When a ninja is summoned and their Battle Slot is activated, they don't just exist on a screen or in code—they materialize as real, living beings within the Marvel Universe.
The Naruto game character's merge with reality.
At the start, only a single Battle Slot is available by default. Unlocking additional slots, however, comes at a cost—each one requiring a hefty amount of gold coins.
Over the span of three years, all the coins Renji earned from daily log-ins and events had been invested solely in unlocking more slots. Despite his diligence, he only managed to open two more, bringing his total to three.
With three manifested ninjas—plus himself—he could now form a tight, flexible three-plus-one tactical unit.
If he ever managed to unlock enough slots, he could bring the entire roster of ninja characters into the Marvel universe, building an unstoppable army.
Each character, once brought into existence, retained their original intelligence and skills. But more importantly, they were unwaveringly loyal—a hundred percent devoted to their summoner.
Without that guaranteed loyalty and a built-in restriction to prevent them from harming him, Renji wouldn't dare summon certain ninjas. After all, some of them were wildcards—brilliant, but unpredictable, prone to chaos and mischief.
As for Summoning Techniques, so far, he had only unlocked the Ninja Hounds. The higher-level summons—such as the Blue Serpent, the legendary Toads, or even the mighty Tailed Beasts—remained out of reach for now. He often found himself yearning for those advanced contracts, but the truth was humbling: he hadn't even maxed out the Ninja Hounds yet.
Still, he was close. A bit more prestige—a few more victories and some recognition—and he'd finally be able to level them up fully. Once that happened, the next summon, the Blue Serpent, would be within his grasp.
After reviewing his current stats and progress on his personal panel, Renji Mercer finished the last sip of the rich, amber-colored whiskey in his glass. Setting the tumbler aside, he slowly lay back on his bed and drifted off into a calm, dreamless sleep.
---
The Next Morning
By early morning, Renji had already enjoyed a hearty breakfast at the hotel. Now, he sat leisurely in the lobby, his posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other as he casually glanced at the newspaper and sipped his second coffee of the day.
His secretary, Ms. Ginny, had been sent ahead to his private office to handle the day's tasks and administrative clutter.
The lobby of the Continental Hotel was tastefully decorated in deep mahogany and gold accents, a blend of luxury and menace that whispered stories of bloodshed and respect. It was a sanctuary for assassins, hidden in plain sight.
As Renji sat observing his surroundings, his sharp gaze locked onto a man entering through the glass doors—a large suitcase trailing behind him.
Step by deliberate step, the man made his way toward the reception desk. His stride was calm but heavy with tension. His face, normally stoic, was now hardened by something recent—something violent.
A faint, cold aura surrounded him—like smoke rising from a still-burning battlefield. It was clear: he had killed last night, and not just once. He moved like a volcano in disguise—ready to erupt at any moment.
Renji lifted his hand casually, palm open, and called out with a calm, familiar tone.
"Hey, John."
The man looked over. It was indeed John Wick.
They weren't strangers. In fact, they'd met several times before—mainly during morning walks while walking their dogs. Because of his Summoned Hounds, Renji had bumped into John and his wife more than once, and they'd developed a casual acquaintance. Their bond was light, but genuine—dog lovers sharing a silent understanding.
When John had first received that precious puppy from his late wife, he'd even called Renji for advice on how to care for it.
In that sense, they were canine comrades—a rare kind of friendship built in quiet moments.
Now, seeing Renji inside the Continental—of all places—shocked John. He hadn't expected to see this familiar face in the ranks of assassins.
John had been out of the business for four long years, since the death of his wife. He'd cut off all ties with the assassin world, and people like Renji —newcomers or hidden members—were unknown to him.
After a brief pause, John offered a low but steady response. "Renji , I'm here to check in."
Renji rose and approached, stopping a measured distance of one meter in front of the man.
His voice was calm, composed—almost amused.
"You seem to be in some trouble. Word is, there's a two-million-dollar bounty on your head. Need some help?"
He added with a smile, "All I ask is one contract sigil."
It was a subtle offer. For Renji , this wasn't about money. It was about timing—and gaining favor.
Helping John out of a tight spot in exchange for a sigil—a promise of a favor—was a smart move. The cost was minimal, and the return could be invaluable.
John didn't flinch at the bounty. After last night's bloodshed, he had already anticipated the inevitable. The people who sent those killers wouldn't stop. A bounty was bound to follow.
He calmly replied, "Not at the moment. If I need something, I'll reach out."
"Fair enough," Renji nodded. "Let's keep in touch."
He didn't take the rejection personally. John Wick's problems had only just begun. Sooner or later, he would need help.
And when he did, Renji would be there—ready to step in and cash in on a favor earned.
As Renji stepped away, John continued to the front desk.
At that moment, a female voice called from behind him—a sultry, dangerous tone.
"Nice seeing you again, John!"
It was Perkins, a striking assassin who had just checked in herself.
John glanced back. "Likewise, Perkins."
With brief nods exchanged, he proceeded with check-in, then left the lobby without another word.
Renji , still lounging in his chair, sipped his now-cooled coffee. He gazed into the swirling liquid with a smirk.
Tonight, the curtains rise. The real show is about to begin.
---
Nightfall
In the dim glow of the Continental Hotel's underground bar, jazz music flowed softly in the background. The scent of bourbon, cigars, and old secrets lingered in the air.
Renji sat in a leather-upholstered booth near the bar's entrance, a glass of bourbon whiskey in hand. Across from him sat Ginny, her poise as crisp as ever.
"Renji ," Ginny whispered, leaning slightly closer. "That bounty on John Wick? It's gone up—four million dollars. And now it includes four gold coins. Are you sure you're still not interested?"
Her voice was low and calculated, carrying the weight of recent intel.
Renji raised a finger and slowly waved it left and right.
"No. I have a better plan," he said plainly.
He wasn't underestimating John Wick. On the contrary—he valued him.
Though technically a "normal human," John was anything but ordinary. The underworld called him the Boogeyman for a reason—precise, lethal, unstoppable.
If Renji could bring him in, convince him to collaborate, maybe even recruit him—he'd be gaining a powerful asset in these early stages.
Sure, his three summoned ninjas were formidable, but three wasn't enough. For larger operations, he needed more hands, more minds, and more blades.
As the two of them spoke, the bar's heavy doors swung open.
And in stepped John Wick.
Renji looked up, raised his hand again. "Hey, John."
John scanned the bar carefully. His eyes swept past Renji and Ginny, then landed on Winston, seated in his usual private booth further in.
John made his way over.
"Evening, Renji ," he greeted quietly as he passed.
Renji leaned back and chuckled. "John, your price has doubled. Four million, and four gold coins. Still sure you don't want my help?"
He added, more serious this time, "Some of the newer killers... don't exactly follow the rules anymore."
John's brow furrowed. He understood the subtext. When assassins started bending or breaking the rules, the game changed—becoming chaotic and dangerous.
But he was tired of the killing. This wasn't some professional assignment—it was personal. Revenge. Survival.
Even so, a doubled bounty and gold coins were no small matter. It meant this was becoming bigger than personal.
Still, John believed he could handle it. After a short pause, he politely declined Renji 's offer once again.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward Winston's booth.
He had urgent questions.
He needed to know where those bastards were—and he knew Winston would have answers.
(End of Chapter)