The shop was small, squeezed between a tailor's and a mechanic's. Its shutter rattled in the evening wind, the paint peeling, the smell of stale grain spilling into the street. Inside, the lamps glowed weakly, casting long shadows across sacks of flour and sugar.
The shopkeeper was an older man, beard streaked with grey, eyes tired but steady. He looked up when Younas stepped inside.
"Salam," the man greeted, polite but cautious.
Younas returned the salaam softly, his voice calm. He walked down the narrow aisle, fingertips brushing the sacks, as if he were inspecting them. His steps were unhurried, the silence deliberate.
"You've been told to pay," Younas finally said, turning to face him.
"Yet you refuse."
The shopkeeper's jaw tightened.
"I work for my family. I earn halal. I will not give a rupee to thieves."
Younas stared at him, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Halal or haram, the city eats men like you alive. You think honesty will shield you? It won't. Not here."
The man clenched his fists but stood firm.
"I fear no man. Only Allah."
Younas's eyes narrowed, and for a long moment he was silent. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Fear Allah. That is right. But men… men can make you bleed before you reach Him."
He stepped closer. The shopkeeper backed up, pressing against his own counter. Younas leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Tonight you'll learn that prayers do not stop fists."
---
The first blow came sudden — Younas's fist cracked across the shopkeeper's face, snapping his head sideways, blood spraying against the wooden counter. The man staggered, gasping, but Younas didn't pause. He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the sacks, dust exploding into the air.
The shopkeeper groaned, but Younas's grip was iron. He brought his knee up, driving it into the man's ribs, once, twice — until he heard the wet crunch of bone.
"You think this is about money?" Younas hissed, holding him by the beard now.
"It's about lesson. Money is only the shadow. Fear is the substance."
The man tried to speak, lips trembling, blood pooling in his mouth.
"Y-you are a devil…"
Younas smiled coldly.
"No. I am what devils fear."
He dragged the man across the floor, knocking shelves, bottles shattering. Then he lifted him with brute strength and hurled him against the shutter. The metal rang out like a drum, echoing into the street. Passersby froze, staring, but none dared enter.
Younas turned his head toward them, eyes burning, daring anyone to move. No one did.
He leaned close to the half-conscious shopkeeper.
"Tomorrow, the money will be ready. If it is not… I will not break bones. I will break bloodlines."
He let the man collapse in a heap, gasping for breath.
Then he straightened his shawl, stepped over the wreckage, and walked out.
The night swallowed him whole, and the city understood: a new monster had arrived.