Grayson's move caught absolutely everyone off guard.
Before Kayla even had a chance to react, she was flung across the pavement with a loud "thud," landing smack in the middle of the road. Her nail clipper flew out of her hand, its trajectory lost in the chaos.
"You— you bastard! How dare you lay a hand on me?!" Kayla snarled between gasps for breath. She could scarcely believe that Grayson had actually kicked her. What did he think he was, to mess with someone like her? Did he not understand who she was, or the power she held?
"Holy shit, this kid is in for a world of trouble now," someone muttered from the edge of the growing crowd.
"Yeah, once he kicked her like that, his life just took a nosedive," another whispered. "Make no mistake, he's headed straight for darkness. Kicking Fourth Miss like that? Forget her family's influence— even the Iron Bald Eagle crew would shred him to bits."
"Can't wait to see how this unfolds," a third voice added, tinged with excitement.
As onlookers gathered, their energy crackled through the air.
"You fucking animal!" someone shouted. "We're not done with you yet!"
At that moment, Tiffany and Destiny lunged at Grayson like a pair of wildcats. They clawed at his face and torso, nails scraping for purchase.
"Smack!"
"Smack!"
Without even glancing at them, Grayson delivered a pair of lightning-quick slaps, each one stinging enough to send Tiffany and Destiny sprawling like empty sacks. They flew backwards, smashed into the ground, and lay still for a heartbeat before scrambling to their knees.
"You're fucking dead, you hear me? You're so fucking dead!" Tiffany spat blood from the corner of her mouth, clutching her face as pain flared through her cheek. She shrieked curses that echoed off the nearby walls.
Moments earlier, Grayson had delivered that boot to Kayla's stomach. Tiffany and Destiny had been stunned, sure, but they had assumed it was just a rash impulse— that he'd calm down after landing his kick. They assumed Grayson wouldn't fight back when they jumped him. Boy, were they wrong.
"Grayson!"
Suddenly, Kayla rose to her feet, her eyes blazing red with rage like a mother lion protecting her cubs. She pointed an accusing finger at the asphalt in front of her. "Get down on your knees and crawl to me right now to beg for mercy. If you do it, I might let you off for what you just did. If you don't— I swear, I will make sure you die a miserable death. I will make you wish you were never born. I will see that your name goes on the Iron Bald Eagle's wanted list."
"Holy shit, the Iron Bald Eagle's wanted list," someone murmured in disbelief. "That means every single member of that crew will hunt him down."
"From what I've heard," another added quietly, "any student who ends up on that list usually gets a pretty dire fate."
"At this point, he should be shitting his pants," a different spectator remarked. "That kick was just a moment of hot blood; he doesn't really think he can take on Fourth Miss, does he? Maybe now he'll finally think twice— you know, get on his knees, beg, do whatever he has to."
"Meh, there's no need to wait for the big show. If he's not a total idiot, now's the time to back down… fuck," the snide voice trailed off.
Amid those stunned gasps, Grayson did the exact opposite of what Kayla demanded. Instead of cowering, he sprinted straight at her and unleashed another airborne kick— this one connecting full force with Kayla's cheek.
That kick hit with a force infinitely greater than the last slap had. Kayla let out a blood-curdling scream and tumbled headfirst into a nearby thicket of bushes. She went in backwards, her legs flailing in the air like a pair of broken stilts.
"You little punk! You hit Fourth Miss? You're fucking looking for death!"
Diego, whose muscular arms were as thick as Grayson's thigh, cocked back and threw a devastating punch at Grayson's face. After all, he'd spent years pumping iron; he looked every bit the part. Yet his fist never connected. Grayson caught it in midair with ease, as if Diego's arm were pinned between two bricks, completely immobile.
Before Diego could even process what had happened, Grayson swung a boot into his knee. Diego collapsed onto one leg, his face contorting with pain, as Grayson's fist cracked against his jaw.
Diego's cheek stung as he tried to twist away, but Grayson was already mounting him, throwing one leg over Diego's arm, using his full weight to pin it to the ground. Then Grayson gripped Diego's arm with both hands, wrenching it behind his back.
"Are you with the Iron Bald Eagle too?" Grayson asked without waiting for an answer. As Diego gave a strangled cry, Grayson cranked his grip even harder, eliciting a scream that could shatter eardrums.
Come on— you're a scion of Earth's top financial dynasty. Surely you know a little self-defense, right? But seeing Diego writhing in agony like that, no one else dared step forward.
"From today on, the name 'Iron Bald Eagle' will vanish from this school. Anyone who dares call themselves Iron Bald Eagle from now on, I guarantee their end will be miserable— unbearably so!" Grayson proclaimed, eyes sweeping the silent crowd. His voice was low, but every word resonated.
"Damn, this kid can fight," someone whispered, shocked. "No wonder he's so cocky."
"What good is it? Even if he can fight, does he realize who Kayla is? One street thug isn't a match for her family's power."
"Talking big here is pointless— he's as good as dead and probably doesn't even know how yet."
"Yeah, Kayla will make sure he pays."
The murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Grayson, you son of a bitch! I— Kayla—am here to tell you that you are fucking dead! You are absolutely fucked!" Kayla's furious roar cut through the chatter. Moments earlier, Iron Bald Eagle thugs had dragged her bloodied and bruised face out of the bushes. Purple bruises bloomed across her skin, and trickles of blood ran down her cheeks. She looked absolutely humiliated.
"Grayson, I will make you pay with blood debt for blood debt! I will make you beg like a broken dog! I will make that little bitch squirm in agony for everyone to see! I will make you watch her die a slow, torturous death!"
Kayla's eyes glinted with a madness that sent shivers through the watching girls— each one drawing in a sharp breath.
After finishing her threats, Kayla whipped out her phone. "Uncle… come quick, someone beat me up… they hurt me… sob, my face is all bruised, my nails are snapped off… it hurts so bad… come with your men… the Red Snake gang… yes, the more the better… I want that bastard dead… I want everyone who messed with me dead!"
At the mention of the Red Snake gang, a buzz of whispers rolled through the assembled students like rippling wheat fields.
"The Red Snake gang? So Kayla's uncle runs that?"
"Isn't the Red Snake gang the top crew in Cleveland?"
"They were, at least. They're still one of the biggest, for sure."
"This kid? He's totally screwed now."
"Fuck yeah, no doubt about it. The guy's brainless— knowing how to throw a punch means nothing; numbers are what count. Calling in reinforcements is the real power move!"
"He's probably going to try to run."
"Keep an eye on him, don't let him slip away!" Kayla barked at the Iron Bald Eagle lackeys, ordering them to block every exit around Grayson. Today, Kayla intended to show everyone what happened to anyone who dared cross her.
Run away? Ha. For Grayson, that option didn't exist. Calmly, he retrieved his own phone.
"Look, that loser's pulling out his phone too," someone observed with a laugh.
"What's he gonna do? Think he's gonna call for backup? Ha!"
"Is he even serious? He's just some nobody— who could he call? Especially when Kayla's got the Red Snake gang on speed dial!"
They all thought Grayson was about to make the dumbest move ever— or had lost his mind. Kayla sneered when she saw him dial.
"You think you can call for backup too? Go ahead and try, see how far that gets you!"
"If you manage to summon any help— anyone at all— I'll have the Red Snake gang force them to kill you with their own hands!" Kayla's laughter was cold. Here she was, already battered, yet still taunting him. As far as she was concerned, the game was over.
"Hello, Grandpa Jenkins."
Grayson sat back down next to Jasmine, gently pulling her into his arms as he held the phone to his ear.
"Young Master Grayson, it's been a week now. If you wait one more week, your account will be unfrozen. Ms. Cleaver has been quite unreasonable," Grandpa Jenkins sighed on the other end.
"Not that, Grandpa Jenkins," Grayson's voice was low, more serious than it had ever sounded. "I don't need cash today."
"You don't need cash? Then… what are you asking for?" Grandpa Jenkins sounded puzzled— he'd assumed this call was about the account freeze.
"I need family reinforcements."
There was a stunned pause before Grandpa Jenkins nearly yelped into the phone. "Young Master Grayson, what in the world is happening? I'll dispatch people immediately!"
"I'm not asking for your men. I want reinforcements directly from the family," Grayson replied, every word weighed with determination. Jenkins's own men might be competent, but they couldn't compare to the strength of family-sanctioned support. Today, Grayson intended to avenge Jasmine. He wanted family muscle, the kind that carried an air of prestige and power. He wanted this revenge to be nothing short of spectacular.
"Young Master Grayson, what level of support?" Grandpa Jenkins asked, voice still trembling.
"Level C."
"C-level?" Grandpa Jenkins exhaled sharply. "Young Master Grayson, you're currently under family supervision— your funds and resources are restricted. C-level support might…"
"Yes, it's because of that damn June Cleaver."
Grayson barked into the receiver, anger swelling in his chest. The last time that woman had made things difficult for him, Jasmine suffered more humiliation and pain than he could bear to remember. Now, history was threatening to repeat itself. He held Jasmine's frail body in his arms, her cheek bruised, her spirit wounded. In that moment, he felt like he was at the end of the road— powerless, abandoned by his own house. He was the Young Master of the world's foremost family. How could he not even secure vengeance for the woman he loved? What use was his name, his status, if he couldn't protect her?
"Grandpa Jenkins! I want you to tell June Cleaver— and every core member of our family: my father, mother, grandparents, great-grandparents— this: if she does not grant me C-level support today, I, Grayson, will no longer be a member of the Cole family!" Grayson's tone was as unyielding as steel, every syllable laden with conviction.