The green-haired punk stared wide-eyed at the bamboo skewer impaling his hand, stunned at first. But when the pain finally registered—and blood started gushing—he let out a shrill scream.
"Aghhh! You bastard!" he roared. "You dared stab me! Kill him! Get him now!"
His cries snapped his gang of dazed friends to attention. With a shout, they grabbed beer bottles and smashed them—glass clinking as jagged edges flashed in the streetlight.
But just as they were about to charge, a booming voice cut through the chaos:
"Stop!"
All eyes turned.
Hugh stepped forward, no longer the easy-going man from earlier. Despite the alcohol still in his system, his expression was sharp, sober, and filled with the commanding authority of a high-ranking official.
The punks froze in place, beer bottles still raised.
Even in their intoxicated state, they sensed the danger.
Green Hair, face contorted in pain and rage, barked, "What are you all doing? Beat them! My uncle's the police inspector of this district! He'll handle everything—just do it!"
Hugh snorted, his face dark. "Your uncle's the police inspector? Big deal. Go ahead—call him. I'd love to see how he plans to protect trash like you."
That sentence hit the gang harder than a punch.
Now, they were really scared.
Who was this man—this calm, powerful stranger who wasn't afraid of the police?
And worse, the guy who stabbed their friend didn't even blink. If anything, John looked bored.
Their courage crumbled. They had always relied on Green Hair's "uncle card" to get out of trouble—but this time, it wasn't working.
Green Hair growled in frustration, eyes burning with humiliation. "Cowards! All of you! Worthless trash!"
He fumbled with his good hand and pulled out his phone. "You'll all see. I'm calling him right now."
He dialed a number and put it on speaker for everyone to hear.
"Uncle!" he cried. "Come quick! Some lunatic stabbed me in the hand—it's bleeding like hell!"
"What?!" a coarse voice barked on the other end. "Who the hell touched my nephew? Don't they know who I am? I'm Rupert Kent!"
The voice matched the nephew—loud, vulgar, and full of threats.
"They're at Louis Grill," Green Hair whimpered. "They said they're not afraid of you!"
"Stay there! I'm on my way with my men. Let's see who dares to lay a finger on my family!"
John casually twisted the bamboo skewer still in the guy's hand.
"AARRGH!"
He howled in agony.
"Y-You're dead! My uncle's going to arrest all of you!"
The barbecue shop owner, wide-eyed with fear, leaned in and whispered to John, "Young man, I appreciate your help, truly… but we can't win against them. Just let them go. I'll pay the bill—it's not worth the trouble."
His tone was heavy with resignation.
Now that he recognized Rupert's voice on the phone, he knew the threat was real. Rupert had come to his shop before—he wasn't bluffing.
But Green Hair sneered. "Pay me? Hell no! I want this guy in jail! He stabbed me! He'll rot in prison!"
John didn't even flinch. He picked up another skewer and, without hesitation, plunged it into Green Hair's other palm.
Blood gushed. The punk shrieked like a dying animal.
"It's not about money," Hugh said coldly. "This is about respect—and consequences."
The shop owner stood aside helplessly. These two were clearly fearless, but he was already bracing himself to lose his business.
A short while later, two police cruisers screeched to a halt outside the shop.
Uniformed officers stormed out, led by a stocky, angry man—Rupert Kent himself.
As soon as he saw the scene—his nephew's hands skewered to a table, blood soaking into the wood—he exploded with fury.
"Who did this?!" he bellowed, pulling out a baton and striding toward John. "You punk, let my nephew go right now! You've got a death wish!"
But just as he raised his voice, another cold, dismissive voice cut through the tension:
"Tsk... You're just a police inspector. Who gave you the right to shout like that?"
Rupert turned toward the voice—ready to snap.
But when he saw the speaker, his face went pale.
"Y-You're... You're the Alliance Director!"
The baton dropped from his hand.
The color drained from his face like water from a broken jar.
The crowd went silent.
Alliance Director?!
Even the shop owner gaped in disbelief. That serious, composed man... was a provincial-level official?!
Rupert stumbled forward, his voice trembling. "D-Director Hugh… I didn't know... I mean…"
But Hugh didn't respond to him.
Instead, he turned to the bleeding punk and snapped, "This is your nephew? This disgrace to your badge?"
Rupert's knees nearly buckled. He rushed over to the green-haired man, grabbed him by the collar, and shouted, "You idiot! You've ruined me!"
He yanked the skewer from his nephew's hand, not even blinking as the boy screamed again.
"I'll deal with you later!" he snarled.
Then he turned and bowed to Hugh and John. "I… I apologize for everything. I'll take full responsibility."