Reeves finally reached Lelich .
It wasn't the kind of town you found on travel blogs or investment reports. It was still finding itself its place—halfway between rural silence and urban ambition.
Buildings stood half-finished in places. Roads were uneven. Streetlights flickered even in broad daylight. Progress had started here—but had seemingly paused halfway through.
He parked his red Honda Civic near what looked like an old industrial block.
After asking around—carefully—he got directions to the factory.
The Louis Wan Shoe Factory , Lelich Branch.
It didn't look impressive from the outside.
No sleek architecture. No high-tech security gates. Just a modest structure surrounded by quiet land. Only two or three other buildings stood nearby—mostly empty warehouses and storage units.
Deserted.
Perfect for secrets.
He stepped out of the car, locked it behind him, and approached the entrance.
Workers moved cartons filled with shoes outside—big, heavy boxes stacked neatly onto loading docks. A few threw glances at him as he walked in.
Their eyes lingered.
New face.
That told Reeves everything he needed to know.
This wasn't a place people visited casually.
He scanned the floor.
Old machinery. Workers in worn uniforms. Lights buzzing faintly overhead.
Nothing screamed dangerous , but everything whispered secrecy .
A man overseeing the assembly line noticed him first.
Reeves approached.
"Where can I find the manager?"
The worker swallowed hard, eyes darting around before he pointed hesitatingly.
"Straight ahead. Turn left. You'll see a room with a sign that says Manager ."
Reeves nodded.
He followed the path.
Found the door.
Knocked once.
A calm voice answered.
"Yes. Come in."
Reeves entered.
The inside was dimmer. Wooden shelves lined with records. A desk cluttered with paperwork. And behind it, a man in his mid-50s, sharp-eyed and composed.
"You must be the officer," the man said, not surprised.
Reeves blinked.
"You knew?"
The manager smirked.
"The way you walked. Scanning the room before speaking. You're not here to buy shoes."
He leaned back slightly.
"I've worked with enough police officers to recognize one when I see them."
Reeves gave a slow smile.
"Good eye."
He sat down.
"I don't think I need to introduce myself much. Mr. Hanjan, two or three years ago, a man named Renzo Cruz visited this shoe factory. What was the reason? And what happened?"
He pulled up a photo of Renzo on his phone and showed it to the manager.
Hanjan stared at it.
Then sighed.
"I'm sorry, Officer. I can't say much. Whatever happens in this factory beyond production is sealed tight. Even from Falcon Corps."
Reeves tapped his fingers on the table.
"I see."
He stood.
"Seems like that's all then."
He turned towards the door.
Hanjan relaxed slightly.
But just as Reeves was about to open the door…
He shut it.
Locked it.
And turned around.
In one swift motion, he crossed the room.
His foot landed firmly on Hanjan's neck, pinning him against the wall.
"Off... Officer! What are you d-doing?! You think this… is the r-right thing to d-do?!"
Reeves leaned forward, his voice low.
"You think I'm dumb?"
His tone was cold. Controlled.
"I know you won't talk unless you feel real pressure."
He tightened his grip slightly.
"And I also know what's really going on in this factory."
Hanjan's eyes widened.
"You sell these shoes as vegan leather. But in reality?"
Reeves smirked.
"You mix real leather into the design. Imported illegally. Not even Falcon Corps knows about it."
Hanjan's breath caught.
How did he find out?
If Falcon finds out, I'm dead.
His thoughts raced.
Reeves saw the fear in his eyes.
"That's right," he said softly. "I know more than you can expect."
He stepped off the man's neck.
Hanjan coughed violently, hands clutching his throat.
Reeves gave him some space.
"Now," he said, crossing his arms. "Now that you understand… tell me the truth."
Hanjan looked up, shaken.
"I-I will say what I know!"
Reeves smiled. A weird, knowing grin.
"Now that's what I call cooperation."
"There's not much I can tell you," he began. "I never met Renzo before. That day was the first time I saw him."
Reeves narrowed his eyes.
"When was that?"
"Around three years ago," Hanjan said. "the same day Chairman Vance came for inspection."
Reeves' pulse ticked.
"Vance was here?"
Hanjan nodded.
"They met in private. Talked for nearly an hour. I tried to overhear, but…"
He hesitated.
"…Tadashi was there guarding."
Reeves frowned.
"Who's Tadashi?"
Hanjan exhaled slowly.
"He's like Vance's shadow. Personal bodyguard. Right-hand man. Cold bastard. Japanese descent. Mid-to-late thirties."
Reeves processed it.
Tadashi.
The same name from Noah's file.
The same man who took him.
He leaned forward.
"You sure you're not hiding anything?"
Hanjan shook his head quickly.
"No! I swear. That's all I know."
Reeves studied him.
Then stood.
"All right," he said. "Thanks. If you remember anything else, give me a call."
He placed a card on the desk.
No name.
Just a number.
Hanjan picked it up.
He understood.
This officer wasn't here on official orders.
Reeves left without looking back.
Outside the room, the air felt heavier.
He got into his car.
Dialed Nigel.
The line was picked up after two rings.
"This trip wasn't a waste," Reeves said. "I got something solid. Thanks for your help, Nigel. I won't bother you again."
Nigel chuckled. "Reeves, you always make things complicated."
Reeves smirked.
"Yeah. But this time, it's not just me chasing shadows."
He paused.
"I'm bringing someone else in."
There was a short silence.
Then Nigel asked carefully:
"You mean Li Bai, don't you?"
Reeves didn't hesitate.
"Exactly."
The engine roared to life.
Clutch released.
The Civic surged forward.
"He's in Wuhan now," Reeves said. "I'll drag him into this if I have to."
Nigel laughed. "Man, good luck with that. He's gonna eat you alive."
Reeves grinned.
"I know."
He drove off, leaving Lelich behind.
But not the truth.
Not yet.
****
Falcon Corps HQ – Training Room B13Same Time
Noah stood in front of the full-length mirror, fists clenched.
His arms trembled slightly—not due to exhaustion like before, but from tension. From effort.
He rolled his shoulders and threw another jab.
Faster than yesterday.
Sharper than last week.
Still not fast enough.
Tadashi watched from across the room, arms folded.
"You're moving better," he admitted. "But there's too much going on in your head."
Noah wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"I am trying to get it right."
Tadashi snorted.
"Thinking makes you slower. Fighting is instinct. Reaction. Reflexes."
He stepped forward.
"Again."
Noah gritted his teeth.
Then moved.
Jab.
Another.
Feint.
Side step.
Punch.
Each movement no longer felt foreign.
His body was starting to remember what to do—no longer stiff, no longer hesitant.
It wasn't dramatic. Not yet.
But there were signs.
His shoulders had definition now. His core, once weak, had started to tighten. His legs didn't shake during squats anymore.
Even his breathing had changed—deeper, controlled, less panicked.
A bit of improvement , he thought as he ducked under an imaginary kick. But they matter.
Tadashi gave a small nod.
"You're not collapsing after ten minutes anymore," he said. "That's something good."
Noah exhaled sharply through his nose.
"It feels different."
He flexed his fingers, then made a tight fist.
"My hands don't slip when I punch. My stance doesn't waver."
He looked at himself in the mirror again.
There was still a long way to go.
But for the first time since arriving at Falcon Corps…
He could see it.
A version of himself that wasn't weak.
Not yet strong enough.
But getting there.
Tadashi stepped beside him.
"You've got some muscle memory now," he said. "That's the base. From here on out, we build speed. Then power."
He cracked his knuckles.
"And eventually… control."
Noah nodded slowly.
He knew what that meant.
More pain.
More reps.
More failure.
But also—
More progress.
Tadashi pointed at the timer on the wall.
"Five rounds. Ten minutes each. Full form drills."
Noah didn't flinch.
Didn't complain.
Just rolled his neck.
And stepped into the ring.