**** Great Hyoudou Residence — One Week Later ****
A week had gone by since the little boy had spoken his oath.
Throughout that week, his father, along with Euclid and Rizevim, had been giving the boy a far more thorough education on the supernatural world — the different mythologies, the Devil Houses, their symbols, the Great Wars, the Wars of Succession, the history of the seventy-two demonic Pillars, the Creation, the incident with Samael, the Great Flood, the Fall, the founding of the Demonic Imperial Monarchy, "Black Friday" in painstaking detail, Catechism, an entire day dedicated to explaining exorcisms, the dangers of sacred energy, and...
The Demonic Alphabet.
It was Sunday, and the little boy, utterly fed up, was repeating the exact same blessed letter for about the twentieth time.
He'd figured out ages ago that the letter was the equivalent of "A" in the human alphabet, but according to Euclid Lucifage, "just to be absolutely certain," he had to keep repeating it until there wasn't a shred of doubt left that it really was "A."
The boy was just about to doze off from sheer boredom when...
"Issei, would you mind coming along with me to a Business Meeting for a bit?" his father asked, poking his head through the door.
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" the little boy shrieked, thrilled at the chance to escape his lessons.
"In that case, get ready, we leave in ten minutes," his father ordered, closing the door.
The boy scrambled to get dressed, throwing on a white t-shirt printed with a red tie design, a black jacket, gray trousers, and matching sneakers.
He hurried downstairs and found Rizevim, Euclid, and his father all waiting for him.
Satan was dressed in a white shirt, a scarlet tie, a sharp black suit jacket, gray trousers, matching shoes, and a gray fedora.
"Seems I'm not the only one who had the idea to dress up," Satan said, taking in his son's outfit.
"Yeah, but something's missing..." Euclid remarked, thoughtful.
"This is what's missing," Rizevim said, conjuring a black fedora out of thin air and placing it on the boy's head.
The two of them, father and son, now looked identical.
"Aw, how cu—!" Rizevim tried to say, before Euclid and Satan clapped their hands over his mouth as fast as their reflexes would allow.
"What were you about to say, Uncle Rizevim?" Issei/Berserker asked, in that same terrifying voice from the "Gates of Hell" incident, that same disgusting black aura pouring out of him.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing at all," Rizevim said, shaking like a leaf, the memory of that incident from a few days ago flashing through his mind.
"That's what I thought, Uncle Rizevim. That's what I thought," Issei said, settling back to normal.
"Whew..." the boy's father and Euclid both sighed in relief.
"Alright then, let's head out," Satan announced, conjuring a magic circle.
..............
**** New York City — United States ****
New York.
"The Big Apple."
Honestly, to this day, I still have absolutely no idea where the "apple" part came from...
Since the late nineteenth century, it's been one of the world's primary global centers for commerce and finance.
New York is considered a global city, given its worldwide influence on media, politics, education, entertainment, the arts, and fashion.
The city's artistic and cultural influence ranks among the strongest anywhere on Earth.
It's home to the headquarters of the United Nations, which also makes it a key hub for international relations.
The city's enormous relevance across every level puts it, alongside London, among the most prominent and influential cities on the entire planet.
Now let's zoom in on one particular spot.
Well, depending on who you ask.
What's certain is that Long Island is a beautiful place.
Spread across more than 24,000 square meters, the Sparda Residence, formerly the Corleone Residence, sits at 110 Longfellow Avenue, inside a gated community called Staten Island.
A wooded, quiet area, ideal for a getaway.
..............
You're probably wondering...
Why "Sparda"?
Turns out my father, being who he is, doesn't actually have a last name.
So he made one up.
Sparda...
Which reminds me of the Devil May Cry games...
I'll most likely be naming some of you "Dante" and/or "Vergil" someday...
But hey, funny how life works out sometimes.
Anyway, let's get back to the story.
..............
The Mansion has ten bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a gym, a game room, and a spectacular kitchen.
Not even counting its four garages, two offices, a pool, and a guardhouse for "unwanted visitors."
The Mansion was absolutely gorgeous.
At the door, we were greeted by my father's loyal butler and "consigliere."
Walter C. Dornez, formerly a member of the "Knights of the Round Table Protestant Order," and now Head Butler and Right Hand of the Sparda Family.
As you might know, Walter took part in Millennium's assault on London back in the nineteen-nineties.
After nearly being killed by Alucard, my father stepped in.
He killed Integra Hellsing...
Fought the furious Vampire...
My father obviously won the battle, seeing as he simply destroyed the vampire over and over until the poor thing had no souls left to consume.
When he went looking for his apprentice, though, she was already gone...
..............
At least, that's what my father told me at the time.
Digging around a bit, I discovered my father actually figured out how the Evil Pieces were created...
So, just out of curiosity, he went and made his own set.
EVERY single one of them turned out to be "Mutation Pieces"...
He turned my mother into his Queen...
(After her pregnancy, of course)
And turned Walter, Alucard, and Seras Victoria into his Pawns...
Just so you know, Alucard ended up consuming three mutated Pawn pieces.
So you can see that Nosferatu isn't just some compulsive soul-eating machine...
Now that that's cleared up, let's get back to the story.
..............
After that whole incident, he offered Walter a fresh start in life, which Walter gladly accepted.
And ended up as the Right Hand of a mafia Family...
What more could a guy ask for?
We arrived in a white limousine, windows tinted dark.
Since I'd had the bright idea beforehand of swinging by McDonald's for a Happy Meal...
It was seriously good.
Walter opened the door for us.
"Welcome, Issei-sama, Sparda-sama," Walter greeted courteously.
"Thank you for having us, Walter, I hope I didn't drop this on you too suddenly," my father returned the greeting, shaking his hand.
"Papa, you never give anyone advance notice," little Issei said, greeting him too.
Walter started laughing.
"Indeed, Issei-sama, your father usually prepares his Meetings at least a week in advance," Walter answered, glancing down at the boy.
"But isn't that a really long time?" Issei asked innocently.
"No, a normal Meeting would take a full month of preparation, but this particular Meeting seemed important, so I put it together in just a week," Satan explained, now going by Don Sparda.
"Why is it important?" Issei asked again.
"Because you'll get to meet the Family's most important members, and we'll explain how it's all organized, plus go over some of the basics of the Family Business," Satan laid out.
"Okay," the little boy answered.
Satan led his son to his Office, which functioned as the Sparda Family's Study.
It was a spacious Office, a pine wood desk positioned near the window overlooking the garden. Black leather armchairs sat in front of it, with a small table where clients and Family associates could take a seat. On the right side of the room stood a bar cabinet, packed with liquor and glasses.
Satan gestured for his son to take a seat in one of the armchairs while he settled into his own chair behind the desk. Walter took up position behind Satan.
"Sparda-sama, we have fifteen minutes before the 'caporegimes' arrive," Walter said.
"Thank you, Walter. Issei, first of all, every one of my associates and Family officers know me as 'Don' Sparda, so don't get confused if they refer to me that way," Satan said, watching his son take in the room, clearly impressed.
"Okay," Issei answered.
"Second... do you know what the word 'mafia' means?" Satan asked.
"No," the little boy answered.
[Kukukukuku, this ought to be interesting]
"What is the Mafia? 'Mafia' is a term used worldwide to refer to a specific class of organized crime, extending from its origins in southern Italy to any organized crime group with similar characteristics, regardless of its origin or where it operates..." Satan explained, before his son cut him off.
"Are you a criminal? What's that?" the little boy asked.
"A criminal is a bad person who does bad things, according to the law," Walter offered.
"So if the law says killing is fine, then someone who refuses to kill would be a 'bad' person according to that same law. So 'criminal' is really just an empty word..." Issei mused out loud, leaving Walter stunned by the sheer intelligence of the Sparda heir.
Satan smiled, bursting with pride.
For a child his age, his son understood topics most people would consider strictly "adult subjects" with perfect clarity.
"Exactly right, son. A criminal is only a criminal because the law says so. Sometimes the law is so unjust it makes a genuinely good man look like the absolute worst of the worst. Anyway, we're getting off track. The Mafia was born in the region of Sicily, Italy, where it named itself 'Cosa Nostra.' Originally, it was a confederation dedicated to protection and the autonomous exercise of 'vigilante justice,' and later evolved into organized crime," the boy's father continued explaining.
"And that's when other criminals, seeing how well-organized the Mafia was, decided to copy its structure for their own criminal organizations," Walter continued. "The members of each mafia Family follow certain codes of honor that are absolutely inviolable. In this Family, at least, we still follow the law of 'omertà,' or 'the law of silence.'"
("Omertà"? What the hell does "offering" have to do with any of this?) Issei wondered to himself.
"No, son, not 'offer.' 'Omertà.' Omertà, or the law of silence, means 'the categorical prohibition of cooperating with state authorities or making use of their services, even when one has personally been the victim of a crime.' In other words, a person must never interfere in someone else's business, and must never, under any circumstance, report a crime to the authorities," Satan corrected.
"Right, though if it's warranted, a person can personally avenge a physical attack against themselves, or their Family, through the use of a Vendetta," Walter continued.
(Vendetta?)
[It means "revenge"]
(Ah...)
"Sparda-sama, the guests have arrived," Walter announced, glancing out the window.
"Show them in," Satan ordered. "Issei, stay quiet for the duration of the meeting. Only speak when spoken to, and if you want to comment on something, talk to Ddraig telepathically instead. In the world of business, never let a stranger know what you're thinking," Satan advised.
"Hai," Issei answered obediently.
The Study door opened, admitting two men.
The first was a short, heavyset man, black hair, a thin, barely-there mustache. He wore a dark blue tailcoat with a white shirt, trousers matching his tailcoat, and black shoes.
The second was a tall, lean man, wearing thick black-framed glasses, light blue hair, and a full beard. He wore a gray tailcoat with black trousers, matching brown shoes.
"Welcome, my friends, it's an honor to have you here today," Satan greeted courteously, in his Don Sparda persona, giving the newcomers a warm welcome.
"The honor is ours, Godfather," the newcomers said in unison, kneeling before the Don.
(Godfather? This looks more like they're greeting a Roman Emperor...)
[The mafia isn't all that different from the Roman Empire]
(So the Empire just modernized and became the Mafia)
[That's one way to look at it]
"My friends, allow me to introduce my dear son. Issei, this is Giovanni Brusca," Don Sparda said, gesturing to the black-haired man. "And Frank Costello," gesturing now to the blue-haired one.
"I'm Issei Sparda, a pleasure to meet you both, gentlemen. My Father usually never introduces me to any of his Friends," Issei greeted respectfully, stunning both his father and Walter, since nobody had ever actually taught him how to greet someone so properly.
(Thanks, Ddraig, I owe you one)
[Don't mention it]
"Hohohohohoho, no need to be so formal, little one," the black-haired man laughed, clutching his rather prominent belly.
"Like my friend here says, no need for such formality. We're Family, after all," the blue-haired man said, amused.
"Hahahahahahaha, just as I'd expect from my new 'sottocapo,'" Don Sparda said.
"Sotto... what?" Issei asked, confused.
"Right, I haven't explained the Family's structure to you yet... Walter, could you bring me a—" Don Sparda tried to say, before Walter beat him to it.
"...whiteboard? Of course," Walter said, bringing over a whiteboard complete with built-in markers.
"As always, anticipating the Don's every wish. A true 'consigliere,' through and through," Frank, the blue-haired man, noted, taking a seat beside his black-haired companion.
"Consi... what?" the little boy asked again, a swarm of question marks practically visible circling his head.
"Pay attention, Issei-sama, we'll clear up all your questions now," Walter answered, pointing to the whiteboard.
The little boy paid attention — so much attention, in fact, that he nearly fell out of his chair, saved only by the quick reflexes of the blue-haired and black-haired men sitting across from him.
"Picture the Family as if it were the Roman Empire. At the very top of the Family sits the 'Don,' the supreme head of the Family, responsible for every major decision that involves it. The 'Don' is the equivalent of the 'Emperor,' and the position is currently held by Sparda-sama, right here," Walter began explaining, writing "DON" in capital letters at the top center of the board, circling it afterward.
[Told you]
(I know already. I bet you'll teach me to breathe fire if the next rank turns out to be equivalent to "General")
[Deal]
"As the Family's 'legal' advisor and the Don's personal counselor, there's the 'Consigliere,' which would be the equivalent of the rank of 'General,' and I currently hold that position," Walter continued, writing "Consigliere" below "Don," circling it, and connecting it with a line back to "Don."
(I win!)
[That's not fair, you read my mind!]
(Accept your defeat, Ddraig)
[Partner, you do realize I can see everything you think too, right?]
(...)
"The 'sottocapos' and 'caporegimes' are the Family's 'centurions.' Each one leads a group of ten 'capodecinis,' and they typically only communicate directly with the Consigliere. The Family currently has two caporegimes: Giovanni Brusca and Frank Costello," Walter said, gesturing to the two men in front of Issei, who each raised a hand to identify themselves.
"And the sotto-whatever-it-was?" Issei asked.
"The sottocapo is the most important caporegime in the Family. You could say it's the equivalent of the 'Heir to the Empire,' and in this case, that position is held by you," Walter answered, catching the little boy completely off guard.
"So does that mean I get to go pew-pew with those things?" the little boy asked, excited, pointing at Walter's jacket.
"Which things?" Walter asked, confused.
"Those L-shaped things you've got tucked into the sides of your jacket," Issei answered simply.
(How did he know Walter kept his weapons there?) was the thought running through both caporegimes' heads, since neither of them had even noticed Walter was armed.
And what if it had been an enemy who was armed, and they hadn't noticed either?
"You mean these?" Walter asked, pulling a 9mm Glock 17 out from one side of his jacket.
"Yeah," the little boy confirmed.
"Hohohohohoho, seems you've been caught, Walter," the black-haired man exclaimed, amused.
"So it would seem," Walter answered, slightly embarrassed.
"Let's continue with the explanation," Satan (Don Sparda) said, before the conversation could spiral further out of hand. "Issei, as sottocapo, you carry a very significant responsibility. I'll help you put together your own 'regime,' so you can carry out my orders."
"Regime?" Issei asked.
"A regiment. A group of soldiers who'll be under your direct command," the blue-haired man explained.
"Whoaaa, in that case I could—" Issei started to daydream.
"No robbing banks, and no sending them to raid a fruit stand just so you can have orange juice for the rest of your life," Don Sparda forbade preemptively.
"Mouuu," the little boy said, disappointed.
So then what exactly could he do with a regime?
"Don't worry, son. Once you're properly caught up on the Family Business, you'll see there's plenty to do," his father consoled him.
Walter cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back.
"We've gotten off track. Below the caporegimes are the 'capodecinis.' The capodecinis are the Family's 'decurions.' Each one leads a group of ten 'soldati,' and they only communicate with the caporegimes on matters of Business," Walter said, continuing the explanation.
(So each tier only talks to the one directly above it, meaning if anyone ever gets caught, nobody can testify against the Don, since they don't even know who he is)
[An effective way to protect yourselves, and it also slows down any investigation before the Families can work their "magic"]
(Magic?)
[Corruption. You bribe a public official with a certain sum of money so they give you a little "help" whenever you need it]
(Interesting, but bribes must cost a fortune...)
[Don't assume that. One of my previous hosts was the Don of one of these "Families," so I know quite a bit about this]
(Incredible. And which Family was he the Don of?)
[Don't remember the name, that was a very long time ago]
(Okay)
"The soldati are the largest group of all. The soldati are the Family's 'soldiers.' They carry out assignments from the capodecinis, and only communicate with them on matters of Business. Each one leads an unlimited number of 'associati,'" Walter continued.
"But isn't it dangerous for the associati to be unlimited? They could band together with the soldati and form their own Family," the little boy commented.
"We don't worry about that. The soldati have no reason to rebel, since we pay them extremely well, and if they successfully complete a dangerous mission, they get an all-expenses-paid vacation, family included, at one of the luxury beach resorts we control in Miami," Don Sparda commented.
(Incredible. So that's why Mama's been pushing so hard for us to vacation in the United States)
[Never underestimate the power and influence of a mafia Family]
"And finally, there are the 'associati.' The associati are Family associates, the equivalent of an army's 'foot soldiers.' They assist the soldati in their missions, or carry out tasks assigned by them directly. They only communicate with the soldati on matters of Business," Walter concluded.
"So then... is there anything that's still not entirely cle—? ISSEI!" Don Sparda shrieked, catching sight of his son.
Without anyone noticing...
He'd snuck over to the bar cabinet...
Grabbed a little glass...
And...
"Papa, this water tastes really weird... where'd you get it?" the little boy asked...
Sitting in front of a whiskey bottle that was practically empty.
"Issei-sama, that is NOT water!" Walter shouted in alarm, snatching the bottle away at lightning speed.
"No wonder, it tastes horrible..." the little boy remarked, his face slowly turning green.
[Told you]
BLEEEUUUGH
The boy threw up right there on the bar counter, splattering everything in his path.
"ISSEI!" all four men shrieked in unison, watching little Sparda throw up like his very life depended on it.
..........................
That day, I found out firsthand just how harmful liquor could be on a child's body.
Of course, once I got older, that particular problem sorted itself out...
But that day was brutal.
They had to call a doctor, since the nausea just wouldn't let up.
I got prescribed some special pills, since the regular ones weren't doing anything for me.
Unbelievably expensive ones.
That's when my father got the idea to branch out into the pharmaceutical production Business...
And that's the whole reason the Family ended up getting into pharmaceutical manufacturing, medicine in particular.
He bought up Pfizerer, GlaxoSmithKliner, Sanofic-Aventis, AstraxZeneca, Mercker, Neovartis, Johnsons & Johnson, Rochelet, Lillyt, and Wyether.
The main medicine production chains at the time...
Creating an absolutely brutal monopoly...
Bringing in gross profits of at least $738.4 billion a year.
And that figure is only the gross profit from medicine alone, not even counting the value of the companies themselves, the patents, all their non-medicine products, stock holdings, product inflation...
And that, my children, is why medicine prices (and condom prices) are the way they are today...
Thanks, indirectly, to me.