cigar before exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Good," he murmured, voice calm but laced with danger. "How many men?"

"Ten, sir. Armed and waiting for your signal."

A satisfied smirk crossed the boss's lips. "The statue"

"It's still covered up it's gonna be unveiled later in the day."

The boss tapped the ash from his cigar, his grin widening. "Perfect. Open fire on the scene kill as many as possible"

****

Gotham High

Milo and Jaxon stepped through the school gates, both dressed in black trousers, white shirts, and blue jackets. The campus buzzed with activity—students chatting, laughing, and moving in and out of the tall, white school building ahead. Rows of windows lined its walls, reflecting the late morning sun.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Milo nudged Jaxon with his elbow.

Jaxon took in the sight, his expression unreadable. "I guess."

Milo grinned. "Chill out, man. You'll love it here. Plus, I'm kind of a legend around this place."

"Uh-huh." Jaxon's tone was flat, but Milo didn't seem to care.

A sleek black car pulled up just outside the gate, its polished surface gleaming under the sunlight. The front door opened, and a man in a pristine white uniform stepped out. His crisp suit, complete with a sailor's cap, made him look more like a high-ranking officer than a driver. Without hesitation, he moved to the back and opened the door.

From the backseat emerged Sophie Belmont.

The moment she stepped out, the energy in the air shifted. Conversations hushed, eyes turned, and whispers spread like wildfire.

She walked with effortless grace, her long, flowing white hair cascading down her back. Her striking yellow eyes scanned the crowd with quiet indifference. The shortness of her skirt left little to the imagination, and the way her uniform fit only amplified her presence. A black bag hung over her shoulder, swinging gently as she moved through the school gate.

As she walked, her head slowly turned toward Jaxon. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. A strange sensation passed between them—something unspoken yet undeniable. Then, just as quickly, Sophie snapped her head forward, brushing off whatever she had just felt.

Jaxon's gaze lingered on her a second longer than intended.

"Whoa, man, she totally looked at you," Milo said, his voice filled with excitement.

"Who's that?" Jaxon asked, his voice low.

"Sophie Belmont. The only daughter of Clad Belmont."

"Who's Clad Belmont?"

Milo smirked. "Only the richest man in this entire city."

He nudged Jaxon with a grin. "They're unveiling a statue of him today—right at the heart of Gotham. A huge crowd's gonna be there. It's still covered up, but I heard it's about thirty feet tall. No way I'm missing that. I'll take you."

Jaxon hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah… sure."

Sunlight poured through the windows, casting a golden glow across the classroom. Every student's gaze was locked onto Jaxon, who stood at the front with an expressionless face. Whispers filled the air—mostly from the girls admiring him—except for one. Sophie Belmont remained indifferent, her golden eyes focused ahead, unaffected by the commotion.

Beside Jaxon, the teacher, a young woman with short, neat hair, gestured toward him.

"Okay, class, we have a new student joining us today." She turned to him. "Go ahead and introduce yourself."

"I'm Jaxon," he said flatly.

The teacher waited, expecting more. "Okay… Do you have a second name?"

"No, it's just Jaxon."

After a brief silence, she gave a small nod. "Alright, welcome to the class. You can take your seat."

As Jaxon walked toward an empty desk, the students' eyes followed him. His gaze unintentionally met Sophie's. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow as they locked eyes, but she quickly looked away, brushing off whatever she felt.

Jaxon sat down beside Milo, who immediately leaned in.

"Really, dude?" Milo whispered.

"What?"

"No second name? You could have at least come up with something."

Jaxon shot him a dry look. "If I was going to make one up, it'd either be Milo, Reggie, Belmont, or..." His voice trailed off, hesitation creeping in.

Milo caught on instantly. "Or what?"

"Nothing, man. Just... let's pay attention."

Milo narrowed his eyes but let it slide, still noticing the shift in Jaxon's tone.

****

The Belmont Mansion

Sunlight streamed through the towering windows of Belmont's massive room, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The balcony doors stood wide open, letting in a gentle breeze that barely stirred the heavy curtains.

Belmont stood before an ornate mirror framed in gold, adjusting the knot of his tie with deliberate precision. His black suit was immaculate, the crisp white shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers. As he straightened his collar, a smirk played on his lips.

"An entire year," he muttered, his reflection staring back at him. "Finally, my statue is ready to be unveiled." A low chuckle escaped him. "Belmont—the hero of Gotham. Now that's interesting." His smirk faded, his expression turning cold.

"After everything I've done for this city, the least it could do is honor me." His fingers traced the fabric of his suit, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. "Fuck Alfred… There's no one more powerful than me." His eyes darkened. "Any man who could defeat Jack the Reaper is the devil himself. And last I checked, he's rotting in hell."

Belmont tightened his tie with a sharp tug, his movements swift and decisive. With one last glance in the mirror, he turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing through the grand halls of his empire.