The Rise of the Heir

Chapter 6

Yanuar's metallic black sedan cruised slowly through the gloom of downtown Monia before finally stopping in front of a two-story building that stood in stark contrast to the surrounding skyscrapers. The building was colonial-style, sturdy yet dull. Above the entrance, a neon sign flickered unsteadily, emitting a dying electrical hum.

ROUZA GRILL.

Theo stared at the sign through the car window. The name of the restaurant his late father had founded was emblazoned there, but the dying neon glow seemed to reflect a long-faded glory.

"Your father opened this place twenty years ago," Yanuar's voice broke the silence, his eyes gazing at the building with a bittersweet glint of nostalgia. "Back then, Monia's elite had to make reservations two weeks in advance just to taste the steak here. Now, this place is just an old joint surviving on the mercy of the remaining customers."

Theo got out of the car, ignoring the pain in his ribs as his feet hit the asphalt. He stepped inside, followed by Yanuar and two guards who kept a distance behind.

The restaurant was still quite lively for dinner time. But there was something tired about the place, a sort of "bad aura" clinging to the walls, the tables, and even the air swirling beneath the ceiling. The cream paint in some corners had peeled off, revealing a dull finish beneath.

Some of the table legs were propped up with folded cardboard, which was starting to become dented and damp, preventing them from wobbling whenever customers touched them. From the corner of the room, an old air conditioner roared softly with an annoying creaking sound, mingling with the hot air from the kitchen that continued to seep out, along with the aroma of burnt oil and spices.

Several waiters in shabby aprons immediately bowed their heads upon seeing Yanuar enter. Their attitude was respectful, almost reflexive. But when their gazes shifted to the young man walking beside him, something changed without words.

Their gazes hardened.

The tired eyes began to move slowly from the tips of Theo's hair to the worn shoes he wore, silently assessing him in a way that felt more pointed than a direct insult. It was as if Theo's presence alone was enough to defile the restaurant's atmosphere.

The restaurant was still quite lively for dinner time, but Theo could sense a "tired" aura. The paint on the walls was peeling in the corners, some table legs were propped up with cardboard to keep them from swaying, and the air conditioner in the corner of the ceiling creaked noisily, drowned out by the heat of the kitchen.

Several waiters wearing shabby aprons immediately bowed slightly upon seeing Yanuar. However, as soon as their gazes shifted to the young man beside him, the atmosphere changed instantly. Their gazes became sharp, measuring and judging.

"So that's Mr. Roy's son?" whispered a male waiter behind the bar. His voice was low, but it reached Theo's ears.

"He looks ordinary. He's so skinny," said the female cashier, glaring at Theo's shabby clothes and the scars on his face and body. "Indeed, his face resembles Mr. Roy. But his body...? There's nothing like Mr. Roy."

Theo continued walking, his face expressionless. This kind of verbal insult was nothing compared to all the verbal abuse he had endured in his life.

Near the stairs to the second floor, a giant man emerged from behind the kitchen door. He wore a black tank top that revealed muscular arms covered in tiger tattoos that had faded to a bluish hue. He walked with a slight limp, but his cloudy eyes were razor-sharp.

"So, this is the 'prince' you mentioned, Yanuar?" the man asked matter-of-factly. His voice was hoarse, heavy like the friction of stone.

Yanuar stopped in his tracks, his face hardening. "Watch your tongue, Bima. This is Theo Atmaja."

Bima stopped right in front of Theo. His nearly two meters tall, his shadow engulfed Theo completely. The old man snorted, then spat a small spit onto the floor where the meat was being grilled.

"Roy never looked this thin, even when we were surrounded in Sector 3 twenty years ago," Bima said coldly, his eyes staring straight into Theo's pupils, searching for a ripple of fear there.

The restaurant suddenly fell silent. Several employees who had been busy serving dishes were now frozen, watching the scene with bated breath. Yanuar was about to step forward to intervene, but Theo's right hand moved slightly, signaling Yanuar not to interfere.

"I cleaned up the blood on the streets every time your father finished his business at RX," Bima leaned in, whispering directly in Theo's face.

"Monia's underworld is bleeding, kid. If you came here just because you ran out of money for your boarding house and your father's fame... just go home. You'll only make us all die a fool."

Theo didn't take a step back. He stared into Bima's cloudy eyes with a hollow calm. "Thanks for the warning, Bima. But I didn't come here to ask your opinion."

Bima was stunned for a moment, his jaw clenched tightly before he finally snorted in annoyance and turned back to the kitchen.

***

Yanuar led Theo up the stairs to the second floor at a brisk pace, as if not wanting anyone to overhear their conversation. The sound of their shoes echoed softly in the narrow hallway lit by pale white lights.

Theo had imagined a grand office typical of a large company owner—an expensive wooden desk, a display rack full of awards, and the serene aroma of expensive coffee. But that vision shattered as soon as he reached the top floor.

What greeted him was chaos.

Along the corridor leading to the office, brown cardboard boxes were stacked almost touching the walls. Partially open, revealing crumpled folders and sheets of unpaid tax bills. The papers were scattered like the remains of a war that hadn't been tidied up. Some had even fallen to the floor, trampled by the shoes of employees who passed by with tense faces and sleep-deprived eyes.

From behind the half-open glass door of the administration room, Theo witnessed another, no less grim sight. A large whiteboard stood in the center of the room, covered in red scribbles of numbers and graphs. The lines dropped sharply month after month, like a chasm slowly swallowing the entire company.

Atmaja Group was dying.

And everyone on the second floor seemed to know it was only a matter of time before everything completely collapsed.

Yanuar led Theo upstairs. Instead of a luxurious office space, Theo was greeted by a chaotic scene. Along the corridor leading to the office, stacks of cardboard boxes filled with unpaid tax bills piled high. Through the open glass door of the administration room, Theo could see a large whiteboard covered in red scribbles—a graph of Atmaja Group's plummeting revenue.

As soon as the door to the main office closed, Yanuar immediately spread out a faction map of the Monia region on the scratched wooden table.

"Bima's right about one thing, Theo. We're dying," Yanuar pointed to the areas of Sectors 2 and 3, outlined in red. "The eight restaurant branches that fund Agent RX's logistics have been forcibly confiscated by the government faction's bank. Our cash flow is leaking internally. Someone on the board of directors is deliberately cutting off our supply lines to bankrupt us."

Theo sat on a wooden chair, leaning against his still-aching back. He stared at the map with a frown. "Who's controlling the leak?"

"The New Faction. They're led by Roy's other former left-hand man, Valen," Yanuar clenched his fists. "Valen wants to turn Agent RX into a pure arms trafficking syndicate. He considers your father's vision of protecting the lower sector a profitless nonsense. Your arrival tonight... must have already leaked to his people."

Before Theo could reply, his bad feeling was confirmed.

CRASH!

A loud crash sounded from downstairs, followed by the screams of female customers and the sound of shattering plates.

Theo immediately stood up, ignoring the pain in his ribs. Through the office's glass window overlooking the first-floor dining hall, he saw five men in denim jackets armed with wooden blocks and iron pipes enter after smashing through the front glass door.

Below, Bima quickly jumped over the counter, already gripping a large butcher knife. "Damn it! Valen's men are really here!" he shouted to the restaurant's waitresses, who were starting to panic and run to the back.

One of the attackers, wielding an iron pipe, smashed a nearby wooden table, breaking it. "Where's Roy's bastard?! Hand him over now or we'll burn this place down!"

From the top of the stairs, Theo looked down at the chaos. His hands on the wooden railing trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from the adrenaline that had been dormant for years, now being forced to rise in the face of a real threat.

At the corner of the stairs, two longtime restaurant employees whispered as they glanced at Theo, who remained motionless upstairs. "See? The kid's scared. He won't dare come down."