Leaving the warm, bustling street of The Sleeping Boar behind, Mame slipped into the nearest shadowed alleyway.
His business in the light was finished for the day, but the Suotou City underworld was just waking up. He tapped into his spatial ring, and in a blur of motion, the practical dark grey robes were gone.
In their place, Mame wore a set of deep, blood-red robes. The fabric was dark and matte, designed to blend into the shadows rather than catch the light. Reaching into his inventory of disguises, he pulled out a crimson demon half-mask. It covered only the upper half of his face, leaving his jaw exposed while framing his pitch-black eyes with jagged, terrifying demonic horns.
He didn't just want to hide his identity; he wanted to look like a nightmare.
Mame ventured deeper into the city's underbelly, letting his Void Instinct guide him. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for. As he turned down a narrow, dead-end street reeking of cheap ale and refuse, four "nice" gentlemen stepped out from the shadows to greet him.
They were heavily armed, smelling of malice and desperation, and clearly thought the boy in the red robes had taken a very wrong turn.
"Well, well," the largest thug sneered, pulling a rusted iron dagger from his belt. "Looks like a little demon got lost looking for a festival. Hand over the coin purse, kid, and we won't have to scuff up that pretty mask."
Mame smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression that made the thug's bravado instantly falter.
"Actually, you're exactly who I was looking for," Mame said cheerfully. "I need some directions, and I was hoping you gentlemen could help me."
Five minutes later, the alley was completely silent, save for the pathetic groans of the four thugs.
Mame had been very "gentle." He hadn't even used his Iron-Will Armor. He simply used his Saiyan physical strength to snap their weapons like twigs, dislocate a few shoulders, and embed the leader head-first into a wooden rain barrel.
"Now," Mame said, crouching down next to the second-in-command, who was clutching a broken wrist and sobbing. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where do I find the local information brokers?"
"T-The Blind Rat!" the thug stammered, terrified out of his mind. "He runs a pawn shop two streets over! Three knocks on the back door! Please, just don't hit me again!"
Mame patted the man softly on the cheek. "Thank you for your hospitality."
The Blind Rat was exactly as advertised—a low-level fence dealing in stolen goods and cheap secrets. But Mame didn't want cheap secrets. He tossed a single gold spirit coin onto the Rat's table, leaning over the wood with his demonic red mask gleaming in the candlelight.
"I don't want your local gossip," Mame rasped, vibrating his vocal cords with Ki. "I want the best. Who runs the premier information network on the continent, and where is their Suotou branch?"
The Blind Rat swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the gold. "You... you want the Shadow Ledger. They have eyes in every major city, even inside Spirit Hall and the Upper Three Sects. Their Suotou branch is hidden beneath the Golden Coin Casino in the entertainment district. Ask the pit boss for a 'marked deck of black cards.'"
Mame vanished before the Rat even blinked, leaving the gold coin spinning on the table.
The Shadow Ledger
Half an hour later, Mame was sitting in a lavish, soundproofed subterranean office beneath the Golden Coin Casino. The air smelled of expensive incense and imported tea.
Across from him sat the local Spymaster of the Shadow Ledger—a sleek, dangerous-looking woman shuffling a deck of pitch-black cards. She didn't seem phased by Mame's demonic mask or his blood-red robes; in her line of work, anonymity was the only currency that mattered as much as gold.
"How may the Shadow Ledger serve you tonight, my crimson friend?" the Spymaster asked smoothly, her eyes calculating.
Mame didn't haggle. He reached into his cloak and placed three solid gold ingots onto the velvet table.
"I want exact, highly detailed dossiers on four specific targets," Mame's voice echoed with a heavy, metallic resonance behind the mask. "First: Dugu Bo, the Poison Douluo. Second: Yu Xiaogang, the so-called 'Grandmaster.' Third: Liu Erlong. Fourth: Flender, and his unregistered Shrek Academy."
The Spymaster paused her shuffling. Her sleek, professional demeanor slipped for a fraction of a second. "Well now. A Titled Douluo and the famed Golden Iron Triangle. You aim incredibly high. Gathering intel on a Douluo is dangerous enough, but tracking the Triangle's scattered history requires digging up old, buried bones."
"Dig them up," Mame commanded. "But I don't just want their current locations or power levels. I want a ledger of their sins. I want a comprehensive list of every injustice they have committed and every person they have wronged."
The Spymaster's smile sharpened. She swept the gold ingots off the table, unlocked a heavy iron safe behind her desk, and pulled out several thick, heavily sealed files.
Mame broke the wax seal and began to read, his eyes scanning the documents at superhuman speed. The intelligence was a goldmine of hypocrisy and unchecked arrogance.
Dugu Bo's Collateral: The Poison Douluo wasn't inherently evil, but his poison was highly volatile. The dossier listed numerous incidents where his inability to perfectly control his toxic miasma during high-level battles led to massive collateral damage. He had inadvertently poisoned rivers and decimated farmlands, leaving the cleanup to Spirit Hall while he simply walked away.
Liu Erlong's Blindness: The fiery headmistress of the Blue Tyrant Academy was fiercely loyal, but her greatest sin was her willful ignorance. She was so hopelessly devoted to Yu Xiaogang that she turned a blind eye to the trail of broken lives he left behind, aggressively defending him from any valid criticism and enabling his worst traits.
Flender's Greed: The "Four-Eyed Owl" was a notorious cheapskate. The dossier detailed how he funded his unregistered Shrek Academy: by charging desperate, hopeful peasant families a non-refundable entrance fee, knowing full well his absurdly high standards meant almost every single applicant would fail. He was practically scamming the poor to keep his vanity project afloat.
Yu Xiaogang's Victims: The "Grandmaster" was by far the worst of the lot. He claimed his ten core theories were revolutionary, but the ledger revealed the dark, bloody truth. There was a long, tragic list of low-level commoner Spirit Masters who had blindly trusted his untested theories on cross-species ring absorption. Many had died from spiritual backlash; others were left permanently crippled. Whenever a family tried to seek justice, Xiaogang had used the Honorary Elder Token given to him by the Supreme Pontiff to silence the local authorities and sweep his lethal failures under the rug.
Mame closed the dossier, a dark, chilling chuckle rumbling in his chest. Stripped of their plot armor, they were just a collection of arrogant, selfish hypocrites.
"This is a good start," Mame said, tapping the folder. "But I need more on Yu Xiaogang. Dig deeper into his covered-up experiments. Furthermore, I want everything you have on his new disciple—a boy named Tang San from Nuoding Academy. I want to know every sin he has committed, every person he has killed or crippled in the shadows, and every secret he's hiding."
The Spymaster frowned slightly, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. "Yu Xiaogang's deepest secrets are heavily guarded by Spirit Hall's bureaucracy. And this Tang San... he is practically a ghost. A nobody from a rural village. Digging up the hidden sins of a nobody takes time. Give us three days."
"Take the time you need," Mame replied. He reached into his spatial ring and pulled out five more solid gold ingots, sliding them across the table. "I am paying you in full, in advance. I will return in three days for the rest of the intelligence."
The Spymaster smiled greedily, reaching for the gold. "You are a very generous client. The Ledger will not disappoint."
"See that you don't," Mame said softly.
He stood up. As he turned to the door, Mame deliberately let a fraction of his suppressed Singularity slip.
Conqueror's Pressure.
It wasn't a physical attack, but the air in the subterranean office instantly turned to lead. The candle flames flickered and died. The Spymaster choked, her hands slamming onto the table as an invisible, crushing weight forced her down. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she stared at the back of the red-robed boy. For two agonizing seconds, she felt like she was drowning in a pitch-black ocean.
"Do not try to cross me, sell my description, or take my gold and run," Mame's voice echoed, cold and absolute. "Or this entire casino will simply cease to exist."
Mame tapped his first ring. Space folded, and he vanished from the room without a sound.
The pressure instantly lifted. The Spymaster gasped for air, collapsing back into her plush chair, her entire body trembling in a cold sweat.
The shadows in the corner of the office wavered. A hidden panel slid open, and a man stepped out. He wore the robes of a Rank 60 Spirit Emperor, serving as the branch's ultimate hidden bodyguard. But right now, the elite enforcer looked just as pale and terrified as the Spymaster.
"Cancel whatever double-cross you were planning," the Spirit Emperor wheezed, wiping a trembling hand across his brow. "Don't mess with that one. Don't even think about shortchanging him."
The Spymaster looked up, her voice shaking. "You... you couldn't take him? He looked like a boy."
"A boy?" The Spirit Emperor let out a hollow, hysterical laugh. "If I had stepped out of the shadows and tried to fight him, I wouldn't have lasted a single second. I have no idea what that monster is, but if we betray him, we will all die."
The Front Row Seat
As the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, Mame reappeared in the alley near the Rose Hotel. With a quick spatial swap, the blood-red robes and demon mask vanished.
In their place, the elegant, shimmering silver-white attire of a wealthy, untouchable aristocrat returned. His wild hair was neatly tied back, and his tail was perfectly bound beneath his sash. He looked like a spoiled noble who had never seen a day of hardship in his life.
He walked out of the alley and pushed open the glass doors of the Rose Hotel.
"Ah, young master!" the hotel manager greeted, practically sprinting from behind the desk. "Your room is completely remodeled, exactly as you requested! Ground floor, fresh silk, absolute luxury."
"Perfect," Mame smiled.
It was time to claim his front-row seat. The Shrek Seven were converging, and the script was about to break.
The Rose Hotel
Mame stood in the center of the opulent, rose-scented lobby, the shimmering fabric of his silver-white robes catching the light of the crystal chandeliers. He looked every bit the spoiled, untouchable aristocrat he was pretending to be.
"Ah, young master!" the hotel manager greeted, practically sprinting from behind the polished mahogany desk. He bowed so deeply his nose nearly brushed his knees. "Your room is completely remodeled, exactly as you requested! Ground floor, fresh silk sheets, absolute luxury. We even brought in a new artisan-crafted bed frame."
Mame gave a slow, approving nod. "Excellent. I will rent it for a month, for now."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out another handful of gold spirit coins, dropping them onto the desk with a heavy, musical clatter. It was enough to cover the month's rent ten times over.
The manager's hands trembled with joy as he scooped up the coins. "You are too generous, young master! Truly, the Rose Hotel is honored to host—"
"However," Mame interrupted, his voice dropping the polite, aristocratic veneer. It became smooth, flat, and dangerously quiet.
The manager froze, the gold coins clinking to a halt in his palms. The ambient temperature in the lobby seemed to plummet by ten degrees.
Mame stepped closer, leaning over the reception desk. He didn't unleash his Conqueror's Pressure—he didn't need to. He just let the absolute, predatory weight of his pitch-black eyes lock onto the manager's soul.
"Do not disturb me," Mame said, emphasizing every syllable. "And when I say 'do not disturb me,' I mean for anything. No room service unless I ask for it. No cleaning staff. No complimentary wine deliveries. I do not care if the hotel catches fire, or if the Supreme Pontiff herself walks through those front doors. You do not knock on my door."
The manager swallowed hard, his face draining of color. The boy standing in front of him suddenly didn't feel like a wealthy teenager anymore; he felt like a sleeping dragon that had just opened one eye. "I... I understand completely, young master. Absolute privacy."
"If anyone—a cleaner, another guest, or even you—crosses that threshold without my explicit, verbal permission," Mame continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "they will face severe consequences. Am I clear?"
"Crystal clear, young master!" the manager squeaked, nodding so fast his neck cracked. "I will personally guard the hallway if I have to! No one will go near your door!"
"See that they don't," Mame replied, his polite, aristocratic smile instantly returning as if the terrifying threat had never happened.
He took the heavy brass key from the counter, turned, and walked down the plush, carpeted hallway toward the ground-floor suite.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The manager hadn't lied; the room was immaculate. The air smelled of fresh linen and expensive rose oil. The bed was massive, draped in high-thread-count silk, and the furniture was carved from dark, polished mahogany.
It was the perfect VIP box for the upcoming show.
Mame locked the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, allowing his posture to finally relax. The past few days had been a relentless marathon of high-gravity forging, high-stakes negotiations, and underworld intimidation. His physical body was incredibly durable thanks to his Saiyan biology, but his mind needed to power down.
He untied the silk ribbon from his hair, letting the wild, black-and-purple mane fall around his shoulders. He unwrapped his tail from his waist, letting it stretch and swish freely in the air.
Without bothering to take off his silver robes, Mame collapsed face-first onto the massive, silk-draped bed.
"Wake me up when the plot starts," Mame mumbled into the ridiculously soft pillows.
Within seconds, his breathing slowed into a deep, rhythmic cadence. The Cosmic Origin Core in his Dantian settled into a low, quiet hum, passively circulating his suppressed Rank 19 energy to repair his fatigue. The Singularity finally slept.