"Ashes of Crestfall: The Rise of Aaron San Agustin"

Meanwhile, at the entrance of Elissè 99 Restaurant, Aaron checked his watch. Eight o'clock sharp. The city pulsed around him with neon life as his team gathered behind him, silent shadows in tailored suits. Aaron shifted slightly, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the closed entry doors. He took a step forward, only to hear an arrogant voice behind him.

"Stop right there. Who allowed you to go inside?" The waiter's tone dripped disdain. "Didn't I tell you to leave already?"

Aaron stared at him silently, the faint buzzing of the city falling away under the pounding of his pulse. The waiter sneered.

"How can you be so shameless, trying to get in again and again? You think I won't call security? This is your last chance. Get out now. It's almost eight o'clock. Don't block the entrance trying to get something for nothing."

Bravo shifted beside him, eyes flashing cold. Reaper clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. Maya glanced away in disgust.

"Say that again." Aaron's voice was low, calm, almost gentle.

But even a clay figure has a temper. The waiter scoffed, leaning closer, his cologne mixing with the scent of expensive waxed floors.

"What if I say it again? I'll say it ten more times the same way."

Aaron's eyes darkened, his aura expanding like an approaching thunderstorm. His teammates felt it instantly—the shift in the air, the tightening tension. In that moment, he no longer stood as a customer but as the phantom commander who once made warlords tremble.

The waiter faltered, fear flickering across his eyes before stubborn arrogance returned. He scanned Aaron's outfit—simple black tactical pants, combat boots, and a tailored coat devoid of designer logos. To him, Aaron was a stray dog trespassing in a world of lions.

"Shut up," Matthew's voice cut through the tension like a whip.

The waiter jolted, turning hastily. Matthew stepped forward from the shadows, his gaze assessing Aaron with new interest. This was no ordinary man. His bearing, the silent authority in his stance, the way seven other figures flanked him in perfect formation spoke louder than any brand name.

"Young Master Jenkins, I…" The waiter stammered, fear coiling in his gut.

"Do you not understand human speech when I tell you to shut up?" Matthew's voice turned cold. "How did someone like you end up greeting guests at the entrance? Are Elissè standards this low now? Blocking guests at the door and insulting them… truly impressive."

The waiter paled, trembling. He opened his mouth to beg, but at that moment, the restaurant manager arrived in polished leather shoes and a tailored vest. His sharp eyes took in the scene instantly. He bowed low to Matthew before turning to the silent figure standing at the entrance.

And froze.

A card was held lightly in Aaron's gloved fingers—a pitch-black obsidian card with no bank logo or insignia, only a charred brilliance diamond embedded at its center. The manager's breath caught. His knees nearly buckled under him as he bowed deeply.

"Welcome, esteemed guest. Please forgive the delay. We… we did not know you had arrived."

Matthew's eyes widened. Jenkins' jaw dropped. The woman draped over his arm recoiled, her confidence shriveling under the sheer weight of Aaron's aura.

The waiter collapsed to his knees, color draining from his face as realization dawned.

Aaron tucked the card back into his pocket without a word. The manager gestured swiftly, and two staff members in formal attire approached with respectful bows.

"This way, sir. Your floor is prepared. Chefs are ready. Would you like the Imperial Course to begin immediately?"

Aaron nodded once. "Yes. And prepare a private lounge after dinner."

"As you wish, sir." The manager bowed again, backing away with silent precision.

Bravo smirked, leaning close to Hawk as they followed Aaron past the frozen crowd. "That's our captain."

Hawk chuckled under his breath. "Wolves among lions."

Inside, warm lights bathed the elegant dining hall in gold. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Velmont sprawling in endless brilliance below. Crisp linen tablecloths, porcelain plates with golden rims, and crystalline stemware adorned each table.

Aaron's team sat quietly, taking in the grandeur. For years, they had eaten hunched over ration packs, fingers numb with cold or blistered from desert heat. Tonight, they feasted like kings.

The first course arrived—crab meat with seared foie gras and white truffle sauce, served on a porcelain dish edged in platinum. Ghost hacked the touchscreen menu out of curiosity, analyzing calorie counts and molecular breakdowns with a nerdy grin. Reaper closed his eyes as he chewed, savoring each bite in reverent silence. Maya laughed softly with Rook, the sound lighter than any battlefield gunfire they had ever heard.

Bravo raised his glass in silent salute. Hawk mirrored him, their gazes locking briefly in unspoken brotherhood.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, studying them with calm eyes. This was what he fought for. Not the taste of foie gras or the golden city skyline—but the freedom etched into every weary smile around him.

As the sommelier poured the next wine—a rare Château Lafite Rothschild aged over half a century—Matthew Jenkins approached their table with forced composure.

"I… apologize for earlier. It seems I've underestimated you, Mr…?"

Aaron looked up, his gaze cool and unblinking. "San Agustin."

Matthew swallowed hard. "Mr. San Agustin, if you ever require assistance in Velmont's business circles, the Jenkins family would be honored to support your endeavors."

Aaron offered him a small smile that held no warmth. "I'll keep that in mind."

Matthew bowed slightly, retreating into the shadows, his heart pounding with fear and greed.

When the desserts arrived—mille-feuille with caramelized hazelnuts and Madagascar vanilla cream—the team sat in silent contentment, watching the lights of Velmont flicker beneath them like a galaxy of stars.

They were home.

At least for tonight.

Because while the world around them worshipped wealth and names, the wolves at this table knew that true power walked in shadows—and those shadows were stirring again.

And as Aaron sipped his final glass of whiskey, his mind sharpened like a drawn blade.

Tonight, they feasted.

Tomorrow, they hunted.