The mob's fury had drained into cold horror.
How strong is she?
Scarface's eyes glimmered red under the sunlight, reflecting the chaos she had just carved into the arena. She was no longer a victim of ridicule.
She was a force—a storm wrapped in human form, every scar and tattoo a badge of defiance, every movement a lesson in deadly elegance.
The crowd had witnessed carnage before. But never like this.
Scarface tapped her boot on the man's broken leg like she was checking the ripeness of a melon. Then, calmly, she stepped back.
That was when a deep voice cut through the paralysis.
"What's your name?"
The circle of men jolted. Heads turned.
A tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man strode into view, his back ramrod straight, his aura swallowing the mob's energy like a black hole. The guards snapped to rigid formation behind him, rows upon rows of cold eyes and blades.
The air itself thickened.
The men who had been jeering shrank back, their mouths drying up.
Scarface, grass-stem between her teeth again, looked up at the man without a trace of fear.
And smirked.
The stunned crowd immediately parted like waves splitting before a storm, opening a straight path from the towering middle-aged man to the little figure of Scarface. She was still standing with one filthy combat boot grinding into the sleazy man's face, tapping his cheek like she was trying to wake up a drunk dog.
Without lifting her gaze, she finally spoke:
"They call me Scarface. Who the fuck are you?"
The words were flat, casual, almost bored — yet they slashed through the silence like a razor blade.
The man approaching her was tall, iron-backed, his every step measured. Authority bled out of his presence. His gaze was sharp enough to cut bone, carrying the weight of someone used to commanding killers and kings alike.
"I'm the person in charge," he said evenly, his voice carrying without needing to shout. "You can call me Boss Li."
His eyes fixed on the disfigured little girl who stood with one leg planted on the ruined face of a groaning man, unbothered, chewing her blade of grass.
"Boss Li!"
"Big Boss!"
"Li Boss!"
The crowd's voice cracked in unison. Some barked the words, others nearly shrieked them in fear. Men who had been spitting obscenities minutes ago now bent their spines, bowing half-assed, scrambling to look respectful.
Boss Li raised one hand. The noise died instantly. The silence afterward was suffocating.
Scarface tilted her head. "Oh."
The word dropped like a pebble into a still pond.
"Oh?" the crowd repeated, dumbstruck.
"Oh!?" echoed another, disbelief turning to outrage.
"Oh… OH!?"
They stared, slack-jawed.
That was Boss Li — Boss Li! The man who held their lives like dice between his fingers. The man who decided whether they got a future or a death sentence. The boss of bosses, head of the Li Family, the one whose shadow stretched across oceans. He was the gatekeeper to survival, to wealth, to a ticket out of the gutter.
And this little scarred brat just said "oh."
No bow. No respect. No trembling knees.
Just oh.
The mob's veins bulged with outrage. A few slapped their own heads like they couldn't believe what they'd heard.
"Oh, her ass!" one snarled under his breath.
"That's Big Boss Li!"
"Is she insane? She's insane!"
Boss Li didn't flinch at the insolence. He just stared at Scarface, his aura pressing down like a mountain. Some of the weaker men shifted uncomfortably, sweat dripping down their backs.
Scarface looked right back at him — not just unfazed, but amused. Her lip curled into something halfway between a grin and a sneer.
Then, with deliberate indifference, she ground her boot harder into the sleazebag's face, smearing dirt and blood across his cheeks until his skin turned into a grotesque shoeprint.
The crowd twitched, horrified.
To them, she had just spat on the throne itself.
Boss Li's gaze turned darker, sharper, his voice as deep as a church bell.
"Do you know what you just did?"
Scarface cocked her head, grass stem still between her teeth.
"Mn. I broke his limbs."
Boss Li: "…"
The stoic guards: "…"
Everyone: "….."
The silence was so heavy it felt like the air itself had forgotten how to breathe.
Is she stupid? Or are we deaf? the crowd thought as one. That's what Boss Li was asking?!
Boss Li's eye twitched once, barely. "Why?"
Scarface's face hardened with solemn righteousness. "He coveted my beauty. It was self-defense, not fighting. I didn't violate the rules."
Boss Li: "….."
The guards: "…."
The mercenaries: "…"
Coveted her beauty?
What beauty?!
Where?! How?! When?!
The men all looked at each other, their faces twisted with disbelief. Were they blind? Was she blind?
Boss Li's jaw tensed as his mouth twitched fiercely, a man battling the urge to sigh in front of his subordinates.
He had seen shameless men. He had seen brazen liars. But this… this was something beyond mortal comprehension. A creature born of scars and audacity.
And then, with the snake tattoo writhing grotesquely across her cheek as she smirked, Scarface lifted her boot—
CRUNCH.
The sound was obscene. Like eggs cracking under a skillet.
The sleazy man's body convulsed. His eyes bulged. His mouth opened in a silent scream before it tore loose:
"AAAGGHHHHH!"
Every man present — mercenary, guard, killer, veteran — clutched his groin instinctively in unison. The arena suddenly looked like a gathering of ballet dancers mid-squat. Their faces paled, beads of sweat popped, and a cold chill slithered down their spines.
She hadn't just destroyed his limbs. She had cut off his entire bloodline.
Scarface leaned harder, grinding her heel slowly, like she was squashing a cockroach. Her grin widened, eyes glittering. "Crunchy. Just like breakfast."
The crowd collectively gagged.
One of the burliest mercenaries whimpered, "Mother of God…" while another muttered, "Even demons wouldn't go for the balls…"
The ugliest, vilest, most shameless she-demon alive had just revealed her true nature: a ball-destroyer.
Even Boss Li's eyelids flickered. His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second, then rose again — and his legs, beneath his robe, subtly pressed closer together.