The Last Drop.
The place was unusually peaceful. In the Undercity, where order was scarce and the locals were rough by nature, that made it a rare kind of haven.
No brawls. None of the chaos that was so common elsewhere in the Undercity. No street punks waiting by the door to shake down drunk customers on their way out.
The reason for that was simple: the man pouring drinks here was Vander, the true power in the Lanes.
The old tavern door creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered boy stepped inside. His build was already imposing, though his face still carried the last traces of youth.
"Hey, Van. Back from another fight?"
"Mm-hm. Ran into a few idiots on the way over. Figured their pathetic wallets could help pay for my drinks."
Van was clearly popular with the regulars. After making the rounds and greeting everyone, he finally swaggered up to the bar.
"Vander, give me the strongest thing you've got!"
He planted a foot on the stool beside him, claimed enough space for two people, then slapped down the spoils of his latest scuffle on the counter—a few coins streaked with mud and blood.
"Only juice."
With a faint smile, Vander poured him a glass of orange juice.
"Come on, Vander. I'm old enough to drink."
"You're sixteen."
"Who knows? I'm tall, I'm built—maybe I'm secretly eighteen. ...Fine. Then at least make it lemon juice."
"A big, tough man like you still ends up this battered?"
Vander chuckled and turned to look for the lemon juice.
"What happened to your face?"
Van froze for a second, then touched his cheek. A sharp sting shot through it. The swelling was worse than he thought.
"Is it that obvious? I just bumped into something."
"Vi hit you, didn't she?"
Vander came back with the lemon juice in hand.
"You keep picking at her. What did you say this time that you shouldn't have?"
"Ha. Sorry, Vander. Can't tell you. I don't think I could survive your fists."
At that, Vander twisted the cap off the bottle—then calmly screwed it back on and set it aside.
"Terribly sorry. We're out of lemon juice."
As he said that, he planted both hands on the counter and pinned Van with an intimidating stare.
Van instantly wilted under it.
"Cough... I really didn't say anything that bad..."
Luckily for him, someone walked in and saved him from the interrogation.
"Hah? Just my luck. Why do I keep running into you?"
A tough-looking girl with short pink hair and both hands wrapped in bandages shoved the door open and strode in.
No one there needed an introduction. This was Vander's adopted daughter, Vi.
Three more kids followed behind her. The tall, heavyset one was Claggor. The short, skinny one was Mylo. Both were Vi's close friends and regulars at the bar.
Bringing up the rear was the little tagalong, Vander's other adopted daughter and Vi's younger sister, Powder. Together, the four of them made up the little menace crew currently ruling the Lanes.
Van had once been part of that group too. But as he got older, one thing about him became impossible to ignore.
He could fight.
Not just well—absurdly well.
He could hold his own in full-on weapon brawls between grown men, so keeping him around for kids' scuffles had started to feel less like teamwork and more like bullying.
And fighting wasn't even the only thing he cared about. Van was far more interested in building strange little gadgets than spending his days being one more Zaunite street brat.
"You didn't hear Vi was coming back and wait here on purpose, did you?"
Mylo was a tinkering fanatic too, and he and Van got along well enough for teasing like that.
"How could I? In front of Vander, I'd advise you not to say anything unnecessary. I'd rather not leave here with a rearranged face."
Van answered with a grin.
By then, Vi had already stepped in front of him, arms folded, staring at the stool he had his foot on.
"Oh."
Van hesitated for half a second, then quickly pulled his foot off and even wiped the seat clean with his hand.
But the moment it was free, a small blue-haired figure darted in and claimed it, while Vi sat down one seat farther away.
"Powder..."
Van let out a sigh, then spoke to her in the tone of someone trying very hard to be patient.
"If you want to survive in the Undercity, you need to learn how to read the room. That's one of the oldest rules there is. For example, if you could read the room, you'd know you should give that seat to your sister."
"But I think Vi doesn't want to sit next to you."
Powder tilted her head innocently, all bright eyes and false confusion. Unfortunately for her, the act was not especially convincing.
"Then you're reading it wrong. Vi's always been the type to say one thing and mean another—"
"I'll make the other side of your face swell up too."
From one seat away, Vi delivered the threat with a vicious glare.
"Stop filling Powder's head with nonsense."
Van shut up at once.
Powder, now fully backed by her sister, flashed him a smug little grin and secretly stuck her tongue out at him.
Vander came over with four cups and poured each of the kids a glass of orange juice.
Vi grabbed the glass and drained it in one go, not even bothering with a straw.
"I heard you've been fighting people a lot lately," Vander said, looking at Van.
"What do you mean fighting? I've just been robbing them. They were the ones who refused to hand over the money, so I had to get rough."
Seeing that Vi had already finished her drink, Van thoughtfully nudged his own untouched glass toward her.
Unfortunately, Powder was still sitting between them.
"Powder..."
Van looked helplessly at the little blue-haired troublemaker, who was happily sipping away through two straws.
In front of everyone else, Powder could be quiet and soft. Around him, though, she always showed a much more mischievous side. Maybe she just thought he was the easiest target.
And, to be fair, she wasn't wrong.
Van might be able to flatten most people in the Lanes, but he had always gone especially easy on Vi—and the person Vi spoiled most was Powder.
"What, are you that short on cash lately?" Vander asked. "Benzo said you've been pulling out people's gold teeth too. That's just embarrassing."
"Ah. I've been working on some... pretty interesting little gadgets lately. I need a lot of specialized parts, and some of them are expensive."
Van answered casually, absently fiddling with the necklace hanging around his neck.
A blue, diamond-shaped crystal was set into it.
"I've got an idea," Mylo said. "Sell the necklace. Bet that'd fetch a nice price."
"Terrible idea, Mylo. This isn't for sale. It means something to me."
"Yeah, yeah... Still, using that as your symbol doesn't really suit you. You're a crude, violent brute. Just like Vi."
[End of chapter]