At the gate, around ten guys stood, scattered in groups. They were the kind who thought muscle and loud voices meant power. Cigarettes dangled from their lips, laughter sounding forced. Their faces were rough with cheap confidence.
When they saw Arthur, one of them spat a question like it was a challenge: "Who's that?"
Another one moved forward, hand coming down to touch Arthur's shoulder like a boss testing a kid. The gesture was careless, the kind someone does when they want to make sure they are still the boss.
Arthur did not say a word. He didn't flare or make a face. His arm moved in the same instant the man's hand landed — a single, clean punch that wasn't loud but cracked like someone snapping wood.
The man's jaw broke in a way that did not look like a joke. He folded, collapsed. Silence hit the group like a physical thing. Cigarettes dropped from fingers. Eyes widened. For a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
