Chapter 141: Pilgrimage to Lubec

Navali followed his mother to a country he had never seen but had long heard of. For most people in Mexico, the United States was the promised land, a golden realm. And now, he was setting off for it.

In truth, he felt no great anticipation. Especially as he sat in the hopper truck, his hand gripped by his mother, and looked back at his grandmother standing before their small hut, Navali felt only bewilderment and trepidation.

Had it not been for the divine revelation, for the inspiration granted to him by the impending "Tezcatlipoca" that day, he would surely have jumped from the truck, desperate to remain in the familiar lakeside village, unwilling to stray even a single step away.

But, in the end, he did not jump.

The "god's" decree echoed constantly in his mind. Although most of the revelations had faded from his memory, perhaps for that very reason, one particular instruction remained vivid:

"Go and meet the challenge, child. Do not stay in this place."

His grandmother’s figure, now lost to distance, lingered in the depths of his vision—that old woman who had stood silently at the doorway, watching him. Navali did not yet know that he would never see her again; even then, her days were numbered.

Yet, even without knowing that, his heart was filled with the emptiness of departure.

...

Anxious and restless, Navali rode the hopper truck with his mother until they reached the city of Tijuana, where they submitted numerous documents at the consulate.

After waiting in a hotel in Tijuana, stiff with tension for several days, Estrella led him onto a plane. Their destination was Los Angeles, California.

During the journey, Estrella had initially offered a few words of greeting, driven by a sense of maternal duty. But seeing the boy respond with awkward silence, as if trapped deep within his own world and always a beat behind, she gave up on the futile effort. She put on a cold, icy mask and, aside from necessary instructions, ceased all daily conversation with him.

For his part, Navali felt a sense of relief.

It gave him more time to contemplate the revelation bestowed upon him by the god.

And so, they finally arrived in Los Angeles.

—South Los Angeles.

It was a paradise for criminals, where over a thousand, nearing two thousand, violent crimes occurred every year—and that was only the count after careful adjustment by the police. Countless more bloody and violent incidents were buried beneath the surface, for this was the "autonomous territory" of violent organizations, a tacit understanding between the underworld and the world above.

The Cudwell district in the city of Westia was one of the most notorious "dark rivers" in all of South Los Angeles. The reason was simple: this district housed the headquarters of the "Evans Family." It was the most active and powerful violent organization in South Los Angeles, perhaps even in the entire American underworld. Its location was at the end of the camphor-lined road in the center of the district, hidden away within a residential area shaded by dense foliage.

The current "Evans Family" had shed the limitations of old-school power. It was a new-era conglomerate driven by financial crimes and narcotics, both overt and covert. It possessed thousands of core personnel and tens of thousands of peripheral members managed through shell companies or small businesses, controlling vast assets totaling tens of billions of dollars.

Violence, money, and politics were inseparable, and eroticism was often the seasoning that bound them together.

The current head of the "Evans Family," a man named Balubic Evans, possessed the talent to fully utilize these three elements, choosing the right seasoning to suit his taste.

Ever since Balubic Evans took over as the head of the "Evans Family" twelve years ago, following his father's death at the hands of gunmen, he had used his formidable influence to more than double the family's power.

Each year, to maintain their massive criminal enterprise, the "Evans Family" spent over a hundred million dollars on bribes and connections. Consequently, Balubic Evans had established ties with numerous officials and legislators.

At present, he enjoyed good friendships with eight of California's forty senators—most of whom were mere acquaintances—and was a guest of honor to both the Governor of California and the Mayor of Los Angeles.

Though Balubic Evans was the omniscient underworld boss in Westia, a terrifying figure even the police dared not provoke, throughout the rest of Los Angeles, he appeared as a benevolent and energetic tycoon.

And Estrella, as of now, was the thirteenth mistress of Balubic Evans.

Navali, completely unaware of this at the time, was led by Estrella across the lawn of that residential area to stand before Balubic Evans. He stared straight at the man—a man of medium height, balding, yet with eyes that burned with ambition. His stride was remarkably vigorous, and he possessed an aura that made one afraid to meet his gaze.

"Balubic!"

Estrella wore a gentle smile, one she had never shown Navali. She held his hand and limped toward the man.

"I have brought my child back. Look—this is Navali!"

Balubic watched Navali’s blank stare, scanned him once, and a strange light flickered in his eyes.

"Oh, so this is him?"

"Yes."

Estrella looked at Balubic with adoration. The latter walked slowly up to Navali and leaned down slightly. Behind him, a group of bodyguards in black uniforms watched Navali with cold, stern expressions—yet, to Navali’s own surprise, he did not feel particularly panicked.

Balubic and Estrella locked eyes; his were brown, hers were black. One brown, one black.

"Kid, do you know who your father is?"

Navali looked into those eyes. Balubic’s gaze was intimidating, even though he had suppressed his usual intensity; he still appeared majestic, like a sated tiger.

"I heard from my grandmother—my mother had me with Patricio."

"Correct, Patricio Firmende. That was your biological father, but he is long dead. I am now your stepfather, the only father you have in this world. My name is Balubic Evans. Do you understand?"

Navali did not want to nod, but Balubic’s eyes suddenly took on a predatory intensity, like a hungry tiger snapping its jaws open, forcing Navali to comply.

"...Father."

"Very good..."

Balubic patted his shoulder, a look of gratification on his face.

"—So, you should understand. From now on, Evans should be your surname. You are to be called Navali Evans. If anyone else with the surname Firmende comes to tell you that you are 'family,' you should know what to do, right?"

Navali stared at him blankly and nodded.

"Okay. Let your mother teach you the specifics. But for now—Orleans, take this boy to his residence. Choose a detached unit in District B3; that will be his home from now on. Get his life arranged. From the day after tomorrow, have him attend the local elementary school."

Balubic straightened his posture and instructed one of his bodyguards. The man nodded, then took Navali’s hand with a gentle but inescapable grip and led him away from the scene.

Although he wanted to stay, Navali had no choice but to follow him off the lawn.

As they left, Navali kept glancing back at the woman who had not looked at him even once, thinking silently to himself:

"Mom—did you bring me to America for this?"

...

Navali and the bodyguard disappeared from sight.

Estrella gazed longingly at Balubic’s back, her eyes filled with the infatuation of a young girl.

Balubic smiled knowingly, took Estrella’s hand, and said, "Let’s go, Estrella. Let’s take a walk."

Estrella murmured her assent.

They walked until they reached an artificial lake. Gazing at the calm surface, Balubic lit a cigarette with satisfaction and, without turning his head, asked the person beside him:

"Estrella... I sense some agitation in your mood—is it because of your child after all?"

"—Oh, no, Balubic. Not at all. I am not wavering in the slightest."

Balubic turned his head, looked at the woman who was frantically waving her hands in denial, and smiled slightly:

"No need to be so quick to deny. Excessive urgency is often proof of the opposite. I can understand your feelings, Estrella. After all... since your injury, that child is the first and last child you will ever be able to bear."

Estrella’s eyes darkened.

Balubic flicked his cigarette butt away and grasped her hand fervently:

"It doesn't matter, Estrella—I am willing to give Navali the 'Evans' surname, which proves I will treat him as my own.

"It’s just that... the Mexicans entrenched in the neighboring city of Lausanne have become a major threat to the 'Evans Family.' The largest faction among them is the Firmende family, and this boy carries the bloodline of the previous direct heir of the Firmendes; the current head of the Firmendes is his uncle. Whether by coincidence or the convergence of fate—this is a revelation from God. If we do not make good use of this situation, that would be the true crime.

"...Don't worry, Estrella. I won't use Navali merely as a tool for conflict. I will let him receive a normal education, and I will treat him as my own—and even if there comes a time when I need him, I will certainly guarantee his safety with all my might."

Before she knew it, Balubic had pulled Estrella into his arms. His sincere voice seeped into her heart, bit by bit. She was sobbing uncontrollably by now:

"...I trust you, I trust you, Balubic!"

"Estrella... I love you."

"Oh, I love you too! I love you!"

Yet, at the very moment they embraced deeply, while their emotions seemed so genuine, a trace of annoyance and coldness flashed, simultaneously and unnoticed, in the eyes of both.