Chapter 32: Do not go down the path of crime. (Patreon)

The burly man licked his lips, his gaze lingering over Bulma and Lunch. "Why not hand one over and let me enjoy her too?"

Far from getting angry, the woman beside him giggled. "Stop it — saying something like that right in front of them."

The burly man grinned, flashing a mouth of yellow teeth. "Just kidding. Cheap women who throw themselves at pretty boys like this — I wouldn't want one even for free."

Bulma finally couldn't take it anymore and shot to her feet. "Who are you calling cheap?"

Oryon's eyes went cold. He glanced down and asked, "Bulma, if I kill him, can you smooth things over?"

Startled, Bulma quickly grabbed his arm. "Don't kill him — he's just an ordinary person, not worth it..."

But while Oryon had no interest in trouble, the burly man seemed determined to die.

Half a head taller than Oryon, the burly man looked down at him, the slabs of muscle on his face trembling. "What, you want to throw hands?

Kid, do you have any idea who I am?"

Oryon ignored him, turning instead to glance at the woman beside him. "You ugly woman — are you jealous?"

Furious, the woman shrieked, "Babe, he called me ugly — beat him for me!"

The other moviegoers nearby all turned to look.

This was a cinema, meant to be a quiet place, and the commotion immediately drew the staff's attention.

A young man in uniform hurried over and said in a lowered voice, "Excuse me, please keep it down — the film's still playing..."

The burly man slapped the staffer square in the chest, shoving him back several stumbling steps.

"Who the hell do you think you are, sticking your nose in my business?"

The burly man grabbed the staffer by the collar. "I'm the boss of the Tiger Head Gang! The whole underworld of West City answers to me!

You think I can't make one phone call and shut this crappy cinema down for good by tomorrow?"

The staffer's face went ghost-white, his lips trembling too hard to get a word out.

The nearby audience members, who had been thinking of stepping in to help, shrank back the moment they heard the words "boss of the Tiger Head Gang."

A middle-aged man whispered to the woman beside him, "Let's get out of here, quick..."

One by one, several couples quietly slipped out of the theater.

The burly man swept a smug glance around the room, savoring everyone's fear.

He let go of the staffer's collar and turned his attention to Bulma instead, striding toward her.

"Pretty lady, what's the fun in being with some pretty boy like him? All wilted and lifeless.

Why not come with me instead — tonight I'd have you begging for more..."

He didn't get to finish.

Smack!

A crisp slap rang out through the whole theater.

The burly man spun half around, staggered into a row of seats and knocked them over, spraying a mouthful of bloody foam.

Before he could steady himself, Oryon's hand came up again, backhanding him across the other cheek.

Smack!

With the second slap, the burly man went flying again, smashing through several more seats and losing a few teeth in the process.

Head spinning, the burly man never even saw how Oryon had moved — it just felt like someone had swung a sledgehammer into his face twice, stars bursting across his vision.

His mouth felt strangely drafty; he couldn't even get words out straight.

Oryon's figure flickered, and in an instant he was standing over the man, pinning him to the floor with one foot.

"The Tiger Head Gang, is it? Give me a minute and I'll wipe your whole gang off the map."

The burly man thrashed on the ground, cursing in slurred mumbles with his mouth pressed against the floor, the bloody foam at his lips smearing a red streak across the tiles.

The woman beside him finally snapped out of her shock and rushed over screaming, "Are you insane? Do you know who he is?

You dare hit him? You're finished — your whole family's finished!"

The words had barely left her mouth when she suddenly rounded on Bulma and Lunch. "You two girls, take my advice and come with me right now, away from this man.

He's picked a fight with the wrong person. He won't even know what killed him when it happens — stick with him and you'll go down too."

With that, she reached out to grab Bulma and Lunch by the arms.

Bulma shook off her hand, cold. "I'd advise you to keep your distance from me instead."

The woman froze for a second, then her face darkened. "Ungrateful little tramp!

I'm trying to save you two out of the goodness of my heart, and you won't even take it?

Don't come crying to me when you end up hacked to death in the street!"

Oryon released the man under his foot and turned to look at the woman, his eyes going cold.

"Who are you calling a tramp?"

His gaze made her flinch back a step, but she quickly puffed her chest back out and shrilled, "What, you want to hit me now too?

Go on, hit me! You wouldn't dare hit a woman!"

Oryon took a step forward.

The woman quickly retreated a step, screwing up her courage to keep shouting. "You — you'd hit a woman in front of all these people?

Everyone, come look!

See what kind of scum he really is!

Pretty boy! Violent maniac! What kind of man beats up women..."

A woman like this — was he really supposed to hold back?

Oryon raised his hand, ready to slap her.

But before his palm could land, Lunch caught his wrist.

"Oryon, hitting a woman like this would just dirty your hands. Let me handle it!"

With that, Lunch pulled a submachine gun from her bag and fired several rounds straight into the ceiling.

Bang, bang, bang...

Muzzle flashes lit the room, and dust and bits of concrete rained down from overhead.

"A gun! She's going to kill someone — run!"

Everyone in the theater gasped in unison, and the people nearby scrambled and crawled to get out of the way.

The staffer who'd been shoved earlier dropped straight onto the floor.

The woman's screaming cut off instantly.

"You said he couldn't hit a woman. Well, how about me — how many rounds do you think you can take?" Lunch asked, aiming the gun at her.

The woman stared wide-eyed at the muzzle pointed at her forehead, her lips trembling.

"Sis, don't — don't do anything rash. This isn't worth turning yourself into a criminal over..."

Lunch lowered the gun.

"Hmph, spineless coward. Calling me 'sis' now, are you?

When I was out robbing people, all you lot could do was play in the mud..."