Sitting in the car, Fredo Corleone shakes his head and lets out a bitter laugh.
Sure enough…
Family really is Don Corleone’s weak spot.
‘Collected [Godfather Aura] Fragment ×6 (6/6).
Fragments complete.
Skill can now be activated.’
Back when Don Corleone tells Tom to go find Sonny, the fragment appears again on him.
Then another one appears while he’s scolding Johnny.
Then another when he asks Tom when Connie is leaving.
And another while watching Connie’s wedding car drive away.
Just like that, all six fragments are finally complete.
The moment Fredo activates the skill, something about his entire presence changes instantly.
His charisma.
His bearing.
His aura.
It’s hard to explain.
Just like Don Corleone himself—people can never quite put their finger on what makes him different, but every gesture, every movement naturally carries a unique kind of gravitas.
A gentleman one second.
A merciful, approachable family man the next.
Then, in the blink of an eye, a ruthless mob boss capable of terrifying anyone in the room.
That kind of personal charm isn’t something normal people can imitate.
Honestly, Michael in the later Godfather films never quite reaches the level of the old Don.
When Don Corleone is still around, the entire family stays warm and lively inside the villa.
Even Sonny’s death only happens because the Don is stuck helpless in a hospital bed.
But Michael?
In the end, he grows old alone in a cold courtyard with nobody left beside him.
Hard to say whether conquering an empire or protecting one is more impressive, but at least when it comes to family…
Michael loses to Don Corleone.
After escorting Connie’s wedding car to its destination, Fredo slips away not long after.
Whatever problems pop up can be left for Sonny to handle.
He doesn’t really want to get too involved right now.
Training every day is way more important.
Especially after gaining so many new abilities today, he badly wants to test his current strength.
“BAM!
BAM BAM BAM—!”
The punching bag swings wildly under his heavy punches.
Sweat splashes across the floor while more keeps pouring down his body.
Under the gym lights, his figure looks powerful and sharp.
“RIP—SHHHK!”
The poor punching bag finally gives up and bursts open from the beating.
Sand spills all over the floor.
Looking at the mess in front of him, Fredo finally gains a rough understanding of just how strong he’s become.
After wiping off his sweat and showering, he pulls out his wallet, pays the gym employee, grabs his coat, and leaves the boxing gym.
Standing on the sidewalk, watching crowds pass by under the night lights, he suddenly feels restless for no reason at all.
He wants a drink.
So he gets in the car and finds a nearby bar.
“One whiskey.
On the rocks, thanks.”
He tosses cash onto the counter and casually scans the place.
Nothing special.
A few groups are already drunk off their asses.
Some are bragging loudly, others are cracking dirty jokes, and when Fredo pulls out his wallet, a few pairs of eyes noticeably light up.
“Your drink, sir.”
The bartender sets the whiskey in front of him.
“Thanks.”
Fredo takes a sip.
Still feels kinda mediocre.
In this era, where everything is drowning in money and excess, that strategy works almost every time.
Even when he occasionally meets difficult women, the Corleone Family’s influence in New York means he can simply move on to the next target.
After all, there are always fish willing to bite.
With his broad build, sharp features, and the added boost from [Godfather Aura], it doesn’t take long before several women approach him looking for a “friendly match.”
Unfortunately for them, Fredo turns every single one down.
The quality honestly isn’t great.
Unlike the original owner of this body, Fredo isn’t interested in taking whatever comes his way.
And honestly?
He’s also a little worried about stuff like syphilis…
AIDS…
all that nightmare fuel.
Best not to play with fire.
After finishing the last sip of whiskey, Fredo walks out of the bar feeling disappointed.
Back in the car, he sighs to himself.
What a tragic night.
Came out looking to have fun and struck out completely.
Failure.
Even though Fredo’s surveillance instincts aren’t amazing, spending time around Mikey’s capable men plus the improvements to his physical abilities make it easy enough for him to notice the tail behind him.
Interesting.
He drives toward a less crowded part of town and parks beside a cheap roadside motel.
What people mean by “skill breeds courage” is basically Fredo right now.
After spending so much time in The Godfather world—where his wildest adventure before this is basically visiting massage parlors—the fact that simply grabbing a drink gets him tailed almost makes him laugh.
So apparently he still isn’t paranoid enough.
He lights a cigarette.
The car behind him also stops.
Four men step out and slowly approach him.
Under the dim streetlights, Fredo finally recognizes them.
Guys from the bar earlier.
Fredo speaks first.
“So…
what exactly do you want with me?”
After confirming Fredo is alone, the leader pulls out a handgun and points it directly at him.
“Hey, buddy.
We just wanna borrow some money from you.
Raise your hands.”
Fredo slowly raises both hands while calmly staring at them.
The wind swallows the smoke from his cigarette.
Dogs bark faintly somewhere in the distance.
At this moment, Fredo isn’t afraid.
He isn’t even worried about what happens to him.
He’s thinking about what’s about to happen to them.
Two men keep their eyes on him while the other two walk toward the car to search it.
Fredo doesn’t know whether they’ll panic once they see what’s inside the vehicle.
But he does know one thing:
He absolutely hates having a gun pointed at his head.
Taking a deep drag from the cigarette, he exhales slowly and says calmly:
“Hey, man…
you really shouldn’t point a gun at my head.”
The next second—
Fast as lightning.
Gun snatched away.
One punch.
One kick.
A clean, brutal combo with zero wasted movement.
BAM—AAAGH!”
The two men by the car barely manage to open the doors before Fredo charges over and drops them to the ground too.
All four men are now rolling around screaming.
With Fredo’s current strength, a normal person simply can’t take a direct hit from him anymore.
In less than twenty seconds, tonight’s little robbery operation is completely over.
Actually, no.
The moment they choose Fredo Corleone as their prey, their failure is already guaranteed.
After searching them down, Fredo casually drags the four together into a pile and asks:
“Alright.
Talk.
Who are you, what do you do, and why target me?”
The Corleone Family is about to enter troubled waters.
Fredo can’t afford to be careless.
“Ow…
shit, we just saw the cash in your wallet at the bar and wanted some easy money…
we really weren’t trying to kill anybody.”
Nobody’s perfect.
And this is the land of the free, after all.
Fine.
Let’s call it today’s good deed.
Damn this soft heart of his.
Fredo removes the magazine from the handgun and tosses both aside.
“Alright.
Judging by your faces, this definitely isn’t your first robbery.
Mistakes deserve consequences, and when you get beaten, you stand there and take it like a man.
Since I’m feeling charitable tonight, break one arm each and we’ll call it even.”
The four men collectively think:
Fuckin hell …
do you even hear yourself right now?
The four exchange looks, clearly considering whether to make one last desperate move.
“I—”
“AAAGH!
MY ARM!
AAAAHHH!”
Before they can even act, Fredo makes the decision for them.
“Now get the hell out of here.”
Knowing they no longer have any advantage, the four men endure the pain, struggle to their feet, and help each other back into their car.
The vehicle swerves away down the street like a drunk stumbling home at 3 a.m.
Watching them disappear into the distance, Fredo sighs emotionally.
Man…
I’m way too kind.
I even let them leave alive.
He gets back into his own car and is just about to drive off when his enhanced hearing picks up faint sounds from farther away.
“Mmph—!”
Along with struggling noises.
Originally, Fredo has zero intention of sticking his nose into somebody else’s business.
But after a brief pause, he shuts off the engine again, gets out of the car, and walks toward the source of the noise.
Voices drift through the darkness.
“What do we do with her?”
“Same as always.
Take her back first, then sell her later.
This one looks high quality too—we’ll make good money.”
“How about we enjoy her first before selling her?”
“Obviously.”
Hidden around the corner, Fredo listens carefully to the low conversation between the two silhouettes.
Then his expression slowly darkens.
Human traffickers?