Cheng Yu felt a pang of helplessness.

Based on his experience, he had several ways to handle this situation.

He could have apologized and left immediately to create distance.

Or asked the bar owner to mediate.

Or even rallied other patrons to back him up.

He knew exactly how to minimize trouble—he’d been beaten by small-time thugs countless times before.

The golden rule: never try to handle it alone.

But Jiangyx Jiang and Zhao (?) had handed their opponents a perfect excuse to vent their anger.

They’d also scared off every bystander, leaving them completely isolated.

At this point, Cheng Yu saw only one solution left.

Violence.

To counter violence.

So he fully understood why the system offered this option.

In fact, he agreed—it was the best move now.

Cheng Yu hated drawing attention, but he had no choice.

He steeled himself and stepped forward.

The effect, however, exceeded his expectations.

Smiley’s grin stayed fixed, but all warmth had vanished from his eyes.

He tossed a liquor bottle high, caught it smoothly, and repeated the motion with lazy ease.

Yet his voice turned glacial when he spoke, each word sharp as winter wind:

“You’re asking for death.”

No one saw him throw the bottle.

One blink, and his hand was empty.

Slower students hadn’t even registered what happened.

Quicker ones paled, already picturing glass shattering against Cheng Yu’s skull, blood spraying everywhere.

They squeezed their eyes shut, turning away—

But no crash came.

Slowly, they peeked.

Cheng Yu stood unharmed.

He gripped the bottle’s neck, caught mid-flight.

Amid stunned silence, he mimicked Smiley’s toss-and-catch routine.

“This isn’t even good liquor,” Cheng Yu smirked, his grin far more provocative than Smiley’s cold leer. “Keep it. Enjoy it yourselves!”

He hurled the bottle back—eyes shut, no aim taken.

Cheng Yu wasn’t a thug.

His stats proved it: low Strength, low Combat.

Simply put—he was weak and couldn’t take a punch.

But two attributes soared far above average:

Charisma.

Reflexes.

And Luck.

Reflexes let him react instantly.

When focused, even a flying bottle seemed to slow in his vision.

Luck conjured impossible coincidences exactly when needed.

Like guiding that bottle to its target.

The bottle arced through the air in a bizarre parabola, spinning wildly.

It struck Smiley’s wrist dead-on.

Smiley hissed in pain, grip loosening—

Zhao (?) seized the chance.

He wrenched free and sprinted back to their booth, gasping for breath.

The bottle ricocheted off Smiley’s wrist, then tumbled impossibly into the sofa’s crevice—

Unbroken. Not a scratch.

Now Smiley stared, stunned.

Cheng Yu even shrugged and smiled.

“Just a little trick. Don’t mind me.”

“But if you want another round—”

“Next time, I won’t just aim for your hand.”

Smiley rubbed his reddened wrist, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

This kid caught his throw.

Used the bottle to rescue his friend.

And made it land perfectly intact?

A dry chuckle escaped him.

“Kid, you’ve got skills. Who’s your boss?”

“Erxianqiao. Chenghua Avenue.”

“...You really are begging for a beating.”

“Says who? Think you can take me, punk?”

Cheng Yu’s voice dripped confidence—but inside, he was bluffing.

If Smiley had charged fists-first instead of throwing bottles?

Cheng Yu would’ve been a bloody mess.

Now he could only gamble on intimidation.

His heart hammered against his ribs, loud enough to drown out the music.

Time stretched thin.

The stalemate broke when another figure rose from the opposite booth.

A flick of a lighter.

Flame swallowed a cigarette tip, leaving only a faint glow in the dark.

Smoke curled from his lips as he spoke, voice gravelly and low:

“That’s enough, Tiger Cub. We’re done here. Let’s go.”

At that voice, Cheng Yu’s racing heart froze.

Then slowed.

Stopped.

Missed a beat entirely.

The group stood.

The smoker led, others trailing behind.

With each step he took toward Cheng Yu, Cheng Yu’s pulse crawled slower.

He forgot to breathe.

The man stopped inches away.

Suffocation crashed over Cheng Yu like a wave.

In over a hundred lifetimes of rebirth, only three people haunted Cheng Yu.

First: Linsw Lin.

Fear of her was pure instinct—experience taught him she brought only ruin.

Second: the woman who stabbed him in that alley.

Rational terror. Her motive made no sense. Unpredictable madness.

Third?

Pure physiological dread.

Even now, nightmares jolted him awake—

Her eyes, sharp as a god of slaughter’s.

The glint of a blade.

The phantom pain searing his throat.

He’d never forgotten the whisper before the cleaver fell.

Never forgotten the name.

So when he saw that face again, the word tore from his throat:

“...Blade Brother.”

“Hm?”

Blade Brother’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

Surprise flickered across his cold face—a stranger knew his name?

He didn’t dwell on it.

A humorless smile touched his lips.

“...Interesting.”

“Enough entertainment for tonight. I’ll spare you—for calling me that.”

“Remember this, kid: stay low-key out there.”

“Or one night, walking home alone?”

“You might get knifed without ever seeing who did it.”

He patted Cheng Yu’s stiff shoulder.

Cheng Yu stayed silent as they turned to leave.

Tiger Cub slowed beside him, studying Cheng Yu’s face like memorizing a target.

Then they were gone.

Only music and fading footsteps filled the bar.

Minutes stretched.

Finally, Cheng Yu forced a smile.

“Relax, everyone. It’s over.”

His voice was a key.

Tension snapped.

Everyone slumped back into the sofas, breathing deep.