Since one of the matches had just ended, the atmosphere in the room was relatively quiet compared to usual. The crowd of spectators, who were typically roaring with excitent, had shifted into a more relaxed mode, engaging in casual conversation instead of cheering at the top of their lungs.
Which was exactly why what Max had done, and the mont he chose to do it, made such a massive impact.
A raised voice echoed through the space, sharp and sudden, enough to make a few people on the lower level turn their heads. Then, before anyone could fully register what was happening, they saw it, a body tumbling violently down the staircase.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Step after step, all the way down until the person slamd into the floor at the very bottom.
"Did soone just fall?" one guest asked, standing halfway up from their seat.
"Fall? Did you not see what just happened?" another replied, eyes wide. "One of the VIP mbers hit him!"
"There’s a fight? Again? There’s always so kind of fight breaking out during these events. Just let the organizers handle it."
"No, wait, look. Look closely. Can’t you see who that is?"
Gasps started rippling through the room as more of the guests realized what they were looking at. A mask had been dislodged and now lay awkwardly halfway up the stairs. It wasn’t just any mask, it was a familiar one, shaped like a bold dollar sign.
"It’s the manager," soone whispered, stunned. "That crazy VIP guest hit the manager! That’s never happened before!"
A hush fell over the entire room, followed by an eruption of murmurs, gasps, and shocked exclamations. Every pair of eyes locked onto the scene unfolding near the stairs, including one particular gaze belonging to Dud.
Max... did you just hit the manager of the Black Hounds? Dud thought, a mixture of disbelief and amusent flickering across his face. I didn’t know you were that kind of crazy. You might be just as insane as I am.
But even I don’t think I would’ve done sothing like that. Not here. Not now.
What’s going on with you, Max? What could possibly push you to do sothing like this? Either way... sure, you might be good at fighting, but this? This is a whole different situation. One I don’t think even you can punch your way out of. And honestly, if it were who pulled that stunt, I doubt I could escape the fallout either.
All around the venue, guards were already beginning to stir. There were at least twenty-five staff mbers stationed throughout the place, all of them trained and assigned to act as security. Their entire purpose was to intervene exactly when things like this happened, when sothing went wrong.
And right now, sothing had definitely gone wrong.
There were twelve mbers of the waiting staff alone, all dressed in polished uniforms and moving efficiently around the venue. Four more worked behind the bar, mixing drinks and keeping an eye on the crowd. As for how many were in the kitchen? No one could say for sure, but the number didn’t really matter.
Because if Dud had to guess, if he was being honest with himself, every single one of them was likely part of the Black Hounds. That ant they weren’t just servers, cooks, or bartenders. They were trained. They knew how to fight. They could throw down if things went sideways.
And things had definitely gone sideways.
At that very mont, there was one person whose heart was practically leaping out of his chest. It was pounding so hard, so fast, it felt like it might explode.
Chad.
He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His eyes darted frantically between Max and the manager who now lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain at the bottom of the stairs.
"Max... Max... Max!" Chad stamred, his voice rising with each word. "Do you even understand what you’ve just done?! You sucker-punched the manager, THE MANAGER, of this entire place!"
He was full-on panicking now, gesturing wildly as the words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
"The manager of a criminal organization! Do you get that? Criminal. Criminal! These guys kill people for a living, and you just decked him over sothing asly like that?!"
Chad’s screams were echoing through the room now, giving everyone nearby the full context of the chaos that had just unfolded.
"Max, you have to fix this! You have to do sothing!" Chad pleaded, nearly grabbing Max by the collar. "Tell them you’ll pay them double, no, triple! Get on your knees and beg. Beg, Max!"
anwhile, the manager was beginning to stir. Slowly, with a groan of pain, he pushed himself up, wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t just the punch that had hurt, it was the hard bounce down every step on the way down.
Pain radiated through his body, but his pride had taken the harder hit.
The nearest guards had rushed to his side, forming a protective line around him. At the sa ti, two of them broke off, their heavy boots clicking against the steps as they ascended, heading straight for Max.
Chad’s head was on a swivel, darting left and right, scanning for any possible escape. But it was no use. Guards in sharp black uniforms were stationed everywhere, all of them slowly zeroing in on Max like sharks that had just scented blood in the water.
"Do sothing!" Chad shouted one last ti, his voice cracking.
And then, one of the guards stepped forward, his face unreadable as he reached out his hand.
"We’re going to need a private word with you... young one," the guard said coldly.
His hand moved toward Max’s shoulder.
But before he could make contact, before his fingers could so much as brush the fabric of Max’s shirt, Max’s arm shot out.
In one swift motion, he grabbed the guard by the wrist. Firm. Unflinching. Like a steel trap had snapped shut.
"Did you not hear what I said before?" Max asked, his voice calm, but cold.
The guard tried to pull his arm back, muscles tensing as he attempted to retreat from Max’s grip. But no matter how much he struggled, his wrist wouldn’t budge. It was like he’d been caught in a vice.
What is this? the guard thought in disbelief. Isn’t he just so young student? He’s half my size, how can he be this strong?!
"I said," Max repeated, his tone rising as his grip tightened, "none of you are getting my money!"
Without warning, Max yanked the man forward with one arm, and at the sa ti, drew back his fist. His knuckles clenched tight. With brutal force, he slamd his fist straight into the guard’s face.
The sound of the impact echoed through the air.
This punch was even heavier than the one Max had landed on the manager earlier. The guard’s head snapped back, his balance vanishing in an instant. His legs gave out beneath him, and before anyone could react, he was tumbling down the stairs, just like the manager had.
The second guard beside him froze for a second, then imdiately launched forward.
"What’s wrong with you?!" he shouted. "Do you really think fighting us is the right thing to do?!"
He swung hard, throwing a punch toward Max’s head.
But Max didn’t flinch.
With a minimal shift in his stance, Max leaned back, letting the punch fly harmlessly past his face. The man grunted and followed up with a flurry of punches, left, right, another right, but Max simply stepped to the side, then the other, ducked low, and slipped through the barrage like it was a slow-motion dance.
And then, Max retaliated.
He dropped low for a second, coiled like a spring, and then jumped back just enough to create space. With a sharp step forward, Max spun his body. His leg cut through the air like a blade, and the side of his foot smashed directly into the pit of the guard’s stomach.
The impact was monstrous.
This one didn’t just stumble or fall. With the strength behind that spinning kick, the guard was lifted clean off his feet, sent flying backward through the air, and crashed down hard beside the manager, landing in a crumpled heap.
"What... what is going on?" the manager muttered, struggling to get back up. His jaw hung slack. "That was no ordinary kick. One of the Stern mbers... knows how to fight? But that doesn’t make any sense."
But it didn’t matter whether it made sense or not.
Just because two of their guards had been taken out didn’t an the Black Hounds were going to back off. If anything, the opposite was happening. The remaining staff, guards in black uniforms from every part of the venue, began moving in, surrounding Max like a tightening net.
And through it all, behind Max, stood Chad, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, practically on the verge of tears.
He stared at the two fallen guards, then looked up at Max.
"You just... you just kicked those two guys’ asses," Chad said, his voice shaking. "Max... who the heck are you?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers