Chapter 361: No More Warnings

Published Mar 30, 2026, 07:00 AM

Chapter 361: No More Warnings Johna and Mateo couldn’t help themselves. They burst out laughing at Max’s calm words. “Look at you,” Johna sneered between chuckles. “Even now, you’re still talking big.” His eyes narrowed as his grin sharpened. “I really think someone like you has never been punched in the face before.” He lunged. Johna’s fist snapped through the air like a piston, straight for Max’s cheek. But Max didn’t even blink. His eyes simply tracked the motion. His head tilted, smoothly, like water flowing around a stone. The punch whistled past harmlessly. Then Johna blinked, and all he could see was a blur of knuckles hurtling toward him. Crack. Pain exploded across his face. His head jerked back violently. His feet stumbled, skidding across the tiles. “What the, ” Johna gasped, clutching at his nose. It was ringing, burning. Was it broken? Was it bleeding? He didn’t have time to find out, because Max was already moving. The redhead’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Johna’s hair. “Wha, ” KRAK. Max yanked his head down hard, and slammed his rising knee straight into Johna’s face. A loud, sickening crunch echoed in the tiled washroom. Johna’s vision flashed white. Max’s technique wasn’t just clean. His strength was frightening, the kind born from countless fights and sharpened by his vow. Still gripping Johna’s hair, Max twisted and hurled his body aside. Johna slammed into the sinks with a heavy crash, metal creaking under the impact. He clutched the edge desperately, barely stopping himself from collapsing to the floor. “Johna!” Mateo barked. Then he roared and charged. Unlike before, he knew Max wasn’t just some arrogant kid. There would be no holding back. Mateo’s kick whipped around in a sharp arc, but Max was faster. His leg shot out to intercept. Thud. Shin met shin. Mateo’s leg crumpled from the collision, pain stabbing through the bone. Before he could recover, Max continued the spin and slammed the side of his foot into Mateo’s stomach like a sledgehammer. WHUMP. Mateo’s breath blasted out of him in a single strangled grunt. His body lifted a few inches off the floor and crumpled down to his knees. Max pivoted back toward Johna, who was pushing up from the sinks, blood already dribbling from his nose. “What was it you said?” Max asked coldly, walking forward. “That you’d hurt me so bad I’d be shaking in fear just thinking about this day?” Johna snarled and lunged desperately, going for a tackle, but Max’s foot shot out. Thump. A push kick hammered into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs and launching him back. He crashed into the sinks again with a clatter. Before Johna could collapse, Max stepped in, his fist snapping forward. SMASH. Johna’s head whipped to the side from the punch. Max seized the back of his skull. “You have no idea what it means to make threats like that,” Max said, his voice low, almost a growl. “And you should be very careful who you say them to.” Then he slammed Johna’s head down. CRRRUNCH. The porcelain sink shattered on impact, shards spraying across the floor as blood burst from Johna’s mouth and forehead. Max let go. Johna’s limp body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud. Mateo stared, frozen in horror. Then his voice cracked. “You… you’re mad… You won’t get away with this!” Max turned to him slowly. “You can’t even handle a simple situation with those fists you’re so proud of,” he said. “And you resorted to them so quickly. If you’re going to live by your fists… then you need to be a lot stronger. Because right now, all you do is prey on the weak.” Mateo’s fear curdled into rage. He screamed and charged. Max moved like lightning. He spun, and the back of his heel slammed into Mateo’s head. CRACK. Mateo’s body pinwheeled through the air, smashing through a toilet stall door and crashing into the cubicle beyond. He lay groaning on the tiles, dazed. Max’s voice was cold now. “The two of you…” He stepped toward the doorway, not even looking back. “Don’t come to work tomorrow.” He pushed the washroom door open. “…And don’t ever come here again.” His shadow stretched long across the hallway as he walked out. “Or you’ll regret it for the rest of your lives.” The hallway was silent. Max walked calmly, shoulders loose, expression unreadable. His breathing was steady, like nothing had happened at all. In his mind, though, the words echoed. They would need hospital treatment. They might even carry permanent injuries. But if he was being honest… he didn’t regret it. In the underworld, you finish your fights. If there’s a chance to cripple an opponent who tried to cripple you, you take it. They had brought this on themselves. And they couldn’t complain to anyone. Because no one would listen. They had cornered him. Threatened him. Tried to break him. All he had done… was return the favour. Further down the hallway, Darno was heading back inside. He hadn’t expected to see Max. His eyes narrowed slightly in surprise… and then in suspicion. There was something in Max’s expression. Cold. Lethal. Not the smug bravado of some rich kid. More like the calm after a storm. Darno’s gaze dropped. …Are his knuckles… bloody? Max glanced at him briefly as they passed. Darno opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Something in Max’s eyes told him not to. Not a word. Max strode away down the corridor, his footsteps soft but echoing in Darno’s mind like distant gunshots. Darno stood frozen for a long moment. Then he exhaled and muttered, “What the hell…” He turned down the corridor, searching for Johna and Mateo. The hallway was empty. Then, Grooooan. A low, broken noise carried from the washroom door. Darno’s chest tightened. He walked faster. Pushed the door open. And froze. The smell of blood hit him first. Then the sight. The sink was shattered. Shards of porcelain littered the floor. Blood smeared across tiles. And sprawled on the ground like discarded dolls… were Johna and Mateo. Two of the Fortis Group’s “rising talents.” Knocked out cold. Barely breathing. “What…” Darno whispered, his throat dry. His eyes widened, disbelieving. “…What happened here?”

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