Ryan's body froze, lips touching the body of the glass. A droop of sweat dwelled up on Ryan's forehead as he looked at the boy from his side-eye.

He then turned his head slightly, keeping his tone even, his voice came low. "What do you mean, man? I don't know what you're talking about," Ryan took a small pause as he placed the glass on the counter. "Wrong guy, eh?"

The boy's smile widened as he placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder—a friendly gesture that didn't even feel friendly at all. "Don't worry about it, mate," he said. "You'll get to know about it real soon."

Then his fist tightened, and before Ryan could even think—

BAM!

The boy's punch came out of nowhere. Ryan jerked left, barely dodging it. The fist cut through the air, grazing his hoodie. Instinct took over. Ryan grabbed the glass of Coke and swung it toward the guy's head.

The boy ducked and countered instantly — his foot slammed into Ryan's gut.

THUD!

Ryan stumbled backwards, air knocked out of his lungs. His back hit a table, and his body folded. Saliva spilt from his mouth as he gasped for breath.

The bar went silent for a second. Then chaos broke loose. People shouted, chairs scraped, and half the crowd rushed toward the door while others stood on tables, trying to film.

[Host, enemy detected. Rank — A.]

Ryan's vision blurred a bit, his mind filled with thoughts. 'An A-Rank? What the fuck? I'm getting cooked like the last time.'

Ryan closed his eyes for a brief moment before a small sigh escaped from his lips. 'It can't be helped.'

The boy in front of Ryan slowly stepped closer as a small smile curled up on his lips. "Come on, hoodie boy. Show me how you created an uproar, don't disappoint me, yeah?"

Ryan pushed himself up, clutching his side where he had just been punched. He knew that it was worthless to run—at least for now.

The mission is still incomplete. Ryan took one deep breath as he raised his fists, hands placed in front of his face. "You'll regret this." Ryan's voice came low.

The fight started faster than before this time. The boy — the so-called bar owner — fought with ruthless precision. Every move screamed Muay Thai — elbows, knees, quick transitions. Ryan blocked a jab, ducked under a kick, and returned a hook to the ribs, but it barely made the guy flinch.

He was faster than Ryan, his punches felt stronger, and his stance reflected that he was better trained. Ryan was completely getting overwhelmed by him.

Each of his hits Ryan blocked sent shock-waves to his bones. When he finally managed to land a strike, the guy barely flinched. It was like hitting an immovable object.

The bartender hadn't stepped in yet—he was watching them fight, polishing a glass like this was a sort of entertainment for him. But Ryan could feel the weight of his presence in the room; that guy wasn't some kind of background character.

He could sense the pressure coming from him. Ryan tried to break the rhythm—feint, step back, counter — but the boy caught his arm and twisted, slamming his elbow into Ryan's jaw. Ryan stumbled sideways, barely catching himself on a chair.

His breathing got ragged, his ribs started to scream, bones were aching.

[Host, your condition is critical. You cannot sustain this for long.]

'Oh yeah? No shit, Sherlock.' A small groan escaped Ryan's mouth, spitting blood onto the floor.

The boy let out a small laugh, brushing the small particles of dust from his shoulder. "Is that it, hoodie boy? You're way weaker than I anticipated you to be."

Ryan's fists clenched, his body protested, but his mind was completely focused; it refused to give up. "Run your mouth less, talk to me with your fists, dumb fuck." Ryan's voice came out firm, feeling of mockery was buried beneath it.

The boy came at him—faster this time, but Ryan barely managed to slip under his swing and landed a solid jab into his stomach, followed by a cross to his jaw. The hits connected clearly—finally, the boy let out a reaction. He staggered back a bit, his grin faltering for a split second.

Ryan let out a deep sigh; his voice came low. "Still think that I'm weak, huh?"

The boy's lip twitched as he took his hand to his lips, fingertips touching the lower lip—suddenly his eyes widened as he tasted the iron. "What the—"

He wiped the blood from his lips, voice came filled with rage. "Yeah, you're not shit. You fat fuck."

He lunged forward again, faster, angrier. This time, his strikes came heavier — pure rage mixed with skill. Ryan barely kept up, his arms shaking from blocking, his legs losing balance.

And then a voice came. "Enough"

The bartender finally moved; he placed the glass on the counter as he adjusted his gloves and stepped out from behind the counter. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp.

"Let me help you finish him, boss." He said with a firm voice,

Ryan's stomach suddenly dropped. "OH... you've got to be fucking kidding me..." He muttered under his breath.

One A-Rank, and the other was a Semi A-Rank. The bartender's stance was clean, efficient—the same discipline that Ryan noticed a while ago. He stood next to the boy as he cracked his neck slowly.

A small chuckle escaped from the mouth of the boy, "You didn't have to step in, Joshua."

Joshua brushed his hand against his hair. "You were taking too long to finish him, boss."

The boy chuckled. "You're lucky. Not everyone gets to face us both."

Ryan let out a small sigh, adjusting his stance once again, even though he knew that every muscle in his body was begging him to stop. "Fuck... I didn't sign up for this." He muttered under his breath.

Ryan exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance again, even though every muscle in his body begged him to stop. "Fuck… I didn't sign up for this," he muttered. "Guess I've got to do overtime."

And just as both of them dashed towards Ryan, the door behind them slowly creaked open—and a familiar voice came through. "Yo."

Ryan's head suddenly turned towards the direction from which the sound came. That voice was calm, confident and unbothered.

The boy and the bartender both turned their head towards the sound in unison. Ryan's eyes widened beneath his mask, and a small smile filled with warmth curled up on his lips.

He knew that voice.

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