THE NEXT MORNING

Jung wakes at the crack of dawn and hurriedly gets dressed; Frau had already woken up sometime before he did and spent the morning preparing breakfast for Jean and her company. He looks out his bedroom window and already sees the wagon trucks—four in total—all loaded and lined up in a convoy. Jean and the men, however, are standing near the driveway’s cobblestone wall exchanging looks and pointing at something in the distance.

And when Jung squints to see what they are observing, he immediately rushes downstairs past his perturbed wife and onto the driveway.

A lone car. It’s rare for Jung to get visitors. It’s even rarer for anyone to know that he is out here. He seldom conducts businesses at the farm; they’re almost always in town.

“What is going on?” Jung pants as his out-of-shape body struggles to keep up the pace. Jean and the others turn their attention to the old pirate captain. “Do any of you recognize that car?”

A shift of eyes and some nervous throat clears here and there. “We were hoping you knew who it was, boss.” One of the farmhands remarks “should we get our guns? It could be a vigilante…”

“Nonsense,” Jung replies “if that were the case, they would have tried to out me years ago. Hell, they would raise a small army to torch this place—but just in case I want most of you standing back,” with a wince he continues “in the worst-case scenario, it is likely someone from Brunsbüttel—” a spell of silence “someone from the Mafia.”

The farmhand from before opens his mouth to say something, but refrains and shrugs his shoulders. Almost everyone except for Jean quietly retreats to give Jung and the encroaching visitor some room.

Jung only watches in firm silence as the car speeds closer to the farmstead, and eventually comes to a halt at least a yard away from where the duo stands. For Jung, he would much rather prefer if it was some vigilante seeking vengeance than a spokesman from the Mafia. It would seem fitting to die in a blaze of glory than be dragged back into the Mafia and fight needless battles.

Jung gets a good look of the man as he exits his vehicle but doesn’t recognize him in the slightest—and much to his dismay he believes it is a Mafia man judging from the signature apparel that the syndicate is known for; a brown poncho and a brimmed hat that obscures the eyes.

“Hold it right there!” Jung calls out to the mysterious stranger. His guest had taken a few steps toward Jung but stopped on command. Jung rests his hands on his sides and suddenly wants to kick himself for leaving his pistol by the bedside drawer. “That’s as far as you’re going. State your business; who are you?” Jung shouts and tries to peer into the man’s partially obscured eyes.

The poncho partially obscures his build, but he is a finely-built man—perhaps even more muscular than what he remembers of Che—and Jung has seen his fair share of industrious men in his lifetime. The man slowly lifts his hat off, revealing a shaved head and distinct scars on either side of his face. Cold, greenish eyes stare into Jung’s—not exactly something he would call friendly. “My, my,” the man says with a rather monotonous tone “is that how the legendary Wulf welcomes his visitors?”

“There is no longer a Wulf— and he doesn’t receive unannounced visitors in the first place,” Jung gravely retorts while exchanging glances with Jean, who takes deep breaths. “I won’t ask again—who are you? Who sent you?” The man raises his hands, and his lips tighten in a slight frown.

“Do you know how hard it was to locate you? None of the townspeople even knew who you were—it was a pain in the ass finding leads. But one regular of yours finally gave me a pointer…” he flashes teeth lined with bracers “as expected of the discrete Wulf; a true wolf in sheep's clothing!”

“For a macho man, you seem to be really hard of hearing—whose man are you? Chou? The Dong?” Jung’s gaze narrows “Oliver?” This man is not one that he recognizes during his time. Though, it wouldn’t surprise Jung if the Don went on a recruiting spree after he retired. Brunsbüttel reeked of being a slum, so there surely would be some incentive to join the Mafia. Jung did the same when he was younger, and he has no doubt today’s youth would do much the same.

The man only laughs, “sorry, mister Jung. The name’s Keane—I serve Madame Hwang directly.”

“Hwang… Kamon?” Jung cranes his neck in confusion at the equally baffled crowd of onlookers “what the hell does that woman want with me? Does Simon know about this little detour of yours?” But even before finishing his sentence, Jung already knows there is only one possibility that would compel Hwang of all people to start sending henchmen to scour the settlements for him. Keane flashes his braced teeth again.

“Slow one, eh, Wulf? There’s a threat looming at Dissenland… they say an armada of over two thousand ships are enjoying a nice camp-out over there,” when Keane finishes, there are a lot of tense murmurs from the onlookers.

“By them… you mean?” Jung hesitantly asks silencing the observing murmurs. Keane nods his head.

“Word is, it’s a coalitional force—the Mericans, the Ruthenians, some Lombardian ships… and the main contingent is the Metropolitan fleet.”

“Lotta intelligence spewing from a knucklehead,” Jung states flatly while crossing his arms “and how exactly is this my problem? Whatever happens is none of my concern. I’m living an honest life now. I have a family and a farmstead to tend to. The little young—Li—and Simon are still around, are they not?” Jung aggressively waves Keane off and heads back towards the house. “See to it that he gets removed, Jean—”‎

“Just because you are a free man now…” Keane shouts as the group slowly converges on him “doesn’t mean you should abandon the ones that made you what you are now!” Jung freezes in his tracks.

“Just what do you know…” Jung turns around, and the others back off from Kean “—and just what do you know about what makes a man or not?!” Jung walks back towards Keane and grabs him by the collar “you hardly look like a made man yourself! Judging from that lousy Toscani accent of yours, aren’t you hardly a babe?!

“You’re far too green to know what the hell you’re talking about. I have done all I could do for the Mafia—even before it’s conception, and it has done all it could for me! I owe it nothing,” Jung tightens his grip on Keane’s mantle “—just as it owes me much the same; nothing!” Jung shoves the man with a grunt and backs away towards the house again “…if you know what’s best for you, mister Keane,” Jung says as he dusts off his clothes “you should leave the Mafia while you still can.

“I’ll let it slide over what happened just now and even let you stay at my farm. There’s no future to be had in this wretched line of piracy. There is no happy ending to be achieved—it leads down a path of sorrow and sacrifices,” Jung looks up toward the morning sky “it destroys who you are—you may accomplish great deeds… but it will be at the cost of your humanity. The civilians you may have known and loved will be caught in the crossfires—one way or another.”

With the assistance of others, Keane helps himself up. “E-even so! Jung…”

“Enough! I don’t care what the Don or the hag wants. Simon and his protege are more than capable of defending the Rouen corridor… there’s no need for a dying breed of men like me.”

“Jung… what do you think will happen if they fail at Rouen?” Keane extends his arms out “if the Federation wins at Rouen…” he shakes his head sternly “it’s all over—former pirate or not, it doesn’t make a difference to them. They’ll comb all the settlements and all the Clusters for any signs of fugitives! And that includes you” Keane points toward the crowd “that includes them” the hand gravitates towards the house “and your family.

“Listen to me, Jung! Everything you have strived for will be for naught if you don’t fight! Do you want to surrender your rights to the Federation without so much as lifting a finger? If you back down now… could you live with yourself if the Federation harms your family?!” Jung grits his teeth and turns to face his reality. Jung opens his mouth to argue—but he can’t think of anything to say.

From behind, Jung hears the creak and slam of the front door as Frau steps out into the yard. “What’s going on out here, Jung?” The worried tone of Frau as she waddles closer to the group “is everything alright?… who is that man?” She asks with increasing worry.

To fight or not? It’s a thought that weighs heavily on his shoulders. Does he go and fight for his freedom, or does he lie down like a dog and watch helplessly as the Federation tears apart the paradise he built with his own two hands? All Jung has ever desired is a quiet life: a life away from hostility and the galaxy at large. Jung has only ever wanted one thing: to spend the remainder of his life raising his child—to be a supporting father when he still has the chance—and die peacefully of old age on a rocking chair. It’s all Jung has ever wanted; it’s all he never needs. Jung cuts loose a mightily exhale amid the crowd’s collective bated breath.

Keane walks towards his vehicle, “if you need time to decide, I will be in town for a few more days—most of the fleet has already finished assembling outside the Brunsbüttel… but they’re still expecting ships to arrive from the other systems. I’ll be at that reiichi parlor awaiting your answer, but no more than a few days,” Keane opens his driver’s door and takes one step inside. Jung’s fist clenches tighter—his nails dig into flesh.

“Wait,” Jung states. Kean stops and rescinds from the vehicle.

It cannot be helped. No matter where Jung may go—no matter what he may do in life, his muddled past will always play catchup. Jung has accepted that one day his day of reckoning will come—and that day has finally arrived.

Jung looks back at the anxious Frau, and the same thought crosses his thought more starkly; it simply cannot be helped. No, Jung shakes his head. There was never a possibility of them living in solitude. He never truly walked out of the Mafia—it was merely the golden summer of his life, a period that he hoped would persist until his dying breath. A glimmer of hope that his feats and atrocities would long be forgotten about. But now, his dreams are cast aside for the greater good of the Mafia.

The greater good, huh? If Jung was still in his youth, he’d find the whole idea fascinating. Perhaps that kindled spirit still burns very slightly. Jung turns his back to Kean to face Frau directly. Her eyes widen in horror when she finally registers what is happening. It’s a look that disheartens Jung greatly, but it’s something he has to bear with.

“D-darling… don’t…” She stammers, and she clenches him “you can’t. You can’t…” Her trembling hands and quivering lips further crushes Jung. “Surely… surely there has to be another way… we… can…”

“If I don’t come to them…” Jung takes a deep breath, looking past Frau at Jean and the others “they will come to us— to you. I don’t… want another person I love to be hurt.”

Frau rests her head on Jung’s chest and tries to stifle quiet sobs. Jung wraps his arms around her in a feeble attempt to comfort her “just promise me… just promise me you’ll come back alive,” Frau says tearfully, as she lifts her head to Jung. “Do it for our baby…”

Jung knows full well that will be a herculean wish to fulfill—over two thousand ships means it will not be anything less than a bloody brawl. “I will do whatever it takes to defend our future—this will be the last time I will be involved with the Mafia,” he strokes Frau’s soft orange hair and wipes the tears from her eyes “so wait for me, Frau—wait for me—and I will return.”

Jung hugs Frau one last time before stepping away. He looks back at Jean and the others nodding in silence with his decision. “Well, mister Keane—if you happen to have a shuttle for me and my men willing to tag along, I’m sure we can hop a ride after we finish this convoy shipment.”

Keane nods and flashes his braced teeth. “Sorry about the circumstances—but welcome aboard, captain.”

With an exasperated sigh, the Wulf der Ruthenia steps forward to face his destiny head-on. He will atone for his crimes at Abassi—and his failure to protect Fa all those years ago. Whatever it may take, the old Wulf will stand his ground.