At this moment, the atmosphere tightened instantly. Everyone watching exchanged worried glances and silently feared for Grayson's safety.
"Well, this kid's in deep trouble now," someone muttered.
"Ten or so gang leaders all ganging up on one guy—this is a first-time scenario," another whispered.
"These dozen or so men basically represent most of Cleveland's power blocks, right?" a third added.
They all shook their heads and sighed, convinced that Grayson had no way out.
"You're one of Derek's men?"
Grayson asked with a wry smile. He hadn't expected Derek Thompson to be so powerful that all these people treated him with such reverence.
"Kid, show some respect for Mr. Thompson!" another leader barked.
"Cut the chatter," yet another growled. "Let's grab him and haul him to Mr. Thompson. Then we'll be in good standing—maybe Mr. Thompson will even take us on as his little brothers!"
"That's right, that's right!" The dozen or so gang bosses chorused, all thinking the same thing.
Meanwhile, Grayson had already dialed Derek's number.
"Hello, Young Master Grayson!" Derek's familiar voice crackled in his ear.
"Manager Derek," Grayson said without preamble, "do you know someone named Dante Moretti?"
There was a brief pause, then Derek sounded puzzled. "Huh? Dante Moretti? Yeah, I know him—just some small-time nobody. He recently begged me to bring him under my protection; I just agreed today. Young Master Grayson, how do you happen to know him?"
Honestly, when Grayson suddenly mentioned Dante, Derek had briefly wondered if they might have some sort of connection. Lately, Dante had been planting seeds, trying to win favors to align himself with Derek. In Cleveland's underworld, all it took was claiming, "I'm with Mr. Thompson," and people would immediately treat you with respect—some grudgingly, some eagerly.
As for Young Master Grayson, Derek already sensed that Grayson was fairly humble—he didn't care about his friends' backgrounds or status. Just the other day at Maple Creek Inn & Suites, Grayson had stood up for a few people of modest means. So, even though Dante was a small player, it wasn't entirely out of the question that he and Grayson might know each other.
"He's right across from me now," Grayson said. "He provoked me. I just hit him, and now he's not letting me leave."
"What?!" Derek's tone turned to alarm. He never would have guessed that's why Grayson was in trouble. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "Young Master Grayson, hold on—let me call him!"
"All right." Grayson hung up.
In truth, Derek could have simply told Grayson to hand the phone to Dante. But he dared not give orders to Young Master Grayson—certainly not directly.
As soon as Derek hung up, Dante's phone rang.
When Dante saw Derek Thompson's number flash on the screen, he nearly cradled the phone in both hands and almost swooned as he answered.
"Hello, Mr. Thompson! It's such an honor to hear from you. I—" Dante started in a respectful rush.
But before he could finish, Derek cut him off. Whatever Derek said rattled Dante, because soon Dante's face went as pale as ash, cold sweat pouring down his cheeks, his complexion utterly drained.
"Mr. Thompson, please talk to Grayson," Derek said coolly over the line.
Although Derek wouldn't dare tell Grayson to hand the phone to Dante, he certainly had no problem ordering Dante to hand the phone to Grayson.
"Speaker on," Grayson said, holding out his phone.
Dante obediently switched to speaker, standing at Grayson's side, both hands pressed to the phone as he trembled.
"Manager Derek!" Grayson announced.
"Young Master Grayson," Derek said solemnly, "don't worry. I promise I will punish him severely!" He hesitated, then asked, "By the way, Young Master Grayson, what did he do to you?"
"He… hit… my girlfriend." Grayson enunciated each phrase as though emphasizing with deliberate force: "He… hit… my girlfriend."
Derek nearly collapsed in shock. In his mind, he never imagined it could be so serious. He had assumed Dante was just being arrogant and had disrespected Grayson somehow. Who could have guessed this arrogant fool actually struck Grayson's girlfriend? Although… since Grayson already had a girlfriend, Derek thought wryly, he should congratulate him sometime—after all, she might one day become Grayson's wife.
Silence fell over the entire hall. All eyes were fixed on Grayson, all ears straining to hear Derek's response.
Dante stood, rigid, clutching the phone, unwilling to move an inch.
"I… I care for… my girlfriend very much," Grayson said.
"Young Master Grayson, I understand. Trust me, I'll give you a satisfying outcome!" Derek promised.
"All right." Grayson fell silent.
He then glanced at the dozen or so gang leaders who had been blocking his path: "Now, may I leave?"
Without needing further instruction, the gang leaders all stepped aside in unison, clearing a path.
Once Grayson strode away, Dante, still clutching the phone, collapsed into a miserable heap. "Mr. Thompson, I truly didn't know he was—"
"Enough," Derek snapped. "Don't say another word. This afternoon at 1:40 PM, a train will depart from Cleveland heading to Silver Hollow. I expect you to be on that train when it leaves. You don't need to buy a ticket—just get on. Car 7, seat 42A is yours."
"Mr. Thompson, I beg you…" Dante pleaded.
"Don't bother begging me—it's useless. You have no idea how powerful the people you crossed today really are. Once you leave Cleveland, you may never return. If you ever show your face here again, it will be the day you die." Clearly, Derek was exiling Dante.This punishment carried real weight—especially for someone whose entire power base, network, and family were all rooted in Cleveland.
At that moment, the dozen or so gang leaders standing nearby couldn't hide their schadenfreude and barely suppressed excitement.
After all, Dante had invited them to dinner today under the pretense of celebrating his official turn under Mr. Thompson's wing. That ostentatious banquet was more show than anything else—a way for Dante to flaunt his newfound connection. Forced by pride to attend, they inwardly resented and envied him: only yesterday, Dante had been their equal, and now he was parading Mr. Thompson's name as if he were king. His earlier scene in the restaurant wasn't just a tantrum—it was a blatant power play.But now, the luckless Dante had managed to offend the highest-level boss in hiding. He had it coming. And since Dante was about to be banished, each of those gang leaders secretly nursed the hope that they might replace him and win Thompson's favor for themselves. A thrill ran through them at the thought.
Meanwhile, after hanging up the phone, Derek sat in silence for a moment before speaking again: "This afternoon at 1:40 PM, a train departs Cleveland for Silver Hollow. In Car 7, seat 42A, there will be a short, stocky man with a knife scar running from his left brow to his chin—a certain Dante Moretti. Find him on that train and kill him."
"Yes, sir!" snapped an efficient-looking underling standing beside Derek, who immediately sprang into action.
"Hold on!" Derek called out as the man swung open the door to leave. "Scratch that order—let him live."
He waved his hand dismissively, and the underling withdrew. Derek shook his head and muttered to himself, "I can't do that. Young Master Grayson isn't the kind of person to tolerate vicious retribution. If he ever found out I'd had Dante killed, he'd think I went overboard. Forget it."
Besides, Grayson had just rescued Jasmine—His heart swelled with solace and joy: the sky bluer, the flowers more fragrant.
Later, Grayson and Jasmine returned to campus, entering through the main gate and strolling down the tree-lined path.
"You told me I couldn't work at the restaurant—and insisted on bringing me back. How am I supposed to make money and pay off our debt now? How will we ever repay a million dollars?" Jasmine asked.
"Don't worry," Grayson replied with a reassuring smile. "I won't let you leave my side again. As long as you're with me, even if we owe ten million dollars, I wouldn't be afraid."
His words stirred a sweet, indescribable flutter in Jasmine's heart. Even though she'd been avoiding Grayson these past few days, she hadn't stopped thinking about him for a single moment. Standing there with him now, that joy made her momentarily forget all the messy worries about debts. What could be more wonderful than just the two of them together?
"I want something to eat!" Jasmine exclaimed suddenly, her eyes lighting up.
"What do you want? I'll go buy it," Grayson asked with a grin.
"I want Häagen-Dazs!" Jasmine declared.
"Wow," Grayson teased, ruffling his hair as he laughed. "You're just a humble waitress, yet you're craving Häagen-Dazs? That's so fancy!" But in his heart, he was already planning his route.
"Just get me one cup," Jasmine said, eyes sparkling, a hint of bashfulness in her voice. "I want to take it to the lake and share it with you."
A rush of delight flooded Grayson's chest—he hadn't realized that's what she wanted. "Okay," he said, already breaking into a sprint. "Wait right here; I'll be back in a flash!" He took off toward the Häagen-Dazs shop just outside the school gate.
Jasmine's heart fluttered like a bird trapped in her ribcage as she imagined sharing ice cream by Mirror Lake with Grayson. A special kind of happiness welled up inside her, and she remained rooted to the spot, patiently waiting.
"Hey, beautiful—why are you standing here all alone? Want to make a friend?"
Suddenly, a voice called out from behind her.