The Forsaken Man Who Shook The World

Chapter 9. The Brawl!

Bastian’s head throbbed the moment he realized the mistake. His men must have committed a fatal error. If it was true that this man was a Titanium Member of the Raksa family, then he could only be one of two people—the true owner of Munich Light Club, Mr. Emerald himself, or his son, Jackson Raksa Hethawey! Only the club’s owner and heir possessed the Titanium card—the single, most exclusive membership in existence.

As soon as Bastian stepped out of the elevator, his eyes widened in shock. Right there, his guard was brawling with Jackson, whose face was now unmistakably clear to him.

Dead. We’re in deep trouble!

“M-Mr. P-pres—” Bastian stammered, but his words caught in his throat.

The guard froze in terror when he saw his own manager bowing in respect to the very man he had just assaulted.

“Why are you so late?! What have you been doing, Bastian?!” Jackson’s voice cut sharp.

“M-my apologies, M-master! Nando! Release Master Sultan this instant! Do you have a death wish?!”

“B-but… but he didn’t bring his membership card, Mr. Bastian.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! He is Master Sultan!” Bastian snapped, realizing Jackson clearly didn’t want his true identity exposed just yet.

Jackson’s voice turned icy. “Remember this—we are not done. I will return and settle the score with you. Bastian! Show me to the room!”

“Y-yes, Master.”

With utmost respect, Bastian led Jackson inside and into the elevator.

The waiters and staff who had witnessed the scene stood frozen. They had just seen their manager treat Jackson as though he were the owner himself. Nobody dared whisper another word after hearing Jackson’s chilling threat to the guard.

Bastian guided him toward the Gold Member private room, where Jacob Wagendez was entertaining his friends.

As they entered, they were immediately blocked by several bodyguards. It was clear Jacob and his companions had been plotting something.

“Who allowed you to enter here?! Get out!” one barked.

“I am the manager of Munich Light Club!” Bastian declared.

“Like hell you are! I don’t care if you’re the manager, the father, or the grandfather of this club owner—we are members here, and we won’t tolerate this intrusion! Get out!”

Jackson recognized them at once—Jacob’s so-called friends: Dirman, Santoso, and Hendrik. The same men who had mocked and insulted him before.

Before Bastian could respond, the bodyguards lunged forward, attacking both Jackson and Bastian at once.

Hyaaaak! Brughhhht!

But Jackson was ready. In a split second, he dodged and countered, landing a powerful blow straight into one guard’s face. His fists rained down in rapid succession, sending the man staggering backward before crashing to the floor.

Two more bodyguards swarmed Bastian, leaving him struggling. But Jackson had no time to help—for Hendrik and the others had now rushed at him directly.

His hawk-like eyes swept the room. In a flash, he realized Brielle and Jacob weren’t there. Then his sharp gaze caught sight of a small emergency button on the wall—a button only known to high-ranking insiders of the club.

Without hesitation, Jackson launched into his training. Years of Sanshou and wrestling techniques came flooding back.

He stomped hard, propelling himself upward. His feet struck the knees of the closest guard, using the momentum to vault higher. In midair, he slammed the emergency button with precision—then crashed down with a crushing blow to Hendrik’s skull.

Crack!

The sickening sound of Hendrik’s neck jerking echoed. Jackson flipped forward, his hands locking onto another opponent’s shoulders. In one powerful twist, he hurled the man across the room.

Without pause, he swung into the third, his iron fists driving deep into the man’s gut. The bodyguard crumpled instantly, gasping as he fell.

Bastian was already on the floor, battered and groaning. But the noise had drawn the attention of the club’s official security. More guards were rushing in.

Without wasting a second, Jackson strode out, determined to find Brielle and Jacob. His instincts told him they had retreated to a separate, private area.

Indeed, the club had discreet rooms reserved for customers too drunk or exhausted to leave.

Jackson stopped in front of one such private room, his breath heavy, heart pounding. But what he heard from inside froze him in place—moans and gasps, echoing through the door.

No. Impossible. Brielle isn’t that kind of woman.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. He refused to taint their marriage with suspicion alone.

Still, his hand turned the knob. Slowly, cautiously.

Then his eyes widened in disbelief—struck as if by lightning.

Not Jacob. No…

His wife. Brielle.

There she was, straddling Jacob, her body moving in rhythm, her moans filling the air. The sight hit Jackson like a blade through his chest. His blood turned to ice.

Jacob, noticing Jackson’s face peering through the crack in the door, smirked. A cruel idea lit up in his mind—an opportunity to crush Jackson’s pride completely.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, darling?” Jacob sneered, gripping Brielle’s waist.

“Emhhh… yes. It feels so good.”

Brielle’s voice—soft, breathless, and shameless—drove the dagger deeper.

Jackson’s stomach churned with disgust. His blood, frozen only moments ago, now boiled like fire.