Chapter 116 – Tailored Suit
"John."
The voice was low, composed, carrying the faintest trace of a smile.
John turned. "Julius."
A middle-aged man approached.
His suit was perfectly tailored, a snow-white scarf resting neatly at his collar, accentuating his calm, controlled demeanor.
He stood there without making any unnecessary movements, yet it was immediately clear—
Everything here was under his control.
"Good to see you," he said.
Only then did he turn his gaze toward Ethan, letting it linger a fraction longer than necessary.
Not scrutiny—more like confirming something he already knew.
"Dr. Ethan Rayne."
Ethan paused slightly.
This was Rome, not New York.
"That's me," he nodded.
Julius smiled.
There was something layered in that smile.
"I've heard a great deal about you."
"I'm the manager of the Continental's Rome branch."
He paused briefly.
"Although this is our first formal meeting, your name has been circulating among several branches recently."
He didn't elaborate.
The three of them sat down to one side of the lobby.
"I can't quite remember the last time you were in Rome," Julius said, looking at John. "The last news I heard was that you had retired."
"I had," John replied.
Julius leaned forward slightly. "Then answer me this—are you here for the Bishop?"
Ethan blinked. The Bishop?
"No," John said.
Julius visibly relaxed. "Good."
He turned to Ethan, his tone still polite and measured.
"Dr. Rayne, the Continental is honored to host you."
"During your stay, should any guests require medical assistance… would you be willing to help?"
A business trip… and a side hustle?
Ethan quickly ran through the possibilities.
Extra income. Potentially useful connections.
"Sure," he said. "But my fees are high."
"A doctor endorsed by the Baba Yaga—high fees are only natural," Julius replied calmly. "And there will always be those who can afford it."
"Consultation: one gold coin. Treatment starts at ten," Ethan added. "Minor injuries—or people without money—shouldn't come to me."
He paused, then added another practical concern.
"And if I fix them, and they can't pay?"
In New York, he didn't worry about that. Here, he wouldn't be staying long enough to chase debts.
"State your price before treatment," Julius said. "Once agreed, the Continental guarantees the transaction."
"That works."
Julius took out two keycards and handed them to John.
"I've arranged the finest rooms we have."
"Top floor. Quiet. Excellent view. Complete privacy."
He paused, then added casually, almost as a reminder:
"Rome has been… unsettled lately."
"For a doctor, staying somewhere secure is always advisable."
John's gaze shifted slightly.
Ethan just smiled. "Thank you."
Julius nodded.
"If you require any assistance beyond medicine during your stay in Rome… please don't hesitate to ask."
"The front desk will inform me immediately."
With that, he gave a slight bow.
"Enjoy your stay."
He turned and left, his footsteps fading into the corridor.
John finally spoke.
"Your reputation has spread farther than I expected."
Ethan glanced at the keycard. "Seems like it."
John added, "But they only know of you. They don't truly understand you yet."
They each went to their rooms and set their things down.
Ethan had only just settled in for a short rest when John came knocking.
"Doctor," he said, "we need to go somewhere."
"Where?"
"To buy clothes."
Ethan: "…"
John didn't explain. He simply led the way.
The building they entered looked completely ordinary from the outside.
But the moment Ethan stepped inside, he realized—
This wasn't a normal tailor shop.
It felt more like an underground workshop hidden in the city's veins.
The space was long and narrow, the ceiling low. Dust and fabric half-covered the windows.
Light filtered in weakly, turning the air into a pale gray haze.
Most of the illumination came from work lamps.
Cold white light fell across wooden tables, revealing tight stitching, scattered threads—and metal components that clearly didn't belong in a tailor's shop.
This was tailoring… combined with modification.
Old sewing machines, scissors, spools of thread, leather, fabric—all cluttered together.
And among them—
Reinforced linings, specialized textiles, unnaturally thick materials.
Everyone inside worked with their heads down.
No conversation.
Like a production line that never stopped.
John walked to the outer edge of the workshop.
A woman sat at a sewing machine, fully focused.
He placed two gold coins on the table.
She stopped, pocketed the coins without a word, and stood, gesturing for them to follow.
The three of them passed through the entire workshop.
She lit a cigarette as she walked, leading them to the far end.
Two men in immaculate suits stood there—clean, sharp, completely out of place in the clutter.
Seeing her, they opened the door without a word.
With the cigarette still between her lips, she led them inside.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Wick."
The man who greeted them had his hair cut extremely short, nearly shaved.
He was dressed with impeccable taste, yet without any unnecessary decoration—simple, restrained, precise.
The only thing that stood out about him was the soft measuring tape draped around his neck.
"Good to see you, Angelo," John said, shaking his hand before stepping aside. "This is my friend."
"Pleasure," Ethan replied, shaking hands with the man who was clearly the tailor—Angelo.
"Welcome to Rome," Angelo said, turning back to John. "Do you need a suit?"
"Yes," John replied. "Not just for me. For both of us."
Angelo picked up the tape and gestured for John to stand straight.
Measurements, numbers, notes—everything flowed smoothly, precise and practiced.
"Mr. Wick, is this for a formal occasion, or… social?"
"Social."
"Daytime or evening?"
"For both of us," John said. "One for the day. One for the night."
"What style?"
"Italian."
"Buttons?"
"Two."
"Trousers?"
"Tapered."
"And the lining?"
"Tactical."
Angelo nodded.
"Silicon carbide plates, ceramic layers, metallic inserts—state-of-the-art ballistic materials."
"We'll embed them between the fabric layers. Resistant to blades and bullets."
He paused slightly.
"But—it will hurt."
Then he turned to Ethan.
"And for this gentleman? Same configuration?"
"No," John answered for him. "Custom setup."
"Same purpose?"
"Different." John glanced at Ethan. "His priority is protection."
Angelo raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Then I'll need more details."
He turned to Ethan.
"Confined spaces, or open areas?"
Ethan was still processing when John answered first.
"Confined."
"Number of opponents?"
"Many."
Angelo nodded.
"That will be heavy."
"That's fine," John said.
The tailor continued.
"Style?"
"German," John replied again.
Angelo smiled faintly. "Then we sacrifice lines. Reinforced shoulders, chest, and abdomen as one structure. Three hidden buttons—slower to open, but more stable."
"Trousers?"
"Straight cut. Reinforced lining."
"Reduced mobility—but better against shrapnel."
Ethan finally couldn't hold it in anymore. "Wait—"
But Angelo had already moved to the final step.
"Lining?"
"Maximum defense."
Angelo nodded.
"Full-coverage silicon carbide ceramic layers. Composite metal mesh."
"Integrated shock absorption."
He looked up at Ethan.
"Handguns at close range—no problem."
"Even grazing rifle rounds—you'll hold."
Ethan instinctively glanced at John.
John gave a small nod. "Can you rush the order?"
"Of course," Angelo replied. "Where should we deliver?"
"The hotel."
Angelo put away the measuring tape and left.
Ethan stood there for a moment, then finally lowered his voice.
"What exactly… were you two talking about just now?"
John adjusted his cuffs, calm as ever.
"It means I handle the running, the fighting, and the problems."
He glanced at Ethan.
"You stay alive."
So basically—you got yourself a rogue's light armor, and gave me a full set of heavy plate?
If I'd known, I would've rolled paladin instead of priest. Bubble, hearth, done—unstoppable.
"…That sounds simple enough."
"No," John said.
"This only prevents collateral damage. If you're the target—none of this will save you."
He paused.
"But—"
"Clearly, you're not."