Rion was ready to rip someone apart.
His patience, already running thin after days of combing through forgotten ruins, was now dangling by a thread. The reckless display that had just unfolded in front of him was the final straw. Sure, there was no immediate danger; the brats hadn't unleashed anything truly deadly—just reckless, stupid, and flashy. But damn, it stung.
He slowly pushed himself up, his lips curling into a grimace. Tiny trickles of blood seeped through his torn shirt, and he winced as he assessed the damage. Shallow cuts, nothing too serious—more of a nuisance than a real threat. Still, it was enough to ruin what had been a perfectly enjoyable evening.
"Of course, this would happen now," he grumbled under his breath, casting a sharp glance toward the table of students responsible for his ruined evening. "The one time I try to sit down for a peaceful meal, fate hands me this crew of idiots."
They hadn't even noticed him. Or, maybe they did notice and just didn't care. That wouldn't surprise him one bit. He had experience with this kind of behavior. Back on Macipher, there were always bored kids from the upper districts who came to have some 'fun' in places like Moon Shadow Village. Let's just say he wasn't a fan.
His sharp eyes caught Young Master #1 laughing, his voice full of self-satisfaction, while his companions grinned like idiots, completely ignoring the chaos they had just caused.
The mess they left behind was no joke. Several tables were overturned, and more than a few patrons were nursing bruises and scrapes.
Most people in the room could handle themselves in a fight. Mercenaries, researchers, wanderers—people like Rion, hardened by the world outside Coca Town. Normally, they wouldn't hesitate to retaliate against such blatant disrespect. But this situation was different. Most people weren't eager to take on a group of wealthy, privileged brats from an academy as prestigious as Pegasus.
The guild was renowned, and these young fools were likely the offspring of powerful figures, insulated from the consequences of their actions. Their bodyguards—large, stoic men who looked like they had fought more battles than they cared to remember.
But Rion wasn't most people.
He slowly got to his feet, dusting off his pants as he shot a dark look at the bodyguard in front. The way the man looked at him sent a clear message: Don't cause trouble.
Man, fuck these guys....
His hand twitched as he considered his options, weighing the potential fallout of what he was about to do. He wasn't in the mood for restraint, nor did he care about the potential blowback from taking on some privileged rich kids. Consequences were a problem for future Rion. Present Rion had only one goal in mind: to beat the shit out of an idiot.
In an instant, he simultaneously activated his [Combat Frenzy II] and [Dash] techniques, feeling the world around him slowing ever so slightly as his perception sharpened. Then, in a blur of motion, he closed the distance between himself and Young Master #1. Before the young man, his clique, or even his bodyguards could even blink, Rion's fist connected with the arrogant prick's face.
There was a satisfying crunch as bone met knuckle, and the young man's head snapped back, his eyes wide with shock. He stumbled back, clutching his face in disbelief, his laughter abruptly as blood spurted from his nose.
Rion didn't stop to relish the moment. As the bodyguards began to react, their hands flying to their weapons, he was already a step ahead. His electromagnetic handgun was out before either of them could fully draw their guns. The low hum of the charged capacitor filled the tense silence as the barrel pressed firmly against the young man's temple.
"Easy there, boys," Rion said coolly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "We don't want any accidents, now do we?"
The bodyguards froze, their guns halfway drawn, clearly not willing to risk their employer's life.
Young Master #1, still dazed from the blow to his face, blinked up at Rion, his brain struggling to catch up. His bravado hadn't entirely deserted him, though, and after a moment, he managed to sneer through the blood.
"Who... who the hell is this fucker?" he groaned, his voice muffled by the blood running down his face.
Rion tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, almost bored. "I think you should shut up."
Before the young man could react, Rion slapped him across the face, the sound echoing through the restaurant. The young man looked at Rion in disbelief, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek, now bright red and swollen.
"You asshole!" the young master spat, his words slurred with pain and disbelief. "You dare hit me? Do you know who my father is?"
Rion's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Why?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your mother didn't tell you?"
Before the young man could even process the insult, Rion slapped him again, this time with enough force to leave a ringing in the air.
The young man's bravado melted instantly, his eyes now wide with panic as the cold, calculated look in Rion's eyes set in. He realized, perhaps for the first time in his pampered life, that the man holding a gun to his head wasn't bluffing. Rion wasn't playing games.
"This is your last chance," Rion said quietly, his voice calm but filled with menace. "If you say one more word, my gun's going to do the responding."
Young Master #1 opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it when he saw the look on Rion's face. His skin mask was impassive as always but his eyes showed that he wasn't playing around.
The young man's eyes darted to his bodyguards for help, but they weren't moving a muscle, not with Rion's gun still pressed against his skull. Even they valued their boss's life over their job.
As for his so-called friends, they were watching the exchange with a mix of terror and shame, their faces a study in contrasting emotions.
Seeing that the odds were stacked heavily against him, he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. Then, he looked back to Rion and nodded quickly, too scared to even form words.
"Good. You're not totally unredeemable."
Just then, the man in the dark coat at the bar made a slight movement, catching Rion's attention once more. The man had barely touched his drink, and his gaze was now firmly locked on him. Contrary to what he thought, the man didn't seem amused or annoyed by the scene. Instead, there was a cold, calculating sharpness in his eyes, like he was assessing him—or rather, something about him.
A moment later, the man at the bar lightly shook his head and stood up, making his way slowly toward the exit. His movement was deliberate, almost languid, as if he had all the time in the world.
Wierd.....
As the man passed through the exit, Rion's sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Something about the man felt off, but right now, he had more pressing matters to deal with. His attention snapped back to Young Master #1, who still looked like a deer caught in headlights, his bravado entirely drained.
"Now then," Rion said, his voice low and deliberate. "Here's what's going to happen. First, you're going to apologize for ruining my meal with your little stunt. And second, you're going to cough up every last penny on you. Consider it a donation to the 'Don't Make a Mess in My Presence' fund."
The young man blinked, processing the demand. "Y-You want me to apologize? In front of these people?" He gestured at the patrons, his voice rising in incredulity. His gaze swept over the room, and for a brief moment, it looked like he might resist to reclaim a shred of the pride Rion had crushed.
Rion's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Or I could just pull the trigger now and save you the embarrassment. Your choice."
The young man paled, his tongue tripping over itself as he stammered out, "I... I-I'm sorry. Sorry for... for the disturbance. It won't happen again."
Rion gave him a slow, approving nod. "Not bad. But I'm going to need more than a half-assed apology. Make it convincing. And louder."
Taking a deep breath, the young man raised his voice, trying to sound sincere, though his quivering tone betrayed him. "I apologize for the disturbance and take full responsibility. It won't happen again. Please forgive me."
Rion smirked. "That'll do, I guess" he said. "Now, let's talk about the cash." He glanced at his friends. "You guys too, of course."
With shaking hands, Young Master #1 fumbled through his pockets, and pulled out a small wallet. From it, he pulled out a lot of cash, prompting the others to follow suit, emptying their pockets in silence.
Rion crouched down, scooping up the money and slipping it into his own pockets. Based on the thickness of the wads of cash, it was a decent haul, but not enough to satisfy the growing itch of annoyance he still felt toward these privileged idiots. He glanced at Young Master #1's bodysuit, the sleek synthetic material glistening faintly under the dim light. It wasn't just for show—he'd noticed earlier how the fabric had absorbed the brunt of the wind blades during their flashy display, keeping the young man and his friends unscathed.
A grin tugged at Rion's lips. "That bodysuit," he said, tapping the boy's chest with the barrel of his gun. "Take it off."
The young master blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "W-What? You can't be serious. This is—"
Rion interrupted him with a sharp glare. "Did I ask for your opinion? Strip it off, now."
There was a moment of hesitation, but the cold steel pressed against his temple was a strong motivator. The young master gritted his teeth, fumbling with the clasps of his suit as he began to peel it off. His movements were slow, stiff, each one fueled by humiliation. His friends turned their heads, too embarrassed to even look at him.
Rion watched, amused, as the bodysuit finally came loose. He grabbed it with one hand, inspecting the material up close. As he'd thought, it was sturdy—strong enough to repurpose for his own needs. A practical upgrade, courtesy of a spoiled brat with more money than sense.
"Thanks for the donation," Rion said with a smirk, folding the suit under his arm. He gave the young man a hard look, his voice cold. "This all should cover my meal, the damages, and the trouble of listening to you."
Young Master #1 stood there, shivering in his underclothes, his face red with humiliation and anger. Rion flicked his gun away from the boy's head and holstered it in one fluid motion. The bodyguards, still tense, exhaled with visible relief but didn't dare make a move as Rion turned to leave.
He dropped a few bills on the ruined table to pay for his meal and casually made his way towards the exit, leaving behind a very embarrassed young master nursing his bruised ego—and his bruised face.
As Rion walked, the crowd parted for him, silent and watchful. No one wanted to meet his eyes; no one wanted to be next on his list. He paused just before stepping outside, throwing a casual glance back at the now half-naked young man and his group.
"One word of advice," Rion said, his voice carrying easily across the room. "Watch yourself from now on. You're not nearly as important as you think you are."
With that final jab, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air, the bodysuit slung over his shoulder. The stinging pain from the wind blades had begun to wear off, and the satisfaction from having his revenge lingered.
He couldn't shake the memory of the man at the bar, though. That deliberate exit, those calculating eyes—it didn't sit right with him. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for any unwanted attention in the coming days.
It was the first time he'd had his revenge against rich brats throwing their weight around, but he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
And if those brats ever crossed his path again… well, he might not be so forgiving.
For now, though, Rion smiled to himself, his mood considerably lighter and his pockets heavier. If nothing else, at least he'd walked away with a new suit.