"You're incredibly bold, American. Killing Mr. Regan's son and then demanding he apologize to you?" a sultry voice interrupted before Mandel could explode. "I don't know if you're brave or just stupid, but I must admit—I admire your confidence."
The voice belonged to the alluring female ninja, Tiffany, who sauntered toward John with a seductive smile playing on her glossy red lips.
"It's impossible for Mr. Regan to apologize to you," she said smoothly, "but… I can."
She walked up to John, her hips swaying with every step.
And then—
A shocking scene unfolded.
Tiffany began to strip off her clothes right in front of him, revealing her sinuous, voluptuous figure, oozing temptation and confidence. Wrapping her slender arms around John's neck and her long, bare legs around his waist, she pressed herself against him intimately.
Clearly, this was the kind of "apology" she intended to offer.
John glanced down at the ample curves rubbing against his chest, then chuckled. "Well, if you're willing to apologize on his behalf, I won't object."
His hands slid to her waist and gently squeezed.
A flicker of triumph crossed Tiffany's eyes. She leaned in, her tongue delicately snaking toward his ear.
But in the blink of an eye—
John's expression turned cold. He suddenly gripped her waist, flipped her upside down, and slammed her headfirst into the ground with a thunderous crash.
And then—
With zero hesitation, he chopped between her legs with the edge of his hand like a blade.
"AHHH—!"
A blood-curdling scream rang out—but not from beneath John.
It came from five meters away.
Tiffany's voice.
It had all been an illusion.
A seductive illusion designed to trap and distract the weak-minded.
Though weaker than Mandel's illusions, Tiffany's technique worked well against most lust-driven men. It allowed her to seduce or disorient her targets just long enough to strike.
But John had seen through it instantly.
In reality, Tiffany was still fully clothed, standing at a distance—her real body untouched.
But when her illusionary form was attacked, the pain transferred to her actual body.
Her head throbbed from the imagined impact, but what truly broke her was the sensation between her legs. The pain there was so vivid, so excruciating, it felt like her lower body had been ripped apart.
Tiffany collapsed to the ground, clutching herself in agony.
The other ninjas, though not caught in the illusion themselves, had seen her standing still—only to suddenly double over in torment.
They didn't need an explanation.
Tiffany was famous for her seductive illusions.
Many of them had experienced it during training matches. They often pretended to fall for it just to enjoy the illusion a little longer.
It was a guilty pleasure among many male ninjas.
But this man—this American—had seen through her instantly and struck without mercy.
He wasn't ordinary.
No sane man would wander into the Australian Ninja League's headquarters alone—unless he was either a fool… or someone truly formidable.
John cast a cool glance at Tiffany and said flatly, "Don't try your little tricks on me."
He crossed his arms and looked down at her with disdain.
"When it comes to beauty, you're no match for my eldest sister. In terms of figure, you lose to my second sister. And as for charm? You're not even close to my third sister."
He shook his head in disappointment.
"You're a total failure."
That single sentence hit Tiffany harder than any blow could.
Her beauty—her body—was her pride. In the Australian Ninja League, she was a celebrated goddess. Even when her illusions were seen through, most men let her have her way just to enjoy the fantasy a little longer.
No one had ever mocked her like this.
It wasn't just a physical defeat. John had completely shattered her confidence—body and soul.
"You're quite capable, I'll admit that," Mandel finally spoke, his tone dark. "No wonder you dared to walk in here alone. But if you think that strength gives you free rein in our League, you're sorely mistaken."
Mandel had to concede—he hadn't expected John to resist Tiffany's illusion so easily.
But he wasn't shaken.
Tiffany's illusions weren't considered strong. Any man with enough willpower could break free from her illusions, especially if he wasn't tempted by beauty.
John responded coolly, "It's not that I underestimate your League. It's just that… you're not worthy of my respect."
"You arrogant fool," Mandel sneered. "You Americans must think you're invincible again, riding high on the coattails of the Oracle Organization."
"But without them, you're nothing to me."
As his voice fell, a strange white fog began to rise and spread throughout the room.
Then the world around them began to change.
A blood-red moon loomed overhead once again, casting an eerie light.
Mandel had drawn John into his illusion world.
"American…" Mandel's voice echoed from the red moon, deep and foreboding. "You'll pay a heavy price for killing my son. I'll break you. I'll torment you. And before you die, you'll beg for death—and beg my son's forgiveness."