Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 32: Reward (2)

Dragon Raja 2

It was currently nighttime in the U.S., the peak visiting time, with tens of thousands of users posting and browsing across various discussion boards. Against the black interface, white real-time messages kept popping up.

Suddenly, a white message was highlighted in red! This was very rare—ordinary users couldn’t do this; only an admin could. The next moment, the red message climbed past all the others, pinned at the top!

The data stream surged from “Norma,” the intelligent hub at the North American headquarters, across the Pacific Ocean’s underwater cables, to tens of thousands of clients worldwide. For a moment, everyone in front of their screens held their breath—what kind of news was this? Usually, only gossip on the level of releasing photos of the Dean’s first girlfriend could get this kind of attention.

“Reward: Tonight at 7:30 PM, a reservation for two at Aspasia restaurant (coordinates: Longitude 119.28439, Latitude 26.08774). Reservation name: Lu Mingfei. The reward will be ‘one promise.’”

Posted by: “Murasame.”

This ID appearing in the Night Watcher’s forum was as rare as a South China tiger. But everyone knew who it was—Chu Zihang, president of the Lionheart Society, openly posting a bounty to the entire Secret Party worldwide.

Seven time zones away, in Italy, in the small town of Portofino.

At precisely 7:00 a.m., in the Gulf of Genoa, surrounded by mountains, sunlight spread across the sea, seagulls gathered, flying low as they waited for small fish to leap out of the undulating waves—the bright morning sea was a grand feast for the gulls.

Among the seagulls was a black and white falcon, unlike the gulls who targeted the small fish. It was waiting for a cod or eel to occasionally surface, hovering silently.

A shadow, blurry at first, grew clearer—something was floating up from the seabed, and it was quite large. The predator’s blood ran hot; the falcon folded its wings and extended its talons, diving straight down like a bomber.

The water’s surface broke, and the prey leaped half a meter above the water, catching the falcon’s talons within a tenth of a second. The falcon flapped its wings frantically, but it couldn’t break free. It had judged wrong—this wasn’t an eel, nor was it a cod; it was something that shouldn’t have been in the deep waters of the Gulf of Genoa. How could a human enter the sea without diving equipment?

“Shh.” The young man smiled coldly, raising a finger to his lips, as if he were talking to the falcon.

Suddenly, a faint golden glow flashed in his eyes, like sunlight reflecting off them. The falcon gave up its struggle, quietly perched on the young man’s hand—just one moment of eye contact, and it was tamed.

“From this moment, you’re my hunting falcon. I’ll call you Antony, after the Roman general. It fits well with my name,” the young man said, “Oh, I’m Caesar Gattuso.”

He waved his hand, and Antony understood his master’s command, taking flight, circling in the sky. Caesar swam backstroke, cutting through the water like an arrow, heading for the shore. On the empty beach, there was a small motorbike, barely half a meter tall. Though small, it looked like a genuine Harley cruising bike, all proud and majestic, with the tide lapping over its wheels. Caesar swung a leg over it, twisted the throttle. The little beast let out a joyful roar, kicking up a splash of water as tall as a person, charging onto the road. The road wound up the mountain. Simple houses with pink and yellow walls and lush green woods flew past him. Looking back at the bay below, it was filled with yachts, their masts flying white streamers.

Caesar raised a white towel above his head, and Antony instantly understood the signal, lowering its altitude to follow the bike, wings catching the breeze as it alternated above and below the towel, like a warrior following his master’s warhorse.

Caesar put on his sunglasses to block the intensifying sunlight, a faint smile on his handsome face.

This was his summer vacation—completely different from the “S”-rank loser Lu Mingfei. Spending the hottest weeks in Portofino, staying in a suite he rented year-round at the Splendid Hotel on the hilltop. The town was filled with wealthy Italians, luxurious brands were abundant, yet it was simple and natural, and it was an excellent diving spot, with red coral and ancient shipwrecks under the water, schools of fish swimming leisurely above them. He was as familiar with this place as his own garden.

The Splendid Hotel was originally an old monastery, its pool and restaurant hidden among ancient trees, appearing like a hanging garden from below. Caesar, shirtless, walked into the lobby, and his secretary handed him his phone.

“Your classmate called, seems to be a Student Union member.”

“What is it?” Caesar held the phone between his shoulder and neck, casually asking. During the break, he left a few capable people on campus so that any news would be promptly passed on to him. Caesar didn’t like losing control of the situation.

“It’s big news! Lu Mingfei is treating someone to authentic Italian tonight, but couldn’t get a reservation, and he’s looking for help.”

“Who is this?” Caesar was stunned. The voice sounded familiar, but not one of those left behind.

“Your loyal sidekick, Finger!” The voice was quite ingratiating.

“What does it have to do with me?” Caesar frowned.

Finger was indeed part of the Student Union, but if he hadn’t spoken up, Caesar wouldn’t have even remembered that he had such a subordinate. The guy had been held back so many times that they couldn’t even find his original records, and he hadn’t reported in since Caesar took office—he was a complete loafer.

“But Chu Zihang posted a bounty!”

“Chu Zihang?” Caesar’s face grew serious.

“Chu Zihang’s bounty said that whoever could get Lu Mingfei a reservation at Aspasia tonight, he would promise to help them with something within his abilities, as long as it doesn’t go against his morals. In short, they could get one promise from him—if they had a problem, they could come to him.”

“A big reward.” Caesar pondered for a moment.

“Bounty” games were common at Cassell College—equivalent exchanges where people helped each other. Caesar had also used a bounty before—when he was chasing Nono, he offered a bounty for postcards from people’s hometowns to be sent to her during holidays. Each card said, “My hometown is a beautiful place. I hope one day you can visit it with Caesar Gattuso.” The postcards piled up like a small hill on Nono’s desk, and Caesar sent every sender a new PSP as promised.

But compared to Chu Zihang’s bounty, those hundreds of PSPs were nothing. One promise from the president of the Lionheart Society could be worthless or extremely valuable. You could ask Chu Zihang to bark like a dog, or you could ask him to give up his position as president. Caesar believed Chu Zihang would keep his word—only someone like that was worthy of being Caesar Gattuso’s rival. Caesar began to feel interested. The reservation had nothing to do with him, but… everything to do with Chu Zihang was related to him!