The following evening, Yuhon sat at the kitchen table, a textbook on agricultural soil pH levels open in front of him. He wasn't reading it. His focus was on the local news feed scrolling on his phone.
"...continued complaints about the 'Iron Serpents,' a C-rank group reportedly demanding protection fees from businesses in the old industrial sector," the newscaster reported with a bland professionalism that failed to mask the frustration of the shop owners they interviewed.
"They're not even subtle about it," Yuhon muttered, scrolling through a picture of a spray-painted serpent logo on the brick wall of a auto repair shop.
"Trouble, dear?" Aoqi asked, not looking up from her needlepoint. She was embroidering a surprisingly violent scene of a fox outwitting a pack of hounds.
"Just the usual. Another group of idiots thinking they're tough because they managed to flunk out of Hunter certification," Yuhon said, closing his textbook with a definitive thump. "The Iron Serpents. C-ranks. Shaking down a mechanic and a noodle shop. Pathetic."
Zerkon looked up from sharpening a scythe on the back porch, the rhythmic shhh-click, shhh-click pausing. "C-ranks, you say? Nuisance level. Like aphids on the roses. Annoying, but not exactly a threat to the crop." He resumed his sharpening. "Still, best to deal with aphids before they multiply."
Yuhon looked from his father to his mother. Their casual dismissal was its own form of permission. "Yeah. Aphids." He stood up, stretching. "I'm going to go… study at Jin's house for a bit. Group project."
Aoqi smiled serenely. "Give his parents my best. And Yuhon?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"If you're going to be dealing with… aphids," she said, her eyes still on her needlepoint, "remember to be thorough. They have a tendency to come back if you're not."
Yuhon grinned. "Thorough. Got it."
---
An hour later, the Grinning Fox stood on the roof of a defunct textile mill, looking down at the Iron Serpents' "headquarters"—a rented garage bay next to the very auto shop they were extorting. It was a step up from the arcade backroom, but not by much. Loud rock music and the smell of cheap beer spilled out into the night.
Okay, Yuhon thought, cracking his neck. C-ranks. Probably have some low-tier enhancement skills. Maybe a weak elemental affinity or two. Nothing to worry about. He remembered his father's words. Thorough.
He didn't bother with the skylight this time. He simply dropped down to the pavement in front of the open garage door, landing without a sound. He took a moment to project his presence, his frame seeming to solidify and expand in the dim light.
There were five of them. Two were playing a loud game of darts. One was tinkering with a motorcycle. The last two were counting a small pile of cash on a workbench.
The Fox stepped into the pool of light. "Evening, gentlemen."
The music was too loud. The guy with the motorcycle revved the engine, laughing at something his friend said.
The Fox sighed. He pointed a finger at a stack of empty oil cans in the corner. A tiny, almost invisible wisp of blue flame shot out. It touched the cans for a fraction of a second, just enough to superheat the air inside one of them.
BOOM.
The can erupted not with fire, but with a deafening bang, rocketing into the ceiling and clattering back down.
Silence descended, broken only by the ringing in everyone's ears. Five heads snapped toward the doorway.
"I said," the Fox repeated, his voice a low, projected rumble that vibrated in the sudden quiet, "evening."
The biggest of them, a guy with a snake tattoo coiling up his neck, recovered first. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"I'm the exterminator," the Fox said, taking a step inside. "I hear you have a pest problem."
The one at the workbench, a skinny guy with greasy hair, sneered. "Get lost, freak. This is Iron Serpent territory."
"I know," the Fox said. "That's why I'm here. You have something that doesn't belong to you. The money from Old Chen's noodle shop and Li's garage. I'm here to collect it. All of it. Plus a…delivery fee."
Snake-Tattoo laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You and what army?"
"No army," the Fox said. He gestured around the grimy garage. "This'll be more than enough."
That was all the provocation they needed. They were C-ranks, overconfident and used to bullying civilians. They fanned out, two pulling out weighted clubs, another cracking his knuckles, his hands taking on a faint, stony texture. The skinny one stayed by the money, looking nervous.
The first one lunged, club swinging in a wide, telegraphed arc. The Fox didn't move. He let the club descend, then caught it an inch from his shoulder. The thug's eyes widened in shock. The Fox twisted his wrist, and the club splintered with a sound like snapping bones.
Before the man could react, the Fox planted a hand on his chest and shoved. It wasn't a powerful push, but it carried perfect, focused force. The man flew backward as if launched from a cannon, crashing into the motorcycle and sending both clattering to the floor in a heap of metal and groaning limbs.
The two with clubs came at him together. The Fox moved between them like water. A precise, knife-hand strike to the first one's wrist numbed his hand, sending his club clattering away. A spinning back kick caught the second in the ribs, lifting him off his feet and depositing him neatly into a stack of tires.
The one with stony skin roared and charged, a human battering ram. The Fox didn't retreat. He met the charge, one hand snapping out to grip the man's stone-hard fist. There was a grinding sound. The man's confident smirk vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain as the Fox's grip tightened, the stone skin cracking under the pressure.
"A little brittle," the Fox commented, before driving a palm strike into the man's stomach. The air left his lungs with a pained whoosh, and he folded over, his enhancement crumbling as he collapsed.
The Fox turned to the skinny guy still hovering by the workbench, his face pale. "The money. And the delivery fee. Now."
The man fumbled, shoving the cash into a paper bag with trembling hands. "H-how much is the fee?" he stammered.
The Fox looked around the ruined garage. "Let's call it… everything you've got on you. Wallets, too. Consider it a lesson in financial planning."
A few minutes later, the Fox stood over five groaning, wallet-less men. He held the bag of cash and a handful of credit cards.
"Now, for the thorough part," he said, his voice cold. He pointed at the spray-painted serpent logo on the wall. "You're going to clean that up. Every last trace. You're going to return to Old Chen and Li, and you're going to apologize. And then you're going to find new jobs. Honest ones. Because if I see so much as a serpent-shaped doodle in this town again…"
He didn't finish the threat. Instead, he opened his hand. In his palm, a complex, beautiful sculpture of ice crystallized into being—a perfect, intricate rose. Then, with a whisper, it was engulfed in silent blue flames, vanishing into a wisp of steam.
The five men stared, their eyes wide with terror that went far beyond the pain of their injuries.
"...I'll be disappointed," the Fox finished. "And I am a lot less friendly when I'm disappointed."
He turned and walked out, leaving them in the silent, wrecked garage.
---
Yuhon slipped back into the house just after nine. The smell of fresh-baked cookies filled the air.
"Back already?" Zerkon asked from his armchair. He was reading a farming equipment catalog. "Group project finished?"
"Yep. All wrapped up," Yuhon said, dropping onto the couch. "Jin's mom sent cookies." He held up the paper bag, now devoid of cash but full of chocolate chip goodness.
Aoqi emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Oh, how lovely! And how is the… pest situation in town?"
"Taken care of," Yuhon said, grabbing a cookie. "I think they got the message. They're going to be… redecorating and rethinking their career choices."
"Good," Zerkon grunted, turning a page. "Aphids. Nasty things."
"Indeed," Aoqi agreed. She took a cookie from the bag and nibbled it thoughtfully. "You know, I was listening to the radio. The local community bulletin. Old Chen called in. He said some anonymous donor left a bag of cash taped to his door with a note that said 'For the best noodles in town.' He sounded very happy."
Yuhon smiled. "That's nice."
"And Mr. Li from the garage," she continued, her eyes twinkling. "He called to say a group of young men showed up first thing this morning, washed all his windows, fixed a dent in his delivery truck, and apologized profusely for 'tracking mud' into his shop last week. He said they seemed very… motivated to be better citizens."
Zerkon looked up from his catalog, a rare, full grin spreading across his face. "Thorough. I like it. Shows follow-through." He pointed a finger at Yuhon. "That's the difference between a job and a job well done."
Yuhon finished his cookie, a deep sense of satisfaction settling over him. It wasn't the world-shaking thrill of facing A-ranks. It was quieter, better. He'd helped people. He'd solved a problem. And he'd done it with his parents' dry, unwavering support.
"Yeah," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I guess it is."