My Reputation System Makes Me Rich

Chapter 6 Crushing the Enforcer

The threat of exposing tax evasion evidence shattered Mr. Brandon's pride, forcing him down on all fours to pick up the gold pen. The stout man signed the deed, surrendering the ownership of Greenwood Market to Alex.

An hour later, Alex's taxi pulled up right in front of the Greenwood Market gates. The atmosphere was tense and chaotic. Dozens of vendors stood shoulder-to-shoulder, wielding sharpened bamboo stakes and wooden planks to block the entrance.

“Lex, thank goodness you're back!” Sammy ran toward Alex, breathless and visibly pale.

“Sam, what happened? Where's the heavy machinery?” Elang asked, stepping quickly through the crowd.

“The heavy machinery hasn't arrived yet, but Damon and a dozen of his men are still rampaging at the vegetable market up front. They’re beating up anyone who refuses to clear out their goods.”

“Sam, tell the vendors to fall back. Let me handle them.”

“Are you crazy? They're armed, Lex!”

“Sam, just fall back. I don't want anyone else getting hurt.”

Alex pushed his way through the line of vendors and stepped inside. Broken glass and rotten vegetables lay scattered across mud and puddles. Amid the turmoil, Damon stood with an arrogant look on his face, slamming his iron pipe against a metal pole, creating a deafening racket.

“Your time is up! Smash every stall that's still standing!” Damon roared, barked orders to the dozen fierce-looking thugs behind him.

“Damon, stop right there!” Alex's voice boomed across the area, freezing all the thugs in their tracks.

Damon turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the man in the tattered shirt—the same guy he had dumped into a dark alley just last night. Damon burst into hysterical laughter.

“Well, look who showed up! Our wannabe hero isn't dead after all,” Damon mocked, pointing his iron pipe at Alex. “Did you come back here asking for another beating?”

Alex didn't bother responding to the taunts. He raised a clear plastic folder high, then pulled out an official document bearing a golden seal. “Damon, take your dogs and get out of here right now. This land doesn't belong to Mr. Brandon anymore.”

Damon frowned and stepped closer. “What piece of paper is that? Your graduation diploma? Don't make me laugh, tramp.”

“This is the official title deed. Greenwood Market belongs to me as of this afternoon. The heavy machinery isn't coming, and you have no business here anymore.”

The vendors hiding in the crowd whispered among themselves in disbelief. The poor porter had actually kept his promise. However, Damon's laughter only erupted louder, joined by the condescending chuckles of his men.

“So, you bought it? Where did you get the money? Did you sell a kidney?” Damon wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “Let's pretend that paper is real and you're the new boss. Congratulations on your achievement, 'Boss'.”

“If you already know I'm the new boss, then get the hell out of here.”

“Hold on a second.” Damon tilted his head, eyeing Alex with malice. “You think that piece of paper gives you power on these streets? Mr. Brandon might have owned this land, but we control its security.”

As Damon uttered those words, a wave of realization washed over Alex's mind. Rather than displaying a rigid notification, the System injected direct understanding straight into his nerves, informing him that mere legal ownership was not enough to maximize his reputation.

This market had inherited a dark curse that had choked the vendors for years through forced protection money. The System granted Alex full freedom to use his wealth to eradicate it.

“There will be no more protection fees in this market. Starting today, all extortion is abolished,” Alex said firmly.

“Abolished?” Damon sneered again. “You're so naive. Mr. Brandon paid me one hundred million every month so this market would stay safe from 'mysterious fires' and riots. If you refuse to pay, I can't guarantee these stalls will still be standing tomorrow.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I'm teaching you how things work around here, tramp!” Damon leaned forward, thrusting his face near Alex's. “Who do you think you are? You only have paper for legality, but we hold the blood and lives in this market! Hand over one hundred million right now for this month's protection f*e, or I'll break both your legs in front of every vendor here!”

Sammy shouted from a distance, “Lex, just pay them! They have no mercy! We can pool today's sales together!”

“Shut up, Sam!” Alex snapped, his gaze locked onto Damon's face. “I will never give a single rupiah to bloodsuckers like you.”

“So you choose the hard way?” Damon spun his iron pipe arrogantly. “I was actually looking for some entertainment this afternoon. Smash the display cases up front and let our new boss learn that protection money is much cheaper than rebuilding his market.”

The thugs burst into loud laughter, slapping their iron pipes against their palms as they prepared to destroy the nearest displays. Alex stood tall, glaring sharply at the gang of loan sharks who thought they owned the world.

Without flinching, Alex took a firm step forward. The air around him suddenly grew suffocatingly cold, heavy with an invisible, crushing pressure that made several thugs involuntarily halt their steps. The System's latent energy surged quietly through his veins, amplifying his aura and filling his eyes with a deadly, unwavering composure. The trembling vendors gasped in unison, sensing the dangerous shift. Even Damon’s confident posture stiffened for a brief second, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened nervously around the heavy, cold iron pipe before forcing another arrogant sneer.

“You really think you can chase us out just by waving a piece of paper, tramp?” Damon spat right at the tip of Alex's shoe, a subtle, disgusting smirk spreading across his face.

“I don't need a piece of paper to throw filthy trash out of my own house.”

“Oh yeah? With that face still battered and bruised? You think you can drive out a pest like me who's been rooted here for years?”