The Dragonborn of Raymonds High

Revenge on the Former Boss

Late at night, Jones watched Bob sleeping soundly. He let a drop of his own blood fall into Bob’s mouth.

It was the most precious essence within a Dragonborn’s body—blood capable of mending even shattered bones.

By the next morning, everything had changed.

“Happy discharge day, Bob,” Jones said warmly, offering heartfelt congratulations to his fully recovered friend.

“Good Lord—what on earth happened? My leg is completely healed!” Bob stretched his limbs, his voice filled with excitement and disbelief.

“Come on. I’m taking you somewhere fun. Let’s give those arrogant guys at school a little shock,” Jones said as he slid into the driver’s seat of the Ferrari.

The Ferrari’s engine roared to life, and with the throttle pressed to the floor, the car leapt forward like a beast unleashed, devouring the asphalt beneath its tires.

Eventually, the car screeched to a halt in front of a Lamborghini dealership.

Bob blinked in disbelief. “Dude, don’t tell me you’re buying another car! You already have a Ferrari—this is insane!”

Jones didn’t answer. He had spotted someone unexpected standing near the entrance—his former boss, Pete.

The miserly, petty man who used to bark orders at him all day.

Back when Jones needed money to buy Catherine a handbag, he had endured endless humiliation under Pete’s thumb. The man was not only stingy and cruel but also jealous—especially of Jones’s looks. Every chance he got, Pete would assign him the dirtiest, hardest, most exhausting tasks, until Jones came home every night utterly drained.

The sight of the Ferrari had caught Pete’s attention too. He squinted, frowned—then straightened his tie and called out sharply,

“Jones! What are you standing there for? Get over here and carry my bags!”

Jones didn’t move. His eyes were calm, expression unreadable. He had no intention of ever bowing to this man again.

Seeing Jones ignore him, Pete’s face twisted with anger. His nose flared; his voice turned shrill.

“So that’s it? You think you can ignore me because you rented a Ferrari? Let me remind you—you’re fired! Don’t even think about coming back to work!”

“This Ferrari,” Jones said evenly, “is mine. Not rented.”

Pete burst into mocking laughter. “Yours? Don’t make me laugh, you broke loser! Even I’d have to think twice before buying a car like that.”

He turned to a nearby salesman and sneered, “These two are nobodies. Don’t waste your time—they can’t afford a tire, let alone a Lamborghini.”

The salesman gave Jones and Bob a quick once-over—their plain shirts, worn shoes, not a hint of wealth. Then he looked at Pete, perfectly tailored suit, polished Italian leather shoes, the air of money and arrogance. The difference was obvious.

So the salesman smiled obsequiously and said, “Of course, sir. I’ll be happy to assist you personally. Let me show you our latest models.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Pete puffed up his chest like a proud rooster and strutted into the showroom, soaking up the attention.

Only one younger salesman—slightly nervous but with clear, earnest eyes—didn’t judge by appearances. He stepped forward and greeted Jones and Bob politely.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I show you some of our latest Lamborghinis?”

Jones chuckled softly. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll waste your time? What if we can’t afford them?”

The young man smiled. “Of course not. Anyone who walks through these doors is my guest. It’s my job to introduce the cars, not to judge who can buy them.”

Bob gave him a thumbs-up. “Now that’s what I call service! You’re way better than that other clown.” He jerked his thumb toward the salesman still fawning over Pete.

Guided by the young salesman, Jones and Bob stepped inside the showroom.

Sunlight poured through the tall glass façade, soft and golden, reflecting off the sleek metallic bodies of the cars. The Lamborghinis gleamed like pieces of modern art—each curve bold and sensual, each reflection a dance of light and shadow. The sight alone was intoxicating, like tasting a fine aged wine.

“This is insane!” Bob exclaimed, eyes wide with pure excitement. “These cars are beautiful!”

The salesman smiled, launching into his pitch.

“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the specifications. This model comes with a 4.0T V8 engine, producing six hundred and fifty horsepower. Zero to sixty in just 3.6 seconds. When you drive one of these, every car on the road is in your rearview mirror.”

Bob laughed aloud. “Now that’s the kind of talk I like! Leaving everyone else behind—I love it!”

“You like this one?” Jones asked.

“Of course! Who wouldn’t?” Bob replied, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Then pick one,” Jones said with a smile.

“What?” Bob froze, stunned. “You mean… I get to choose one?”

“Today’s not about me buying a car,” Jones said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s about us. One Lamborghini each.”

He turned to the salesman, pulled out a black metal card, and said casually,

“Two Lamborghinis. Full payment, right now.”

Bob gaped. “You’re kidding, right? These things cost a fortune!”

“Relax, brother.” Jones grinned. “When Henry beat me down, you were the only one who stood by my side. I don’t forget things like that.”

The words carried easily across the room—and Pete, who had just been admiring a car, froze mid-step.

He spun around, eyes wide with disbelief. “Two Lamborghinis? Where the hell did you get that kind of money?! This is impossible!”

But when the transaction went through in full—clean, instant, undeniable—the color drained from Pete’s face.

He stared, speechless, unable to comprehend how the same “worthless kid” he once bullied had suddenly become rich beyond imagination.

The fawning salesman beside him blinked repeatedly, face pale with regret—he had misread everything.

Moments later, a bright yellow Lamborghini rolled to a stop right in front of Pete. The window slid down, and Jones’s golden eyes locked onto him like the gaze of a dragon.

Pete’s legs went weak. “W-what are you going to do?”

Jones’s voice was calm—but cold enough to freeze bone.

“Pete, consider this payback for how you treated me. Very soon, the police will be visiting your restaurant. You and I both know what you’ve been hiding there.”

Pete’s voice cracked into a shriek. “You’re bluffing! I’ve paid off everyone—I’m untouchable!”

“This time,” Jones said, starting the engine, “no one will help you. No one dares.”

He gave Pete one last meaningful look, then stepped on the accelerator. The Lamborghini roared away, its echo fading into the distance.

Pete stood frozen. Then his phone rang.

It was his wife.

“Pete! The restaurant’s been shut down! The officers said we’re being fined—one million dollars!”

Clatter!

The phone slipped from his trembling hands and hit the floor.

“One million…” he whispered, eyes widening in horror. The number alone was enough to destroy him.

He turned toward the street, staring at the disappearing Lamborghini until his knees gave out and he collapsed.

Now he finally understood—he had crossed a man he never should have provoked.

It was the biggest mistake of his life.

And no amount of regret could save him from what was coming.

“I was wrong…” Pete sobbed, falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face.