The Supreme Immortal’s Return To Earth

Seventy-Two Hours(II)

Adrian’s expression did not change. But something in him shifted. A coldness. A focus.

“What do you mean?”

“Sophia’s been getting phone calls. People following her when she walks home from work. They haven’t hurt her—not yet—but they’re making it clear that they could.” Daniel’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve tried to keep her safe. I’ve tried to handle this. But I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t protect my own daughter.”

Elena set a cup of tea in front of Daniel. She did not say anything. She did not need to.

Adrian watched them both. Daniel, broken by failure. Elena, exhausted by worry. Sophia, somewhere out there, being threatened by people who thought they could use her to get what they wanted.

He had spent ten thousand years dealing with cultivators, emperors, and cosmic entities. He had faced enemies who could destroy worlds. He had stood at the edge of reality itself.

And now he was here. In a small kitchen. With a family that had nothing and no one.

He should not care. He should be focused on the fracture, on the Presence, on the mystery of his arrival. He should be investigating, not standing in a kitchen drinking tea.

But he did care.

He did not know why. He did not know how. But he did.

“The threats against Sophia,” he said. “Do you know who’s making them?”

Daniel shook his head. “Some of Voss’s people. I don’t know their names.”

“Where does Voss operate from?”

“His office is downtown. But he has people everywhere. He’s not the kind of man you can just walk up to and—” Daniel stopped. Looked at Adrian. “Why are you asking these questions?”

Adrian met his eyes. “Because I’m going to fix this.”

Daniel stared at him. “Adrian—”

“I’m going to fix this,” Adrian repeated. “You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

Daniel’s expression shifted. Confusion. Concern. A hint of something that might have been fear. “You’re nineteen years old. You just got out of the hospital. You can’t—”

“I can.”

The words were quiet. Certain. They did not sound like the words of a nineteen-year-old university student. They sounded like the words of someone who had never encountered a problem he could not solve.

Daniel opened his mouth to argue. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

The man on the doorstep was not tall. He was not broad. He was not physically imposing in any way. But he had the eyes of someone who had never needed to be imposing—someone who had spent his entire life letting other people do the intimidating for him.

Behind him were two men who were imposing. Large. Muscular. The kind of men who had been hired for their ability to make people feel afraid.

Tommy “Needles” Jones smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Vale,” he said. “I’m here to collect.”

Daniel stood in the doorway. His face was pale. His hands were shaking.

“I already told you,” he said. “I don’t have the money.”

“I know.” Tommy’s smile widened. “That’s why I’m here to collect something else.”

He held out a piece of paper. Daniel took it. Read it. His face went whiter.

“This is—you can’t do this.”

“I can. The paperwork is all in order. You signed the loan agreement. You agreed to the terms. And now, since you’ve failed to meet those terms, the collateral is forfeit.” Tommy’s smile did not waver. “We’re taking the house, Mr. Vale. You have seventy-two hours to vacate.”

Daniel’s hands crumpled the paper. “This is our home. My children live here. My wife—”

“Should have thought about that before you borrowed money from people you couldn’t repay.” Tommy’s voice was almost gentle. “I’m not the bad guy here, Mr. Vale. I’m just the messenger.”

Adrian stepped into the doorway. He stood beside Daniel—not in front of him, not protecting him, just beside him.

Tommy looked at him. His expression flickered—recognition, perhaps, or the memory of a report he had read. “You’re the son. The one who got yourself beaten up.”

“I’m the son,” Adrian said.

“You should be in bed. You look like hell.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Tommy laughed. “I’m sure you have.” He turned back to Daniel. “Seventy-two hours, Mr. Vale. I’d start packing if I were you.”

“Wait.”

Tommy stopped. Turned. Looked at Adrian with mild interest.

“Your name is Tommy,” Adrian said. “Tommy Jones. People call you Needles. I don’t know why—I’m assuming it’s not because you’re good at sewing.”

Tommy’s smile faded slightly. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I’ve done more than that.” Adrian stepped forward. The movement was casual, unhurried, almost lazy. “I know who you work for. I know what he wants. I know that he’s been threatening my sister.”

Tommy’s hand moved toward his jacket. “You should stop talking.”

“You should listen.” Adrian’s voice was still quiet. Still calm. But there was something beneath it now—something that had not been there before. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can leave now. You can tell your boss that the Vale family is not for sale. And you can walk away and never come back.”

Tommy’s hand was inside his jacket now. “Or?”

“Or you can stay. And you can find out why you should have taken the first option.”

Tommy laughed. “You’re a kid. You think you can threaten me?”

“I’m not threatening you,” Adrian said. “I’m warning you.”

Tommy pulled out a knife.

The two men behind him did the same.

Daniel grabbed Adrian’s arm. “Adrian, don’t—”

Adrian moved.

It was not superhuman speed. It was not supernatural power. It was simply the movement of a body that had been trained for ten thousand years—that had been refined into a weapon so precise that even without spiritual energy, without cultivation, it could still outperform any ordinary human.

He caught Tommy’s wrist before the knife could move. He twisted—not hard enough to break, just hard enough to cause pain. Tommy gasped. The knife fell.

Adrian stepped past him. The first enforcer swung. Adrian ducked, pivoted, and drove his elbow into the man’s ribs. The second enforcer lunged. Adrian caught his arm, used his momentum against him, and sent him crashing into the door frame.

It took less than ten seconds.

The three men were on the ground. Tommy was cradling his wrist. The enforcers were groaning. No one was seriously injured—Adrian had made sure of that—but no one was getting up any time soon.

Adrian knelt beside Tommy. His voice was still quiet. Still calm.

“You should worry less about the mistake I made and more about the one you’re about to make.”

Tommy stared at him. There was no anger in his eyes now. Only fear.

“What are you?” he whispered.

Adrian stood. “I’m the son of this family. And I’m telling you—leave. Now. And don’t come back.”

Tommy scrambled to his feet. His enforcers followed. They stumbled to their car. They drove away.

Adrian watched them go.

Then he turned back to the house.

Daniel was standing in the doorway. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide.

The young man who could barely speak to strangers just dismantled three armed men without breaking a sweat.

“Adrian,” Daniel said. His voice was hoarse. “What happened to you?”

Adrian looked at him. He did not answer.