Cliff had lost it. His eyes were bloodshot as he swung his fists, struggling to break free from Maxim's grip. Like a runaway train, he charged toward Scooter, stepping forward aggressively, putting relentless pressure on him.
Just three days ago, this same Cliff had been at odds with Maxim, urging him to give up. This same Cliff had believed the band had no future and that abandoning it was the best choice. This same Cliff had stood by, smugly watching the other band members' passion with a cold, detached air, as if he alone saw the truth while everyone else was deluded.
But now, that very same Cliff was stepping up, roaring with fury, throwing everything he had into defending the band. His unbridled anger lashed out without hesitation, his sharp, confrontational words teetering on the edge of crossing a line. It was all about to explode, and it was clear he'd finally pushed Scooter too far.
You could tell—Scooter's smile had lost its warmth. His entire vibe was cooling off, turning icy.
Maxim was barely holding Cliff back, his breathing heavy and ragged, his face full of unease. The situation was still spiraling out of control.
A thick, smoky tension filled the air, like a powder keg ready to blow. Things were looking grim.
"…And who the hell do you think you are? Justin-freaking-Bieber? Give me a break!"
Cliff didn't hold back, throwing the insult right in Scooter's face. It lit the fuse on the already tense standoff, cutting straight to Scooter's sore spot.
Sure, Justin Bieber was on the rise all year long. Last year, he'd even snagged a major Grammy nomination for Best New Artist. Right now, he was undeniably at the perfect moment to keep expanding his reach. But Justin Bieber was also the poster child for the internet age—an idol singer with a massive following of teenage girls, yet just as many haters. To some, he was an illegitimate star, covered head to toe in flaws and controversies.
Especially that curtain-style fringe of his—it had become an iconic target, sparking endless debates and mockery.
How could Scooter not know that?
Online gossip was one thing, but Cliff tearing into him like this, face-to-face, with no filter? That was a whole different beast. You could see Scooter's expression darken. His lips stayed curved upward, but there wasn't a trace of amusement in his eyes.
The air in the bar turned chilly, a sharp, murderous vibe creeping up everyone's spine.
Scooter brushed aside the figure blocking his view. "Move! Let him come at me! I bet he doesn't even have the guts to throw a punch!"
He stepped back into Cliff's line of sight, his smirk laced with mockery. His taunting gaze kept pushing, daring Cliff to make a move. "You know who I am. And I think you also know what I've got in my hands. One word from me, and I can bury your little nobody band. Trust me, it'd be no trouble at all."
"What are you guys even worth? You think you can take me on? You're not even in my league."
"Let me make this clear," Scooter said, his grin dripping with cruelty. "You're nothing. You just don't cut it. Even if you could, if I say you can't, then you can't." His words were brutal, bloody, and unapologetic, the mask slipping to reveal the ruthless power underneath.
Boom!
The rage broke free.
"Bullshit!"
Cliff's voice cut through, raw and forceful, shattering the polished facade Scooter had been holding up. Maxim froze for a split second, caught off guard, and his grip slipped. His fingers grasped at nothing but air as Cliff surged forward like a tiger let loose from its cage.
Oh no.
Maxim, Ollie, Scooter—everyone's faces shifted slightly. No one had expected Cliff to actually lose it, his impulses overriding all reason. He charged at Scooter, fists flying, no holding back. In a flash, the scene erupted into chaos.
"Cliff! Stop!"
A sharp, commanding shout rang out, deep and powerful, slamming into everyone's eardrums. The sound waves lingered, vibrating through the air. In an instant, the entire bar felt the weight of that authority, and every single person froze in place.
Even Cliff.
Truth be told, Cliff was panicking. He hadn't expected Maxim to actually let go. His body lurched forward uncontrollably, his mind scrambling to hit the brakes, but his momentum was already too much to stop. He was worried Scooter might fight back, leaving him no choice but to push forward, even though his heart was racing with dread. Why wasn't anyone stopping him? Had he lost it? Had they all lost it? Were they all insane?
Stop!
The booming yell from behind saved him. With a screeching halt, he managed to stop just inches from Scooter, regaining control of his body. His wide eyes locked onto Scooter, who was trembling, shrinking back with hunched shoulders. That crumpled, baozi-like face betrayed his fear and panic—a pathetic, cowardly mess, stripped of the swagger he'd been flaunting moments ago.
The voice belonged to Ronan, who'd finally snapped out of his daze. Just before things spiraled beyond repair, he'd pulled the reins tight, stopping the chaos in its tracks. Scooter was Scooter—not Trastan.
If it were Trastan, Ronan would've wanted to let loose and beat the guy senseless to vent his own anger. But this was Scooter. If they actually laid a hand on him, it'd mean police reports, legal filings, and a whole mess of endless consequences. Against Scooter, they couldn't afford to get physical.
Even in the chaos and confusion, Ronan held onto a thread of clarity. He saw the razor-thin edge Cliff and Scooter were teetering on and acted fast. "Cliff, don't pick on a kid! Can't you see he's so scared his legs are shaking? Back off already!"
A kid…
Scooter's calm facade was long gone. Fury took over as he clenched his fists and stepped forward, trying to provoke Cliff again.
But Cliff had already regained his senses. He caught Ronan's drift in an instant. When Scooter moved closer, Cliff didn't flinch or back down. Instead, he tightened his fist and swung it toward Scooter in a show of defiance—only this time, he kept it under control.
Scooter, all bluster and no bite, flinched back half a step. His trembling knees buckled, and he stumbled, nearly losing his balance and toppling over. The cowardly display left him with no dignity to speak of, his last shred of pride completely shattered.
Cliff let out a scoff, didn't bother saying another word, and turned to walk away. He made sure his fist didn't actually connect with that guy's face.
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