"Are they staring at me ?" Paul wondered, he looked left and right but there was no one, only him .
"Is that…" He looked uncertain at first but as he dismissed those gazes and walked towards his way to apartment. He recognised her .
"Should I go ? Maybe she is expecting the same." Paul got closer to them , but still keeping his distance. He thought that this situation was just another everyday problem. He doesn't need put his nose into this , and from the looks of it Varsha can easily handle the situation on his own .
She is Boss's daughter and more then anything else Alex's sister. She obviously knew how to fight. If she didn't, then ? All she had to do was to called out to Paul. Simple as that.
Paul completely ignored Varsha and others, like they didn't exists and walked in side-lines .
Varsha and the other 2 guys had gone silent, like they were too, expecting something from Paul.
"Is he ignoring me, just like that ?" Seeing Paul walking away just like that. She felt irritated for no reason and her nervousness from before vanished for a second.
"Fine ." As the drunken guy was focused on Paul. The thread holding Varsha loosened a bit , with a force she tried to separate it and she broke free.
Without wasting any time she quickly sprinted towards Paul, and hide herself.
"Hey" the drunken guy felt lost at first, but quickly recovered and walked in front of Paul.
"There's no need to rush ." Blocking Paul's path. Varsha sheepishly went behind Paul.
"Move aside ." Paul response was sharp and short.
"Oh. Lemme guess. Is this emo dude suppose to your Man, Missy??" He took one step closer.
"Look Emo kid, your girl owe me an apology and a lot more things. if I didn't get what I want ?" He placed his hand on Paul's shoulder, "Then I ain't moving an inch for here , and you too . Did you—"
Paul shook off that guy's arm from his shoulder and locked his gaze, "Don't you think this is enough drama for today ?"
"Acting tough are we ?" The Drunken guy also locked gaze.
"You think so ?"
"Oh, now I'm heating up." The drunken man leaned in close to Paul, his breath sour, words dripping with venom. He whispered in his ear, "How about we settle this once and for all? You and me." Then he staggered back a few steps, arms spread wide. "What you say ? Are u gonna be a Man and take this on, or.... Be a sweet lil boy and lick ma boots while I'll eat yo girl .
This guy was asking for it, plain and simple. Roxy had warned him earlier, but guess what? it is what it is.
Paul still had plenty of options on the table, even now, but sometimes too many choices only led to the same dead end. Someone had to act, and it had to be him. Watching from the sidelines wasn't an option. Not here. Not now.
Paul slightly pushed Varsha from his behind, so she didn't get hurt or be in the way.
"You see this Rico ? This whatchaa ya call power of lob."
Rico didn't reply back, and just watched the stupid play his low brainer friend had been pulling.
"Don't say I didn't warn—" The drunken guy readied himself and hurled a fiery punch at Paul's face. Paul shifted his steps in motion and vanished from the man's sight, dodging it with ease.
The drunken guy didn't expect Paul to be able to dodge from this close. His eyes went wide, and he staggered slightly, teeth grinding in disbelief. Nobody had ever slipped away from him at that range. He shook off the shock and recovered quickly. Snarling, he spun around and swung both fists, bombarding Paul with blow after blow, desperate to land even one strike.
Varsha was stunned. Her eyes followed every move, but Paul was too quick, too fluid. He weaved through the punches like he already knew where they were coming from. It was almost unfair, like watching someone play with a child. Who is... He?, she thought, her heart pounding. It's like he can see the future.
"Ahg…" The drunkard growled, his frustration spilling out. His swings grew wilder, less controlled, his breath ragged. Sweat slid down his forehead as the realization ate at him, this emo kid was slipping past everything he had. His pride stung worse than any wound.
He spat at Paul, trying to cloud his vision with a smokescreen, and hurled another fiery punch with all his strength. Not this time. For sure.
But Paul vanished again from his sight and reappeared behind him. He lifted his right hand, ready to end it, but the man's cold, furious gaze caught Paul for a moment. Paul stopped midway, then calmly struck the guy's calf. The man lost his balance with a cry of pain and slammed into the cold street.
"F**king hell!" he roared, slamming his fist into the pavement hard enough to scrape his knuckles. His frustration boiled over—his pride was in tatters. Now he understood clearly, this emo kid was no joke. He pushed himself up with ragged breaths, turned to face Paul again, and pulled something from his back. His hand trembled, not from fear, but rage. "This ain't even funny anymore."
"Again with that?" That was Paul's only reaction when he saw what the man had pulled out.
A knife.
"Snake, I think this is enough. We should hit the road now," Rico called out from the sidelines, voice tight.
"Nah. I ain't going nowhere until I f**k this bitch right here and now. You can slide out if you wanna." Snake's cold gaze locked on Paul, filled with pure spite.
Rico wanted to leave, every instinct telling him this was already lost, but seeing his brainless friend still pushing on, he couldn't. Someone had to pick up the dead weight after all.
This's gonna end real ugly. That mofo is in different league from the get-go, no question. Plus, this snake bitch.... Shh.. Either way, I'll be the one hauling his sorry ass.
The drunken man no longer looked drunk. His steps were sharp now, his eyes focused, fury sharpening him. The knife kept switching between his hands as he closed in on Paul, like he couldn't decide where to strike from, his whole body restless. His lips peeled back in a twisted grin as he lunged forward, like a starving animal about to tear into its prey.
Varsha's chest tightened as the blade glinted under the streetlights. Her fists clenched helplessly. Why this is happing....was it my fault ? If he gets hurt it's totally on me. But Paul hadn't broken a sweat. His expression stayed calm, almost bored, as if he'd already decided the outcome.
When Snake reached point-blank range, the knife just inches from Paul's hair, Paul struck his knee in a clean, precise motion. Snake faltered, body folding, and before he could react, Paul finished him with a sharp blow to the back of the neck.
The guy tried to speak, lips parting in a broken protest, but his consciousness slipped away. Like a motionless puppet who's strings are cut down. His body crumpled, kissing the cold street once again.
Rico had been watching everything from the sidelines, rooted in place as the fight unfolded. Now that the play was finally over, he sprinted forward, boots slapping against the pavement. His chest was tight, not from running, but from the bitter weight of embarrassment.
"Sorry for all the trouble," he muttered, the words half-apology, half-excuse, as he crouched beside his fallen friend. He shook Snake's shoulder with a sigh. "C'mon, man… wake up. You've made enough scene already."
Paul stood a few paces away, his eyes lingering on Rico for the briefest moment. There was no judgment in them, ust the same calm detachment he'd shown throughout the fight. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked off, the cold night swallowing his presence step by step.
Varsha hesitated, her gaze flicking from Rico to Paul's retreating back. Her throat tightened with unspoken words, but none came out. Instead, she drew in a sharp breath and followed close behind Paul, her silence heavy, as though speech itself might shatter the fragile air left in the wake of the fight.
The doorbell rang.
"Yeah, I'm coming." Julian walked toward the door—finally, his food had arrived. He opened it gently and found a man standing there, dressed in a red t-shirt and matching cap, a delivery box in hand.
"Your delivery, sir."
"Yeah." Julian took the box. The man was fumbling inside his jeans pocket, but Julian dismissed it quickly. He had already paid online, what else was there to look for?
Just as he began closing the door, the man called out.
"Sir, your—"
"Your?" Julian paused.
"Bill."
"Oh." He took the slip and shut the door. Turning around, he walked toward the hall while unfolding it. Restaurant's name, price, the usual clutter—nothing worth a second look.
Until something caught his eye.
Julian stopped. The paper felt heavier in his hand all of a sudden. A small detail at the edge of the bill—it clicked. He had seen something similar before. The name, price, food it was something similar. Inside the bathroom. He had ignored it back then, blind to what it meant.
His fingers closed tight around the slip. How had he overlooked something so simple?
He slid the bill into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing fast.
"Yeah, it's me. I think I've got it."
"Got what?" Simon's confused voice answered.
"Steven Roan's whereabouts. Come quickly to my place."
"Yeah, but how—?"
"The fuc—The bill," Julian cut in sharply. "I'll explain later."
"Alright. I'll there in the few a minutes."
Julian hung up and let out a breath, cursing under it. He tossed the food box onto the bed and hurried to change. No more mistakes this time.
It was time for the real play to begin.