That night in Diamond Pce.


    After Ren bought himself and his parents a car, they ordered food for take-out, so Troy and Helen could feel rxed as they ate home.


    They were now at the age where they''d prefer to sleep and stay at home rather than be out and about.


    While Helen prepared the table for dinner, Ren listed the missions they got that day, as well as the missions they had recently been offered.


    It was never-ending, and it finally crossed his mind to employ someone who could sort them by difficulty. The person who''d take on the role must be someone who had vast knowledge when it came to the game. However, the only one with that qualifications was him.


    If the person they hired would just keep on asking him questions about this and that, then he might as well do everything himself.


    Though Ren was also thinking about putting up a research team and forming different departments to help him run their group smoothly. The research team would be responsible for gathering intel. Then the sorting team can receive them and sort all quests and missions into different categories.


    Of course, there would also be a Marketing Department to promote their group''s services and a PR Department to handle their social media and everything else that might crop up.


    Ren released a huge sigh. He never knew that creating an organization would be this . . . overwhelming.


    Although he knew what he needed, he had no idea where to start, especially since this was his first time forming one.


    Should he ask Ragnar about this?


    Having thought of that, Ren immediately messaged the guy. If there was one person who knew this kind of stuff, it was definitely that guy.


    World Conqueror''s growth was unstoppable, and he needed all the help he could get.


    For now, Ren continued doing everything he was able to do. He chose missions with low risk and high rewards for both Leonel and Isolde toplete, while he chose missions with high risk and extreme rewards for himself and Evie. That left Ragnar . . .


    Ren was aware that they were understaffed. However, they already had a list of yers who wanted to join their group, and all that was left was screening them.


    "Ren."


    Helen''s call forced Ren out of his thoughts, and his nose rose from his notes to meet his mother''s eyes.


    "Yeah?"


    Helen looked at Troy for a moment while thetter looked away, pretending to be busy with his food. She then cleared her throat, and Ren knew there and then that he wouldn''t like the next words she was about to say.


    "Remember your Aunt Hazel and her son Jonathan?"


    Why was this line so familiar? Ren thought.


    Helen felt like Ren''s mood didn''t change, and his stoic expression was still unnerving as before. So she struck the iron while it was still hot.


    "And also remember your Aunt Christine and Uncle Bernie? Also, your cousins, Joy, Martin, and Flor?"


    Actually, no. Ren already forgot about his rtives. ". . . What about them?"


    Helen was hesitant, gauging Ren''s reaction, but his stoic, deadpan face didn''t change. He was an expert in emotional subterfuge.


    Helen went away and said it anyway.


    "They''re asking if it''s alright to join your group . . . the mercenary thing."


    Ren raised his brows and nced at his mother, who gave him a nod of confirmation. He asked the question that had been burning inside him.


    "Why are they talking to you? If they need something with me, then tell them to personally speak with me."


    Helen''s smile disappeared immediately. And she looked to the side. It''s because you''re so unapproachable. She said to herself.


    "Give them my number, Mom," Ren told his mother. "Tell them to talk to me directly if they want something from me. And tell them to stop bothering you."


    Helen threw a look at her husband, but Troy only reciprocated with an I-told-you kind of stare.


    Ren could understand how they felt. If he had to be honest, since they moved to Diamond Pce, it felt like that every single day, plenty of people would keep on asking them for favors.


    It was simply how the world went. If you were on top, the others would simply try to milk you dry or pull you back to the bottom.


    The so-called ''family'' was even worse. They ride on your sess, thinking they have contributed to it, and feel entitled to everything you have just because they were rtives. And if you deny them, they''d call you ungrateful as if they really contributed something.


    "You don''t have to worry about them anymore," Ren said.


    "All those people whoe and tell you to do this or that will stop bothering you once you tell them what I said."


    ? "But . . ." Helen was afraid that they wouldn''t have any rtives left if she let Ren do the talking.


    Ren took a sip from his coffee and replied with a t tone, "Don''t worry. If they''re qualified, they will have nothing to worry about."


    Troy and Helen looked at each other for a moment. Their expressions were almost mirrored.


    There''s a trial? They thought that he would let his cousins join without a hitch because they were family.


    But they should have known their son.


    Helen sighed, exasperated by her son''s icy demeanor. "Are you sure that''s a good idea?"


    "It is fine," Ren dismissed, his tone unreadable. "If they have the ability, they''ll easily get in. Besides, I don''t want useless people in my group. I don''t want themzing around while getting paid just because they''re rtives."


    It was obvious that Ren didn''t want to talk about the matter anymore. Troy could also feel tension from Ren and decided to take action.


    "Understandable," Troy said. "In the end, it''s your decision because it''s your group."


    "Right." Helen stood up from her seat, her long brown hair swaying behind her as she walked out of the room and the door clicked shut behind her.


    Ren and Troy stared at each other but didn''t say anything more.


    Ren knew his mother was upset. He could understand because Helen always had a soft spot for family.