Chapter 15: The Lion Awakes
Julian sat frozen, the 50-dollar bill still fluttering on the table. He couldn't believe his ears. Where did this beggar get the courage to stand up and speak with that kind of tone? For as long as Julian had known him, Ethan McCain had never once talked back, let alone looked him in the eye with such cold, piercing authority.
Julian stared at him, wondering if the boy had somehow eaten the heart of a lion over the afternoon. It hadn't been long since he'd seen Ethan earlier that day, yet the boy already possessed this new, terrifying attitude. He couldn't help but wonder if Ethan had gained some kind of powerful backing; he knew the only reason Ethan would ever dare to talk back was if he had someone behind him to "hold up the sky."
The atmosphere in the room shifted so violently that even the karaoke music seemed to dim in the background.
The "crooks" surrounding Julian had their mouths hanging open so wide you could fit an egg inside. Ethan had just shattered everything they thought they knew about him. No matter how much they had mocked him, spit on him, or tripped him in the hallways, Ethan had always endured it with a lowered head. But tonight? Tonight, he had walked into the lion's den with his back straight as a spear, looked every "predator" in the eye, and spat on their insults.
They all knew Julian was the son of the General Manager of the Golden Dragon Hotel—a man with deep connections to the most powerful people in the county. To them, Julian was untouchable and their golden ticket to climbing the social ladder. Little did they know that Harrison Vance had been relieved of his duties only hours ago, stripped of his power by the very man they were currently mocking.
Julian felt a wave of hot, suffocating shame. To be talked back to by someone he considered "trash" in front of his friends was a blow he couldn't endure. His face flushed a deep, bruised purple, and his calm finally snapped.
"You little brat..." Julian hissed, his voice trembling with rage. He waved a dismissive, shaking hand toward his lackeys. "Teach him a lesson. Break his legs! I want to see him crawling for that fifty dollars!"
The crooks, already seething with anger at Ethan's defiance, didn't need a second order. They sprang up simultaneously, five of them surrounding Ethan in a tight circle, their fists clenched and their faces twisted in ugly sneers.
At this moment, Ethan felt a deep, resonant sense of gratitude for the System. As he looked at the circle of attackers, he felt incredibly glad he had allocated those 50 points to his Body stats. With a stat of 66, he knew he could handle five to seven trained combatants simultaneously. These "crooks" were nothing of the sort; they were rich kids whose bodies had been hollowed out by years of excessive sex, expensive cigarettes, and premium alcohol. To Ethan's new eyes, their movements were as slow and clumsy as toddlers.
"Get him!" Marcus yelled, lunging forward with a wild, uncoordinated haymaker.
Ethan didn't even blink. He moved with a fluidity that was almost supernatural. He stepped inside Marcus's reach and delivered a short, sharp blow to the ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the room as Marcus collapsed like a folding chair, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze.
The others jumped at Ethan all at once, a chaotic swarm of limbs. But Ethan was a whirlwind of precision. He dodged a flying kick by a hair's breadth, grabbed the attacker's ankle, and swung him into the coffee table, shattering the glass and the expensive bottles of liquor.
He used this moment to wash away every grievance, every midnight shift, and every public humiliation he had ever suffered at their hands. He wasn't just fighting; he was cleansing his past. One by one, he systematically broke their spirit, beating them blue and black. A punch to a jaw here, a sweep of a leg there—Ethan moved through the VIP room like a reaper.
Within two minutes, the room was a mess of groans and broken furniture. The "tough guys" were all on the floor, clutching their stomachs or holding their bloodied faces. Ethan stood in the center of the wreckage, his white waiter's shirt still perfectly tucked, his breathing as calm as if he had just finished a light stroll. Though he hadn't learned any formal combat skills yet, his high stats allowed him to see the blatant weaknesses of these crooks. Combined with their weak, alcohol-thinned bodies, they couldn't even last two minutes against him.
He turned his gaze slowly toward Julian, who was now shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. The sadistic smile returned to Ethan's face.
"Is that all your 'connections' can buy you, Julian? A few hollowed-out cowards?"