A subtle tension settled over the table as Damon and the two old men stared at each other, the earlier laughter fading into something sharper, something more focused, as the air between them seemed to tighten with unspoken challenge.
For a moment—
No one spoke.
Then one of the old men leaned back slightly, a slow grin spreading across his wrinkled face, his eyes lighting up with a competitiveness that had clearly never faded with age.
"Hehehe… you are on, boy!" he said, slapping the table lightly, "defeat us… and we will answer any one of your questions."
The other old man nodded, his expression equally eager.
"Anything you ask," he added, "as long as you win."
Damon's lips curved just slightly.
But his eyes changed.
Sharpened.
Widened just enough to resemble that of a predator locking onto its target, his thoughts moving swiftly beneath the calm surface.
The old man outside… he is not ordinary…
First, he seems to know the Dean personally…
