003, school bully Eugene

Zaire pedaled his bike swiftly through the streets.

The explosive news about Stark Industries was still making waves on TV and the internet. Even the TV displays in store windows and the electronic billboards were continuously broadcasting the news. Tony Stark was the main topic on every passerby's phone screen.

But none of this mattered to Zaire.

He navigated through a few familiar streets and arrived at a small restaurant named 'Delicious.'

The restaurant was small but well-kept, thanks to his aunt's years of dedicated management. Despite its size, the name 'Delicious' was known all over Manhattan, a testament to his aunt's hard work.

Zaire entered the restaurant, walked through the neatly arranged tables, and approached the counter.

Even though lunch hours had passed, a few cowboys in the corner were still enjoying their meals.

His aunt's exquisite culinary skills were a major draw for the locals, whose usual diet was monotonous and bland.

"Good morning, Auntie."

Zaire quickly approached and leaned over the counter.

At that moment, his aunt was busy with the calculator, organizing the accounts.

Without looking up, she responded, "It's 1 PM, Zaire. You're late again."

His aunt, around thirty-five years old, sported short hair and always wore a white chef's outfit. Her slightly rounded chin enhanced her clean and efficient appearance.

Stopping her calculations, she rolled her eyes at the smiling Zaire. "Our helper, Mike, took a long leave—at least a week..."

She pointed to the takeout boxes nearby. "So, I plan to pause takeout orders after you deliver these."

"Big Mouth Mike?" A clear image of a skinny yet voracious young man formed in Zaire's mind. "Wasn't he always talking about working extra to learn cooking? Why the sudden leave?"

"A few days ago, Mike's seven-year-old brother went missing..." His aunt sighed, with a hint of sarcasm in her eyes. "You know how useless the police in poor neighborhoods are. They only serve the rich like Tony Stark. Mike has to rely on family and friends to help search..."

"If I get time, I'll contact Mike and offer help..." Zaire said seriously, then picked up the helmet on the counter. "Auntie, I'll deliver these meals now. Otherwise, I'll get more bad reviews."

Effortlessly lifting the heavy takeout box with one hand, he headed out.

"You little rascal..." His aunt watched Zaire's broad and strong back with a pleased smile but blinked in confusion. "Is he in a growth spurt or secretly working out? He looks much different than before..."

---

After years of his aunt's hard work, 'Delicious' focused on serving the middle and lower-income populace, ensuring good quality at reasonable prices. The takeout range usually didn't exceed five kilometers.

Within twenty minutes, Zaire delivered most of the orders to regular customers who couldn't forget his aunt's cooking.

Now, he had only one double meal left.

Riding his bike through several crowded streets, Zaire arrived at a recently renovated apartment building.

He approached the door and found it locked, accessible only to residents. So, he pressed the call button.

"Is this Mr. Eugene? Your takeout is here. Could you please come down to get it?" Zaire asked professionally.

"Damn it! 403! Bring it up!" slurred a man's voice through the intercom.

Soon, the apartment door opened with a pleasant chime.

"You could've just opened the door in the first place..." Zaire sighed, guessing from experience that this customer was likely drunk.

With no choice in his customers, Zaire shrugged and carried the takeout box into the building.

Knock, knock, knock!

Before long, Zaire knocked on the door of apartment 403.

After some footsteps, the door swung open, and a wave of alcohol and weed stench hit him, making him wrinkle his nose despite his usual composure.

"Your takeout, sir," Zaire said with a polite smile, handing over the food.

"Ugh... thanks." A bleary-eyed blonde man took the takeout and started to close the door.

Wham!

Zaire's hand shot out, stopping the door.

"Sir, the takeout is cash on delivery. You haven't paid yet," he explained with a smile.

The blonde man blinked in confusion, trying to clear his head, then turned and shouted into the apartment, "Hey, Eugene! Pay for the food!"

"Pay? Pay for what? I need to pay for takeout?" Soon, a large, staggering figure appeared, shoving the blonde aside.

With bloodshot eyes and a threatening expression, the man growled at Zaire, "Hey, kid, you better leave..."

Zaire squinted slightly, calmly pulling out his phone and showing it to the bald man.

"Eugene Paul, if you refuse to pay, I will call the police."

"How do you know my name?" Eugene's eyes widened. "Who sent you?!"

Clearly under the influence of alcohol and weed, Eugene's mind was a mess.

"Kid, you look familiar..." Eugene scrutinized Zaire closely, his expression suspicious. "Zaire?"

Eugene Paul, a former school bully from Zaire's high school, was expelled long ago.

"A double meal costs fifty bucks, plus ten for delivery..." Zaire stated plainly. "Total is sixty dollars. Thank you."

"Your takeout was late!" Eugene's face twisted, suddenly looking even more menacing. "I waited over an hour!"

"Eugene," Zaire sighed, looking sincerely at the man. "It's just a takeout. If you're struggling, I can treat you..."

"But you're clearly just looking for trouble, aren't you?"

Zaire squinted, tilting his neck slightly, his hand hanging loosely, fingers twitching subtly.

This was the starting stance of Catachan combat techniques—hidden but deadly.

"I'm not paying, so what can you do? Call the cops, shorty?" Eugene sneered, his muscles tensing, ready for action.

He hadn't changed at all from the bully he used to be.

A minute ago, realizing the delivery man was a former classmate, Eugene, emboldened by booze, decided Zaire wouldn't leave unscathed.

He hated the school and despised those goody-two-shoes students.

And now, standing before him, was a perfect human punching bag...

......................................................................................

Stones?