The ballroom of the Azure Hall glowed like a jewel under the golden chandeliers.

The evening air hummed with the chatter of nobles, the clink of crystal glasses, and the quiet rustle of silk gowns sweeping the polished marble floors. The gala had been announced weeks prior by the House of Vant — a night for "unity and progress" among the noble elite of Victoria. But as the guests drank, laughed, and traded half-hearted pleasantries, they all waited for something else — the whispered promise that the masked man of the underworld, the so-called Silver-Eyed Gentleman, might appear.

Few believed it. Fewer dared to hope.

Until the hall's music stopped.

A single sound cut through the chatter — the echo of slow, deliberate footsteps.

Every head turned toward the entrance.

There, under the carved archway, stood a man in a black suit of tailored precision. His silver mask gleamed under the chandeliers, covering the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth visible. His gloved hands rested easily at his sides, and his dark hair, combed neatly, gave him an almost noble air.

The faintest gleam of light caught his eyes — silver and sharp, like tempered steel.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"That's—"

"Machiavelli…"

"The leader of Chrome Hearts?"

The guards at the edges of the room tensed, their hands inching toward the hilts of their swords. But before any could move, Duke Vant raised a hand. "Stand down." His heavy voice silenced them.

"This is a gala, not a battlefield."

Murmurs followed, thick with confusion and disbelief. Machiavelli — or Noah, hidden beneath his alias — gave a polite bow.

"Forgive my uninvited entrance," he said calmly, his tone refined, as if he belonged among them. "But I thought it proper that I attend, considering how much my name has been spoken in these halls lately."

Noah's voice carried, smooth but commanding. It wasn't arrogance — it was control. The kind that made people listen even when they didn't want to.

---

Duke Vant's eyes narrowed. "You dare show yourself here?"

Noah smiled faintly. "Dare? No. Merely choose to. There's a difference, Your Grace."

A ripple of whispers followed. Some nobles muttered in disapproval, others in fascination.

Lord Farnell leaned toward his companion. "He's mad… walking into a den of nobles after what his syndicate has done?"

But Lady Verena's lips curved slightly. "Or brilliant. Only a man confident in his control walks straight into the lion's den."

Noah walked toward the center of the ballroom, his boots echoing softly. He stopped beneath the grand chandelier — its crystals glittering like fragments of starlight above him — and turned slowly to face them all.

---

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his tone cutting through the murmurs. "You've all heard the stories, haven't you? The rumors of the Chrome Hearts — a gang of masked men running through Victoria's streets, dismantling others who deal in filth and blood. You've called us thieves, rebels… even terrorists."

His gaze swept the crowd. "And perhaps… you're not wrong."

The honesty in his tone froze the room.

He let the silence hang for a moment, long enough for everyone to feel it.

"But," Noah continued, "what none of you seem to ask is why we exist. Why does a group of nameless individuals take up arms against the countless criminal syndicates that infest your beautiful capital? Why do we risk our lives, if not for something greater than gold or infamy?"

A few nobles frowned. Others leaned forward. The orchestra musicians, unsure whether to play or remain still, froze mid-motion with their bows lifted.

"Victoria," Noah said softly, almost fondly, "is rotting beneath its perfume."

His words hit harder than any blade could.

---

"Beneath your politics, your endless councils, and your 'noble' rivalries, there are streets that drown in blood every night. You sit here, debating how to 'restore order'—" he gestured loosely at them, "—but who among you has ever stepped outside your marble gates to see what that order looks like?"

The nobles shifted uncomfortably.

Noah's voice deepened, his silver eyes sharp through the mask. "The Chrome Hearts exist because this city needed hands that act when words fail. We cut out the disease when the crown cannot."

"Disease?" one noble spat. "You call yourselves doctors now? You're criminals! Vigilantes!"

"Perhaps," Noah said evenly. "But tell me — when your own guards accept bribes from smugglers, when your own judges sell verdicts for coin, who then upholds justice?"

His words stirred more than anger — they stirred guilt. Because everyone in that hall knew at least one truth he spoke of.

---

Lord Bluerose, seated near the front, said quietly, "Then what is it you want, Machiavelli? Surely not redemption."

Noah's gaze softened just slightly at the familiar voice.

"I want recognition," he said. "Not for myself. For what Chrome Hearts truly stands for."

He took a slow step forward, his gloved hand resting against his chest.

"The Chrome Hearts is not an enemy of Victoria. We are not at war with the government, nor the noble houses. Our purpose is singular — to restore balance. To eliminate corruption from within the underbelly of society. To ensure that those who profit from blood, trafficking, and deceit… face judgment."

Someone from the back laughed bitterly. "And who made you the judge, masked man? The Church? The Crown? The gods themselves?"

Noah's voice lowered, calm but chilling. "No one did. And that's precisely why I had to."

---

A silence followed. Heavy. Suffocating.

For a moment, no one knew whether to clap, curse, or draw their sword.

But then Lady Verena stood from her seat, her glass of wine glinting under the light.

"If what you say is true," she said, "then you're either a liar… or a visionary."

Her words broke the tension like glass underfoot. Some nobles murmured in approval. Others hissed in outrage.

"This is absurd!" one of the ministers barked. "We should arrest him now!"

"Sit down," another noble snapped. "He came here unarmed — you'd stain your own carpets with blood."

"I'd rather stain them than let a masked criminal speak as though he's our equal!"

The arguments flared, rising like fire around him — nobles shouting, pointing fingers, voices mixing into chaos.

And Noah… simply watched.

---

He could see it — the divisions among them, the weakness. The way greed, fear, and pride pulled them apart.

This, he thought, was Victoria's true sickness.

He waited until the noise reached its peak, then lifted his hand.

A subtle gesture — but enough to silence the room.

"Believe me or not," he said quietly, "but the Chrome Hearts have done more to clean your streets in the past three months than your parliament has done in three years."

He turned slightly, his cloak shifting with the movement. "We took down a section of the Glass Ravens. The Ivory Rings. The Black Serpents. Do any of you even know how many children those syndicates sold in your own districts?"

Gasps echoed through the room. Some nobles paled. Others refused to meet his gaze.

"Whether you like it or not," Noah said, "the Chrome Hearts is an ally to Victoria. We simply do what you refuse to."

---

Lord Farnell rose to his feet. "And when your work is done? When all your 'diseases' are purged? What happens then? Do you vanish?"

Noah smiled faintly. "If we succeed… there'll be no need for us to remain."

"And if you fail?"

His silver eyes glimmered beneath the mask. "Then Victoria will burn long before we do."

---

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Every word, every breath hung thick with uncertainty.

Then, unexpectedly — a slow clap broke through.

Lord Bluerose.

He stood calmly, his face unreadable, and clapped twice before lowering his hands.

"Spoken like a man who understands the world better than most," he said softly. "Though I cannot say I agree with his methods."

A few nobles hesitated, then joined in — not full applause, but enough to fill the air with an uneasy rhythm.

Others scowled, whispering under their breath, eyes darting toward the guards who still hadn't moved.

---

Noah bowed once more.

"I have said what I came to say," he told them. "You may call me a criminal, a visionary, or a fool. But remember my words tonight. When your titles can no longer protect you, when your allies turn their blades against you — the Chrome Hearts will still stand between Victoria and chaos."

He paused, his voice lowering to a quiet, deliberate whisper that still carried through the hall.

"And we will not ask for your permission."

---

With that, he turned to leave.

The nobles parted instinctively, forming an unspoken path as he walked between them — his cloak brushing the floor, his mask gleaming under the chandelier's light.

Some watched with awe.

Some with hatred.

And a few… with fear.

The double doors opened on their own, pushed by the guards who didn't dare stop him.

To the people of Victoria, he would remain a mystery.

To the nobles, a threat.

But tonight, they had all seen it for themselves.

The Silver-Eyed Gentleman had just declared war.