Poisoning, Ghost Eye

Byakugan!

Ignoring the pervert above the room, Carlos shifted his gaze outward. His pupils turned stark white, veins bulging at the corners of his eyes. His vision narrowed to black and white, stretching far until he spotted the bodyguards outside the room—eight of them, standing rigidly in the hallway.

To be honest, Carlos felt a headache coming on. Getting into that room under these circumstances was tricky, but not impossible.

Given the situation, Carlos had two plans in mind. The first was to scale the walls, climbing out from his own window. The second was to disguise himself as a hotel staff member.

Both plans had merit. The first was more feasible; disguising as a waiter risked being stopped outside, making a forced entry difficult.

After waiting a while, Carlos noticed the action upstairs had wrapped up. The three women had left, and the playboy was dining alone in the luxury suite. Only one person remained—he decided the time was right.

Stepping onto the balcony, he surveyed the terrain and height. With the Eagle Claw Technique aiding him, scaling up silently was no challenge. Soon, he slipped into Dilton's room, creeping toward his target.

Dilton was still eating in the dining room, oblivious. Carlos was about to subdue him at top speed when suddenly Dilton clutched his own throat and collapsed to the floor. His knife and fork clattered—one onto the table, the other toward the ground.

What the hell!

Carlos startled. His body moved like a whirlwind, catching Dilton's falling frame and the dropping fork, barely avoiding any abnormal noise.

Looking down, he saw the playboy's face was blackish-green, blood seeping from his mouth. His expression was twisted, pupils dilating—clearly poisoned to death. His mouth gaped, trying to say something...

Damn it!

Who had this guy pissed off? Someone poisoned him to finish him off. While he's still warm... pfft, while he's still alive, better squeeze out the intel he needs.

As for saving him, forget it. Carlos already disliked this playboy. From the info he'd gathered, this bastard was no good—using the Mafia's power to commit countless atrocities, stopping at nothing for women, especially decent wives. He deserved to die!

Besides, Carlos couldn't save him anyway. He didn't know medicine... Calling the guards in? Nonsense. That would just land him in a huge mess.

No explaining that, no explaining...

Better make use of the trash.

Sharingan!

His ordinary eyes transformed into Three-Tomoe Sharingan, Pupil Power surging. Carlos's Pupil Power was composed of physical strength and Mental strength. Most Devil Fruits consumed physical stamina, but the Eye of the Devil also drained Mental strength—that's why this fruit was a Special Paramecia.

Hypnotizing a playboy like this was child's play. Carlos quickly pressed for information, focusing on the essentials: major internal family conflicts, feuds with other powers, the family's big secrets.

Half a minute later, the playboy kicked the bucket.

Carlos sat on the floor, staring at Dilton's eerie death. His face was twisted in agony, but his wide-open eyes held no trace of emotion—like a fool's.

Half a minute was too short. Though he'd gotten some useful leverage, Carlos felt it wasn't enough. He needed to know more.

The Sharingan supposedly could extract memories from the dead, but he couldn't pull it off yet. He was still self-taught; basic abilities worked, but fine control required time and practice.

No matter. He wasn't limited to just the Sharingan and Byakugan. Those were just the most convenient for now.

Ghost Eye!

The Sharingan faded. Carlos's pupils turned a deep, eerie green, as if green flames flickered within. Locking eyes with the corpse, a sinister, arcane Pupil Power surged into Dilton's not-yet-fully-dead brain, sifting through his memories.

After half an hour, the Ghost Eye dissipated. Carlos stood up and spat at the thoroughly dead Dilton. "This bastard deserved it. What garbage is in his head? Too much filthy stuff."

Without hesitation, Carlos retraced his steps back to his room, pretended to go out, and left the Royal Court Hotel for good.

Staying was out of the question. He'd gotten what he wanted. If he stayed, he'd be investigated. His identity couldn't be exposed—no way he'd stick around for a dead man.

After Carlos left, the guards outside didn't notice John Dilton was dead. Not until evening, when dinner was delivered and a guard called out with no response. Sensing something wrong, they entered and found John Dilton stone-cold dead, dead as a doornail!

The guards panicked, faces pale. Failing to protect the Fourth Young Master—even if he was a worthless playboy, not valued by the family head, he was still his son. They'd be lucky to escape with their lives!

But none dared to flee. The John Family's rules were strict. Fleeing after a mistake only doubled the crime and dragged their families into it.

After a moment of helplessness, the head guard snapped to his senses and gave orders: seal off the entire hotel first. The John Family held a major stake in this hotel—they had a say here.

It would offend plenty of people, but at this critical moment, they couldn't afford to care. Then he reported to his direct superior, and the news climbed the chain of command until it reached John Abad, the head of the John Family!

Abad was furious. His own son poisoned to death in a hotel his family owned. A swift investigation was launched immediately.

The city government scrambled at a single call from Abad. A flood of Mafia members converged on the Royal Court Hotel. Countless forensic experts and investigators poured in—solving this case would bring immense rewards!

With all hands on deck, the investigation moved fast. Soon, two suspects were identified: a girl named Grace Kelly, winner of the cooking competition, and Carlos.

But Carlos had used a fake name. He'd worn sunglasses and a mask at the hotel; no one could recall his face clearly. Witnesses could only roughly describe his height, hair color, and clothes—nothing more.

Those clues were like finding a needle in a haystack on the bustling Maglin Island. Tracking him down would be extremely difficult!

On the other side, the girl named Gretel Kelly had also fled, vanishing into the vast crowd for now.

But the John Family had some skill—or maybe the girl had let it slip on purpose. Her name turned out to be real. After a thorough investigation, she indeed had a grudge against John Dilton!

About five years ago, Dilton had destroyed her family. Her father died horribly. Her mother and older sister were taken by Dilton, violated, and had since disappeared—likely dead.

She herself had been out with friends that year, escaping the tragedy. After five years in hiding, she had returned.

In short, it was a tragic story, a tale of revenge. Common enough, but for those involved, it cut deep.