Dud had been quietly observing the situation for a while now, deliberately choosing not to get involved, for several reasons.
The first being that, technically, Max was still a part of the Rejected Corps. And even though the entire situation unfolding in front of him was chaotic, it intrigued Dud just enough to keep him standing on the sidelines.
He didn’t know who Max really was. Whether he was truly a Stern or just some imposter playing a dangerous game, Dud had no idea. But he did know one thing for certain.
He hated the Black Hounds.
It wasn’t just their tactics or their ruthlessness, no, it was something far more personal than that. He hated the way they carried themselves, the way they looked down on everyone else like they were trash. No matter how much skill he had shown, no matter what he achieved, the Black Hounds had never given him the respect he believed he rightfully deserved.
That bitterness had burned inside him for a long time.
And it was exactly why Dud had chosen to join a street gang of his own. To start at the bottom and fight his way up. One victory at a time. One enemy at a time.
He wanted to be the deciding factor, the reason one gang would rise while another crumbled. The day would come, he swore it, when the Black Hounds would finally fall, and when that day arrived... he’d be there. Watching. Smiling. And then he’d spit right in the faces of those who’d once dismissed him.
Still, even with that fire raging inside him, he knew better than to act recklessly. There was a time and place for everything.
He had tried, very subtly, to help Max before. Tiny actions that wouldn’t draw too much attention. But now, the situation had shifted. To survive, Dud realized he might have to do the one thing he didn’t expect.
Take Max down himself.
Without saying a word, Dud stepped forward, walking past the VIP manager as he approached the stairs. His heavy boots landed on each step with purpose, the weight of his body and decision behind every thud.
"Dud," Max called out, his voice a mix of concern and frustration.
According to Wolf’s rankings, Dud was an A+ rank fighter. Max, as of his last evaluation, was still a B-rank.
That alone painted a grim picture, Dud was in a whole different league. Max was outmatched. Outclassed. If they really fought, it would be an uphill battle that he might not survive.
True, Max had earned a decent amount of money since that last evaluation, and that should have technically improved his stats. But it wouldn’t have been enough to bridge an entire rank.
He’d taken down powerful enemies before, like Dipter. He’d found a way in the past. But something about Dud was different. This wasn’t just about power, it was personal.
Especially if the rest of the Black Hounds were going to turn on him too.
"Are you sure you should be doing this?" Max asked, trying to reason with him. "I’m still one of them. I’ve done everything they asked of me. This situation, everything going on right now, it’s separate from what you and I have."
"You’re right," Dud said, pausing mid-step. "But I’m doing this for the sake of our relationship."
He turned his head slightly, giving Max a cold stare.
"You’re right about Chrono too. He sees something in you. Sees you as a big deal. But bigger than the threat the Black Hounds pose? I don’t think so."
Then, all at once, a thunderous bang echoed through the air.
The door shook again. Another heavy bang. Then another. Until finally, with a loud CRACK, the doors burst wide open, slamming into the walls with force.
And a voice called out from the other side.
"See? I told you you’d need our help. Don’t embarrass yourself acting like you could handle this on your own again."
Several figures walked through the broken entrance like they owned the place. Men who wore confidence like armor. Strangers to almost everyone in the room.
These weren’t VIP members. And they sure as hell weren’t with the manager.
At the head of the group, a tall man with short, slicked-back hair stood proudly, scanning the chaos around him. Calm. Controlled. Like he knew exactly what was going on.
"Who are you?! What are you doing breaking in here?!" the manager yelled, his voice cracking under the pressure.
The man didn’t flinch. Instead, he removed his glasses with one hand, slipped them into his inner jacket pocket, and gave his answer with a smile.
"We," he said confidently, "are the Bloodline Rangers."
Aron had arrived.

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