The Last Zekaron: Reborn for Absolute Revenge

C3

“Look at what the cat dragged in,” Damon shouted, his voice ringing over the quiet classical music.

The grand ballroom of the Grand Hyatt Imperial shone with crystal chandeliers and gold-leaf pillars. Three years ago, this exact party had been the night Lucas was stripped of his dignity. Back then, he had stood in the doorway trembling, clutching a cheap resume, begging for a bottom-tier position in the Vance Corporation.

Now, Lucas stood in the doorway again. He wore the exact same frayed gray suit, faded at the elbows and tight around his shoulders. But his posture was entirely different. His shoulders were set straight, his chin lifted, and his eyes held no fear. They were cold, empty, and fixed entirely on the man holding a glass of champagne fifty feet away.

The crowd of polished socialites turned as one, their silk gowns and tailored tuxedos rustling against the marble floor. Whispers rippled through the hall like a sudden cold draft.

“Is that really Lucas?”

“What is he wearing? Did security forget to check credentials at the front gate?”

“He looks like a beggar who stumbled into a king’s court.”

Jessica stood beside Damon, wrapped in a glittering crimson dress that hugged her frame. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut through the low murmur of the crowd.

“You actually showed up,” Jessica said, taking a step forward on her high heels. “I thought you had at least a shred of self-respect left, Lucas. Did you come here to pick up the leftovers from the catering trays?”

Lucas didn't answer. He didn't blink. He kept his feet planted on the plush red carpet, watching her lips move with total detachment. In his head, the memories of his past life played like a movie reel. In that past life, he had fallen to his knees right here. He had pleaded with Jessica not to break their engagement. He had let Damon spill wine over his head while the entire room laughed.

Not this time.

Damon sneered, swirling his expensive vintage wine. He adjusted the diamond cuff links shining on his wrists and walked slowly toward Lucas. Each step was arrogant, calculated to draw the maximum number of eyes from the surrounding lords and corporate titans.

“Let him speak, Jessica,” Damon said, his tone dripping with condescending pity. “Maybe he came to apologize for his father’s bankrupt estate. Or maybe he came to beg me for a job as my personal driver. Is that it, Lucas? Are you here to scrub my tires?”

Lucas remained silent. He let the words hang in the air, heavy and poisonous.

“Look at him,” Damon continued, turning his back slightly to address the gathering crowd. “He can’t even afford a decent tie. His family name is trash. His father is dying in a public ward, and he’s standing in my ballroom acting like he belongs here.”

Jessica stepped up beside Damon, curling her arm through his. “He’s always been pathetic, Damon. He thought holding a piece of paper from a university meant something. In this world, money and power talk. Trash like him just gets swept away.”

“You’re right, babe,” Damon chuckled, raising his glass higher. “He’s nothing more than a stray dog. And stray dogs need to learn where to sit.”

Damon took a step closer until he was only two feet away from Lucas. He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough so the front row of onlookers could hear every single word clearly.

“Hand over the last share certificate your father gave you,” Damon hissed softly. “Do it right now, crawl out that door on your hands and knees, and maybe I’ll pay for your old man’s oxygen tank for another month.”

Lucas looked directly into Damon’s eyes. He saw the pride, the greed, and the utter lack of humanity that had destroyed his entire life in his previous timeline.

Lucas didn't argue. He didn't shed a tear. He didn't utter a single defensive word.

He simply took one quick step forward.

Before Damon could even register the movement, Lucas’s left hand shot out like a steel vice. His fingers clamped brutally around Damon’s designer silk collar, twisting the fabric tight against his throat.

Damon’s eyes went wide with shock. “What the—”

Lucas pulled Damon forward by two inches, leaning in close to his ear.

“You talk too much,” Lucas whispered.

Lucas swung his right hand back and brought his palm across Damon’s face with everything he had.

CLACK!

The sound of the open-handed slap echoed through the vaulted ceiling like a gunshot. It cut through the background music, through the chatter, and through the air itself, dropping the entire ballroom into absolute, suffocating silence.

The force of the strike shattered Damon’s jaw alignment instantly. Blood, mixed with broken teeth and spittle, flew across the pristine white marble floor. Damon’s body spun half a turn in mid-air before he crashed heavily onto his side, knocking over a tray of champagne flutes. Glass shattered everywhere, coating his suit in golden alcohol and dark red blood.

Jessica shrieked, clutching her face as her eyes widened in pure horror.

The wealthy guests gasped in unison, scrambling backward as if a wild predator had just been released into their midst. Nobody moved to help Damon. Nobody dared to take a step toward Lucas.

Damon lay on the floor, groaning in agony, clutching his crushed cheekbone as blood leaked through his fingers onto the expensive rug.

A glowing translucent screen flooded the air directly in front of Lucas’s vision, shining with brilliant neon blue numbers that only he could perceive.

[QUEST COMPLETE: Public Retribution Phase 1]

[REWARD: Base Physical Strength Upgraded by 200%]

[WARNING: Side Effect Activated!]

[Host’s residual kindness toward target 'Damon Vance' permanently erased.]

Lucas felt a strange, icy sensation rush through his veins. The lingering ache in his chest, the faint ghost of guilt or hesitation he had carried since waking up three years in the past, evaporated instantly. His mind became terrifyingly clear. He looked down at the bleeding man on the ground not with hatred, but with the cold apathy one might offer a crushed insect.

The crowd remained frozen, paralyzed by the sudden violent shift in power.

Near the back of the VIP lounge, sitting on a black leather couch, Lord Lancelot slowly lowered his glass. For the entire evening, Lancelot had maintained a bored, amused smile, watching the lower-class drama unfold like a cheap play.

Now, his smile vanished completely. His dark eyes narrowed into sharp, lethal slits as he stared at Lucas’s calm face.

Lancelot stood up. The heavy ring on his middle finger caught the chandelier light as he straightened his black coat. The crowd parted instantly, creating a wide, terrified path for the true ruler of the city’s underground hierarchy.

Lancelot walked over slowly, his leather shoes clicking against the hard floor. He paid no attention to Damon, who was still gasping and bleeding on the carpet. He stopped right beside Lucas.

Lancelot reached out and placed a heavy, firm hand on Lucas’s right shoulder. He squeezed tightly, his fingers digging into the worn fabric of the cheap suit.

Lancelot leaned down, bringing his lips close to Lucas’s ear, and whispered in a low voice that carried no emotion at all:

“Interesting. Sleep well tonight. You won’t see tomorrow.”