Ethan looked at his mother. Her clear and insightful explanation instantly clarified why The Boss was willing to risk offending Zhao's backers to take over the casino.
At the same time, Ethan felt incredibly fortunate to have a mother like her.
For over a decade, she had given him a life that, while not wealthy, was ordinary and stable.
And now, as he was pulled into this whirlpool, she had transformed back into the astute woman who could easily unravel his confusion.
With her wisdom and connections, she was destined to achieve many things. Yet, for his sake, she had focused on just one thing from beginning to end.
Being a mother.
Ethan lay on the caregiver's bed. Listening to his mother's even breathing, he gradually drifted off to sleep.
"Goodnight, Mom."
The next morning, Ethan walked into school with his backpack and noticed his classmates giving him strange looks. Marcus Whitfield and his crew lowered their heads when they saw him, pretending not to notice.
Sitting at his desk, Ethan took out his books.
After morning self-study, the first period was their homeroom teacher's class. The teacher, absent for a few days, finally returned, two band-aids still visible on her face. When she saw Ethan, instead of showing any anger, she kindly asked if he had eaten breakfast. During class, she specifically made Marcus and the others stand up, sternly warning them that if she or the school caught them provoking Ethan or disrupting his studies again, they would face the strictest consequences.
"Ethan's grades have always been the highest in the school. He has a very real chance of becoming the top scorer in this year's college entrance exams! Not only the teachers at our City Prep No. 3, but even the leadership at the Board of Education are deeply invested in Ethan's academic performance."
"Sometime soon, officials from the Board of Education will personally visit the school to check on Ethan's progress."
After speaking, the teacher shot Marcus a final, warning glance.
But Marcus, in his current state, wouldn't dare bother Ethan. The scene from yesterday had scared him out of his wits.
Someone had even filmed the scene of the two beauties following Ethan, trailed by bodyguards and the Range Rover convoy. Some students had even set it as their phone wallpaper.
Ethan, calmly walking ahead in his school uniform, had shown everyone what it meant when understatement is the ultimate flex, and composure reveals true power.
In the afternoon, the school allotted the senior students forty minutes for dinner before evening self-study began at 7:10 PM.
Ethan used to go straight to help at the family fish stall. His excellent grades and special family situation meant no one enforced strict supervision. On the rare occasions he didn't need to help, he brought his own dinner to eat in the classroom.
But things were different now. His mother was hospitalized post-surgery, and Ethan had some money. He wasn't the type to seek out hardship unnecessarily. After school, he turned into the noodle shop next to the school and ordered a large bowl of fried knife-shaved noodles. At his age, a large bowl only filled him about seventy percent.
Ethan ate with his head down, scrolling through his phone—a new one he'd bought. Serena had sent him information about the casino, its rules, and procedures, all of which Ethan was memorizing.
"You're Ethan, right?"
A grating voice sounded. The chair opposite him was dragged noisily across the floor. A guy in his early twenties with bleached blond hair sat down across from him, accompanied by a girl in school uniform.
The blond guy had a few lackeys with him. They lit cigarettes and sat at two other tables without ordering anything.
The other students in the shop quickly moved their bowls to the far corner, afraid of getting involved.
Marcus Whitfield and his friends stood behind the blond guy.
"Hey, asshole, I'm talking to you. You deaf?" The blond guy blew smoke directly into Ethan's face.
Marcus quickly tugged on the blond guy's sleeve, shot a fearful glance at Ethan, and whispered something to him.
"Chill the fuck out! So what if his family has money? You think those old-timers are gonna touch us? Piss me off and I can beat this Ethan guy up four times a day. The old-timers can only get me once."
The blond guy rapped his knuckles on the table.
"Ethan, listen up. No matter who your people are, this area around City Prep No. 3 is my turf. You can be as tough as you want, but you lie low here, got it? Marcus runs with me. So he runs this school."
Ethan kept his eyes on his phone, ignoring the blond guy. It wasn't that he didn't care about the taunts, but the message he'd just received was more important.
"Got word. Someone's coming for your trophy! They're already on their way to the school to find you!"Reading Serena's message, Ethan's head snapped up, his eyes scanning the room. His thumb and forefinger tightened around the disposable chopsticks in his hand.
Seeing Ethan continue to ignore him, the blond guy's anger flared. He flicked his cigarette ash directly into Ethan's noodle bowl.
Just then, a figure entered the noodle shop. A man in his thirties, wearing a jacket, about average height, inconspicuous, looking like any other customer. But Ethan was sure—it was him!
This noodle shop near the school catered almost exclusively to seniors in the afternoon. Besides show-off wannabe gangsters, hardly anyone else came here, as the owner prioritized serving students needing to get back for evening self-study.
The man in the jacket walked towards the counter, passing right by Ethan's table.
"Hey, dipshit, I'm talking to you! You listening?" The blond guy was furious. Being ignored like this was a huge blow to his ego.
In that instant, Ethan suddenly stood up. The blond guy flinched backward reflexively.
As he rose, Ethan's right thumb and forefinger pressed down hard, snapping one of the disposable chopsticks and creating a sharp, makeshift wooden spike. Gripping it, Ethan thrust it straight towards the jacket-wearing man's eye.
The man, who had seemed like just a passerby, exploded into motion simultaneously. A knife slid from his sleeve into his hand, and he spun, driving the blade towards Ethan's abdomen.
Ethan yanked his hand back, twisting his body to dodge, and swung the wooden stool he'd been sitting on hard at the man's head.
Crash! The stool splintered apart. Screams erupted throughout the small restaurant. The blond guy, cigarette still in hand, froze in terror. He was used to intimidating naive students, had even been in fights with knives involved—but always with a dozen guys chasing one. He'd never seen a sudden, one-on-one knife fight like this.
The stool shattered. The man in the jacket staggered back two steps but quickly regained his balance, lunging forward again, the knife seeking Ethan's body.
Ethan had taken the trophy from Jack "Two-Finger" Zhao at Lansway. This wasn't a secret within the circle. Anyone daring to come for Ethan's trophy now would undoubtedly be skilled.
A SWAT officer once said that even if you're trained in martial arts and can handle three or five unarmed attackers, the wisest choice when facing an armed assailant is to run.
Facing a blade, Ethan wasn't foolish enough to fight head-on. His initial strike had failed. He grabbed the noodle bowl from the table and hurled it at the man, used his hands to vault over the table, putting it between them, and snatched another stool, swinging it at the attacker's head.
The man merely raised his left arm to block the stool's impact, his right hand—holding the knife—never stopping its relentless attempts to stab and incapacitate Ethan.
Ethan barely dodged, but the knife still grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Dazed and unsteady from the stool blow, the man in the jacket swayed. Ethan used the moment to create more distance. A table now separated them as they both stood panting heavily.
The students were huddled terrified in the corner. The blond guy and his lackeys had also scrambled back, shrinking against the wall.