There were at least twenty men in the room. All of them were down in seconds, and Vincent hadn't even lifted a finger.
Jay took out most of them. Alen finished the rest.
It was almost… underwhelming.
Now, the supposed leader of the thugs knelt on the floor, his face pressed against the cold tile. They were in his office, yet Jay was the one lounging in the boss's chair like he owned the place.
"I apologize for the rude welcome," the man muttered. "We've had some internal power struggles lately. I had to put on a show of strength—"
Smack!
Alen slapped him across the face, gripping his hair like he was a rag doll. The man's cheek was already swollen from earlier slaps. His voice cracked.
"I'm sorry. I really am…"
His name was Gerald Lee—once known as the Walking Nightmare and the leader of DMK crew. Before Don Angel, he was a legend. There'd been whispers about him running a loan business these days, but no one knew it was under Yellowsaber's umbrella.
"Enough, Alen," Jay said at last. His voice was calm, but deadly. "Tell me, Gerald… what kind of internal struggle justifies withholding our money?"
"It's in the safe," Gerald stammered. "There's been talk… that the Yellowsaber gang is about to be destroyed. Some of my men didn't want to pay anymore. I—I tried to stand up to them, but I didn't want them to think I was scared so I—"
Jay leaned forward, his expression hardening. "What did you say?"
Gerald hesitated. That was a mistake.
Crack!
Another slap from Alen. "Are you deaf?"
"W-we heard you're about to go to war… with the Triads," Gerald blurted.
Alen's face fell. "Triads?" He looked at Jay. "Have you heard anything about this?"
Jay didn't answer. He was deep in thought. After a moment, he sighed and stood up.
"I see now... Gerald, do you remember what I did for you?"
"Yes," the man whispered, not daring to lift his eyes. "You spared my life."
"I begged the boss to let you live because I thought you could still be useful."
"I can! I will!" Gerald crawled closer, his bruised hands trembling. "Just give me another chance."
Jay's voice was cold. "If you can't even control your own men, what good are you?"
Vincent had never seen Jay like this before. Calm, ruthless and commanding. The same went for Alen, he was brutal, and unshaken, treating the legendary Gerald like a child. Even if he wasn't one of the top members, he certainly wasn't weak.
Neither of them looked like killers… but that only made them more terrifying.
'So this is what it means to be in a gang,' Vincent thought, doing his best to hide how shaken he was.
Jay adjusted his jacket and stepped away from the desk. "I'll spare you again. For old time's sake."
"Thank you, Silver Fang. I won't forget this—"
BANG!
The office door exploded off its hinges. A mountain of muscle stormed through it like a freight train.
He was built like a gorilla, every inch of him muscle. His grin was wide and arrogant.
"I heard our precious Jay was here. Thought I'd come pay my respects."
His gaze dropped to Gerald, still kneeling. "Seriously, Gerald? You're bowing to this backstabbing bastard? I knew you were pathetic, but damn."
Jay didn't flinch. "Ivan. Still dramatic as ever."
Ivan sneered. "You should be grateful I haven't torn you in half yet. I still remember the day you betrayed us for that joke of a gang. But now? Your boss isn't here. And from what I hear… your days are numbered."
Alen took a step forward, fists clenched. "You better watch your damn mouth—"
Jay raised a hand, stopping him.
"I think Vincent should handle this one."
Vincent blinked. "Me?"
"He just insulted Yellowsaber. That means he insulted you too. What, are you going to let that slide?"
That logic felt shaky… but Vincent understood. If he wanted to survive in this world, and if he wanted to beat Don Angel someday, this was part of the journey.
"But… he's huge," Vincent muttered. He just couldn't help but compare him to Gutter, and that brought back traumatic memories.
"Then learn this now," Jay said. "You don't judge an opponent by their size. You fight. You win. Or you lose and live to fight again. It only ends when you die."
Even Alen looked confused by that one.
Vincent exhaled and stepped forward.
Ivan cocked an eyebrow. "Who's this punk? Too scared to fight your own battles, Jay?"
Vincent clenched his fist. "Shut the fuck up and face me, you dumbass."
It was bold to upset this beastly figure. Almost stupid. But more than anything, it was exciting.
Ivan laughed. "You've got a mouth on you."
He snapped his fingers. In seconds, the room flooded with men—at least fifty, armed with bats, chains, and knives.
"I'll bury you and your smart mouth right here. Maybe the Triads will reward me for it."
Vincent froze, but Jay didn't move an inch.
"You think gathering a crowd of amateurs makes you strong?" he asked quietly.
Ivan bared his teeth. "This isn't the same small-time crew you left behind. Gerald was ruining us, so I took over. These men are mine now. Every one of them is loyal to me, and every one of them is ready to bleed to end you."
Jay chuckled. "At least you admit you can't do it alone."
A vein pulsed in Ivan's temple. His eyes lit up with murderous fury.
"I'm going to enjoy killing you, you bastard." He pulled out a machete, brandishing it threatenly.
"Normally I would fight but to be honest I don't have time for this," Jay sighed.
"Gerald the money," he commanded,
"S-sure thing," Gerald said as he rushed to the safe and pulled out a heavy bag.
When Jay opened it, it was filled with dollar bills… a lot of dollar bills.
Jay turned it upside down, pouring every single thing on the ground.
"There's a 170k here, I'll only offer it to the first twenty people to attack that fucker,"
Ivan tensed up for a moment, that was a lot of cash but it seemed like nobody was taking the bait.
He smirked confidently, "You dumbass, why would they take your offer when we could just share the money after we are done with you and your lackeys,"
"Because the alternative is that I would kill the first twenty people to attack," Jay took out his knife once again.
"No mercy, instant death," he said coldly.