Rupert was taken away by the relevant authorities, and the arrogant green-haired punks were arrested alongside him. Re-education was now in their future.
As they stepped back onto the quiet street, Hugh was still fuming. "How did something like that even happen? A police inspector's nephew acting like a street thug... It's disgraceful."
John chuckled lightly. "You're in a high position, Mr. Hugh. You only see what they want you to see."
Indeed, the world was far more chaotic beneath its polished surface. Scandals, corruption, and filth often hid behind gilded curtains.
Hugh's expression turned grim. "Seems like I need to clean house. There's rot in the team."
He looked thoughtful, but not defeated. If anything, dinner at this humble barbecue shop had been more eye-opening than any meeting.
After saying farewell to Hugh and Alton, John began making his way back to the Cultural Palace, where he had parked his bike in a quiet alley.
But as fate would have it, he ran into two familiar faces.
Nick and Marcia.
Talk about bad timing.
But what happened next took John completely by surprise.
Marcia stepped forward, her expression strangely complicated. Her voice was calm—not mocking, not arrogant.
"John," she said, addressing him by name for the first time. "I know you're the Master of Clouds. I know you orchestrated everything at today's charity auction."
No more calling him "barbarian" or "that boy." The shift in tone was subtle, but significant.
John raised a brow and said coolly, "So what?"
Marcia hesitated, then said, "You've made your point. You've proven your ability. Let's just... stop it here."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I admit I misjudged you in the past," she said. "I won't interfere in your relationship with Queenie anymore. But don't push your luck. Don't try to set up a Queenie Group branch here."
John's smile faded.
"So, in your mind, all I've done... was just to earn a chance from you?"
"If that's how you want to think of it," Marcia replied, as if she were making a generous concession.
John didn't respond at first. A long silence passed between them.
Then he shook his head slowly and said, "Marcia, you're too self-righteous."
Her eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
"I didn't do all this to prove I'm worthy of the Yeats family," John said, voice calm but firm. "I did it to prove I can give Queenie everything she dreams of."
He took a step closer, his tone growing colder.
"To me, the Yeats family is a drop in the ocean. If I wanted to destroy it, I could. Easily. But I don't care to."
"So next time, don't act like you're doing me a favor. You have no idea what kind of person you're standing in front of."
Though his voice wasn't loud, the weight behind each word was staggering.
Marcia was frozen in place, unable to reply. His presence overwhelmed her, shook her to her core.
By the time she found her voice again, John had already turned and walked away.
"You're too arrogant!" she shouted after him. "You just made one little accomplishment and now you think you can lecture me?!"
But John didn't even look back.
Nick stood beside her in silence. He let out a faint sigh.
Little accomplishment?
He wanted to laugh.
At just twenty years old, John had already become a shining star in the cultural and artistic world. He'd introduced a facial mask formula that could shake the entire cosmetics industry. What other young man in the country could compare?
Of course, Nick didn't say any of that out loud.
He knew his wife too well—Marcia had already made up her mind about John long ago. Even when the truth stared her in the face, her pride kept her from admitting it.
Meanwhile, John was in a rather good mood.
The fact that Marcia approached him first meant something—she was softening, even if she wouldn't admit it yet. He could sense the regret behind her words.
Just you wait, he thought, amused. I'll chip away at that pride of yours, little by little. Let's see how long the most beautiful woman in New York can keep pretending.
Smirking to himself, he arrived at the alley where his beloved bicycle was parked.
But his mood shattered in an instant.
It was gone.
The lock lay useless in a corner, snapped and discarded.
"You've got to be kidding me!" John cursed.
Thankfully, he had taken precautions. Using the Mind Circle he had etched into the bike's iron frame, he quickly locked onto its location.
If he hadn't done that, he really would've been heartbroken.
Just a few blocks away, a scruffy man with shaggy, unkempt curls pedaled happily down the street. He grinned to himself, muttering as he rocked his dirty hips across the cushioned seat.
"It's impossible to work for others… and I don't know how to run a business… So the only life for me is—thievery! Hahaha—huh?"
He froze mid-chuckle.
A young man was standing right in front of him, arms folded, face calm.
The thief paled.
"Wh-what are you, a ghost?!"
John raised a brow. "You stole my bike, and you're asking me if I'm a ghost?"
Then—SLAP!
John's hand met the thief's face with a crack.