The silence after PK's refusal was heavier than before.
The old men exchanged glances—this time not with curiosity, but irritation.
One of them finally stood up.
He was tall despite his age, his back straight, his presence oppressive. His eyes were sharp, predatory, carrying the weight of decades spent crushing opposition.
This was Hector Vane, patriarch of the Vane Consortium—a family whose influence in arms manufacturing and private security rivaled that of small governments.
"Young man," Hector said coldly, "you seem to misunderstand your position."
PK didn't look up.
Hector continued, his voice turning dangerous.
"You're sitting among people who can decide whether your future flourishes… or disappears."
Another old man nodded in agreement.
Beside him sat Leonard Crowe, head of the Crowe Financial Circle, a family rumored to control shadow investments across multiple cities.
"In this city," Leonard added calmly, "refusal is not always an option."
The threat was clear.
Riya's expression tightened. Even she felt the shift in the air.
PK finally raised his eyes.
There was no fear in them.
Not even caution.
Only mild curiosity.
"Is that so?" PK asked quietly.
Hector stepped closer, his tone hardening.
"You could leave this place safely today… or you could walk out carrying consequences you won't survive."
Still, PK didn't react.
Before the tension could escalate further, Silas struck his cane against the stone floor.
Tap.
"That's enough," Silas said, his voice calm—but commanding.
Hector turned sharply.
"Silas, don't involve yourself in this," he snapped. "This is between him and us."
For a brief moment, even Silas felt displeased.
But before he could speak—
PK turned to Hector and said casually,
"Then why don't you get it from Silas?"
The words fell like a blade.
Hector froze.
Leonard stiffened.
All eyes turned toward Silas.
For the first time that evening, Silas felt a flicker of discomfort.
PK continued, unfazed.
"If this medicine is something you believe you can threaten your way into," PK said evenly,
"then surely someone of Silas Blackwell's stature already has access to it."
Silas narrowed his eyes slightly—not in anger, but intrigue.
PK wasn't deflecting.
He was redirecting pressure—cleanly, mercilessly.
Before Hector could retort, PK added,
"Or better yet," he said calmly,
"why don't you test it first?"
He looked toward Silas.
"Bring him," PK said. "Let him try the medicine."
The garden went silent.
"You can judge its value afterward," PK continued.
"And once you do… you're free to ask Silas whether he's willing to share."
The implication was clear.
PK wasn't negotiating.
He was setting terms.
Hector's fists clenched.
Leonard swallowed hard.
Riya's eyes widened slightly.
Silas exhaled slowly—then laughed.
A deep, approving laugh.
"Well played," Silas said.
He turned toward Hector, his gaze sharpening.
"If you wish to test it," Silas said calmly,
"I'll allow it."
Hector hesitated.
For the first time in decades, hesitation crept into his posture.
Because suddenly, the balance had shifted.
This wasn't a boy cornered by power.
This was someone who understood power—and chose when to acknowledge it.
PK leaned back slightly, expression unreadable.
Threats had been made.
Lines had been crossed.
And yet—
He remained untouched.
Like a mountain that doesn't move, no matter how hard the storm tries.