2025-02-26 20:45:52The air in the banquet hall shifted the moment the heavy oak doors slammed open.
A group of tall, muscular men strode in, their presence like a pack of hyenas barging into a lion’s den… except they clearly thought they were the lions here. The guests stiffened, instinctively pulling back as the uninvited newcomers spread out, their smirks full of arrogance and malice. Miley’s father rose to his feet, his face paling. "Who are you people? What do you want?" The man in front chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Relax, old man. No need to be so jumpy." His voice was as slick as oil, his grin revealing gold-capped teeth. "We're just here to collect what’s ours." He gestured lazily to his men, all dressed in black, their beady eyes scanning the room like vultures sizing up a dying carcass. "Y-You’re from the ‘Eighteen Street’ gang?" Miley’s mother gasped, clutching her husband's sleeve. "Sharp lady," the leader smirked. "Since you already know who we are, let's not waste time. Your sweet little family owes us 79 million. Time to settle the tab." A heavy silence fell over the room. The color drained from Miley’s father’s face. "T-That can’t be right! We were promised more time—" The gang leader scoffed. "Time? You think we’re running a charity? We want our money, or we will take…" His eyes gleamed as they landed on Miley, and a smirk appeared on his lips. “Something precious as our compensation." Miley stiffened, her hands clenched into fists. "Don't you dare–" She hissed, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. The leader chuckled. “Oh come on sweetie! A pretty thing like you… if you agree to come with us, I can think about granting your family a few more hours to get the money. How does that sound?” Miley’s mother gasped. Her father stepped forward, trying to shield his daughter. The gangsters formed a circle around Miley and began to surround her, their confidence reeking like rotten meat—until a voice, calm and unhurried, sliced through the tension. "I think that’s enough, Can't you all hear clearly?" Julius said, standing up and placing himself in front of Miley, shielding her from them. The gang members blinked, then started to glare at him with anger, while their leader looked at him from head to toe. "And who the hell are you?" Julius rolled his shoulders lazily, as if their existence barely registered. "Someone who doesn’t like your faces," he said calmly. The leader sneered. "Really! But, unless you got 79 million to throw at our faces, sit your ass down and stay quiet, pup, otherwise, I don't think you have any right to like or dislike our faces." Julius smirked. "Not only do I have it, but I’ll even throw in a little extra. 80 million. I'll give it to you clean, no strings attached." The gang members froze. The leader’s smirk faltered, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. "Bullshit," he spat. "You think we’re idiots?" Julius sat back down, completely relaxed, and pulled out a checkbook. He casually wrote down the amount, ripped the check free, and tossed it onto the table like it was pocket change. "Go verify it," he said. "I’ll wait." One of the goons grabbed the check and rushed to make a call. The room was dead silent except the murmuring of confused guests. Minutes later, the boss’ right hand man returned, his face flushed with excitement. He whispered urgently into the leader’s ear, and immediately, the older man’s expression changed. Greed flickered in his eyes. "Well, well," he chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "Looks like you’re not just some broke loudmouth after all." He snapped his fingers, and his men backed away from Miley and her family. "See? We’re reasonable men. You pay, and everyone stays happy." Julius tilted his head. "Good. Now, get lost." But the leader didn’t move. His smirk returned, darker this time. "You know, since you’ve got money to burn, maybe you wouldn’t mind throwing in a little more. A man like you… surely you can spare another fifty million for the sake of this pretty girl? I'm sure you don't want her to become our little whore, even though it would be the perfect use of her beauty and skills.” A muscle ticked in Julius’ jaw, but he didn't show any signs of his anger. "I see. Like a stray mutt who finds a bone, now you think you own the whole butcher shop." His eyes darkened. "No." The leader’s face twisted. "Big mistake." With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his men. "Teach this arrogant bastard a lesson." The gangsters rushed forward. Julius didn’t even bother standing. The first man lunged—only to be sent crashing to the floor with a single flick of Julius’ wrist. Another swung at him, but Julius barely moved, shifting just enough for the punch to miss. Before the attacker could react, Julius grabbed his arm, twisted it effortlessly, and sent him flying into another goon. Within seconds, bodies littered the floor, groaning in pain. Julius yawned. "Is this all?" The leader, now sweating bullets, took an instinctive step back. Julius finally moved, standing to his full height. In the next second, he was in front of the leader, his hand wrapping around the man’s throat. With one swift motion, he slammed him onto the table, the wood creaking under the impact. The leader gasped, his face turning red. Julius leaned down, his voice cold. "You walked in here thinking you were the predator. Turns out, you were just a rabbit wandering into a lion’s den." The leader clawed at his grip, but Julius didn’t budge. "Now, take your dogs and crawl back to whatever sewer you came from," Julius said, squeezing just enough to make the man choke. "Before I decide you’re not even worth the air you’re breathing."
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