The air in the VIP lounge of the Moon City Police Precinct was heavy, smelling faintly of expensive tea and impending violence. The room was soundproofed, cutting off the chaotic noise of the lobby outside, but the silence inside was far more suffocating.
**Director Grant**, the high-ranking official sent from the Capital to inspect the province, sat on the plush leather sofa. He held a teacup, but he didn't drink. He watched the man standing by the window with a mixture of amusement and genuine wariness.
"You called me all the way from the provincial capital in the middle of the night," Director Grant said, his voice low. "Just for a high school brawl? If the old men in the Senate knew the Warlord of the Capital was using his emergency powers for this, they'd have a heart attack."
**Alpha Juan** didn't answer. He stood with his back to the room, looking out at the dark parking lot. He wasn't wearing his usual gold-rimmed glasses today. Without them to soften his features, his face was sharp, predatory, and terrifyingly cold.
The door clicked open.
**Ren** walked in. She looked tired. Her school uniform was disheveled, her hair messy, and she walked with a slight slouch, as if the weight of the world was boring her. But Juan didn't look at her face.
His gaze snapped instantly to her right hand.
She had shoved it into the pocket of her trousers, trying to hide it. But Juan had spent years on battlefields and in operating rooms; the metallic scent of fresh blood was screaming at him from across the room.
"Hand," Juan said. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet it carried an absolute authority that made the air temperature drop.
Ren paused. She looked at him, then at Director Grant, and hesitated. "It's fine. Just a scratch."
Juan turned around fully. His eyes were dark abysses, devoid of light. He didn't repeat himself. He just waited.
Ren sighed. She slowly pulled her right hand out of her pocket.
Director Grant hissed through his teeth.
It wasn't a scratch. It was a ruin. The palm was sliced open, a jagged, ugly gash that cut deep into the muscle. The blood had soaked through the makeshift bandages she had applied, dripping onto the pristine carpet. The flesh was swollen, turning a bruised purple around the edges.
Juan crossed the room in two long strides. He took her wrist, his movements incredibly gentle, contrasting sharply with the murderous aura radiating from him. He inspected the wound, his fingers hovering over the lacerated skin.
"The flexor tendon is exposed," Juan murmured, his medical training kicking in, though his voice trembled with suppressed rage. "Another millimeter and you would have lost the ability to use your fingers permanently."
He looked up, meeting Ren's eyes. "Who?"
Ren tried to pull her hand back, uncomfortable with the intensity of his focus. "Vane. The guy with the silver hair."
Juan didn't say anything. He didn't explode. He didn't shout. He simply let go of her hand, turned his head slightly, and looked at the corner of the room.
"**Luke**."
**Dr. Luke** had been sitting in the shadows, flipping a silver lighter open and closed with a rhythmic *clink*. He stopped. He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. The playful, flirtatious grin that usually graced his face was gone. In its place was the cold, aristocratic sneer of a man who belonged to one of the Capital's most dangerous families.
"I heard, Boss," Luke said. He walked to the door, adjusting his diamond earring. "I'll go see whose life needs to be dismantled today."
***
Out in the main lobby, the atmosphere was a circus.
**Madam Vane** was sitting on a bench, drinking tea provided by a fawning junior officer. She looked triumphant. **Vera**, Ren's mother, stood before her, head bowed, looking like a servant begging for mercy.
"Don't think money will solve this," Madam Vane spat, enjoying the power trip. "My grandson is in the ICU! I want that girl to rot in juvenile detention. **Deputy Chief Smith** has already assured me that the paperwork is being processed."
Deputy Chief Smith, a pot-bellied man with a greasy smile, nodded. "That's right, Mrs. Lin. Your daughter is a violent offender. We can't have people like her roaming the streets. She'll be transferred to the holding cells tonight."
Vera's face was ash-grey. She turned to **Lance**, grabbing his arm. "Call your father again! We have to do something!"
Lance looked grim. "I tried. But Deputy Chief Smith is blocking us. Without a higher connection, we're stuck."
Smith chuckled, checking his watch. "It's over. Give up."
*Ring-ring.*
Smith's phone buzzed on the desk. He frowned, seeing the caller ID. It was **Chief O'Neil**, the head of the entire Moon City Police Department.
"Chief?" Smith answered, smiling smugly at Madam Vane. "Yes, everything is under control. We caught the delinquent—"
"**YOU IDIOT!**"
The scream from the other end of the line was so loud that even Vera heard it.
"Chief?" Smith stammered.
"Get down on your knees and pray!" Chief O'Neil roared. "Do you have any idea who is in your VIP lounge?! You are trying to arrest the ward of the **Cheng Family**! I am two minutes away. If you say one more word, I will shoot you myself!"
*Beep.*
Smith stared at the phone, confused. The Cheng Family? Who?
Before he could process the thought, the double doors at the entrance of the precinct slammed open.
Chief O'Neil sprinted in. He was disheveled, panting, sweat pouring down his face. He ignored his deputy. He ignored the confused public. He ran straight toward the hallway leading to the inner offices.
But he stopped dead in his tracks.
Because the hallway door opened, and a young man walked out.
Luke strolled into the lobby. He had a cigarette unlit between his lips, his hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed, but his eyes swept over the room like a spotlight searching for a target.
Chief O'Neil practically threw himself at Luke. "Master Luke! I apologize! I didn't know you were in Moon City! This is a misunderstanding!"
The lobby went silent.
Vera's eyes widened. She recognized the Chief. He was a man even the Mayor had to be polite to. Why was he bowing—actually bowing—to the school doctor?
Luke ignored the Chief. He walked past him, straight to the bench where Madam Vane and Deputy Chief Smith were sitting.
"So," Luke said, his voice echoing in the quiet hall. "You're the ones who want to press charges?"
Madam Vane, sensing the shift in power but too stubborn to back down, huffed. "Yes! That girl broke my grandson's ribs! We want justice!"
Luke laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it under his expensive leather shoe.
"Justice," Luke repeated. "I like that word. Let's talk about justice."
He turned to the room, addressing everyone.
"We accept your request for a lawsuit. In fact, we insist on it. We will handle this case in two stages. **First, Private Settlement. Second, Public Prosecution.**"
Madam Vane blinked. "Private settlement? So you act tough, but you're paying us in the end?"
"No," Luke smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You misunderstood. Private settlement means *you* pay *us*."
"What?!" Madam Vane screeched.
"Miss Ren's hands are insured," Luke said calmly, lying through his teeth with the confidence of a devil. "She is a pianist and a researcher. Her hands are valued at fifty million dollars. You damaged her hand. We will sue you for medical costs, emotional distress, loss of future income, and punitive damages. My legal team from the Capital is already freezing your family's assets. By tomorrow morning, you will be bankrupt. You will lose your house, your car, and your savings."
Madam Vane gasped, clutching her chest. "You... you can't..."
"And then," Luke continued, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a growl, "Public Prosecution. Your grandson, Vane, led a gang of twelve armed men to corner a minor in an alley. That is attempted kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, sexual harassment, and organized crime activity. I have the surveillance footage. I have the best prosecutors in the country. Vane will not go to a hospital. He will go to a maximum-security prison for twenty years. No parole."
The color drained from Madam Vane's face. She looked at Deputy Chief Smith for help.
Luke followed her gaze. "And you. Smith."
Deputy Chief Smith was trembling so hard his fat jowls shook.
"Director Grant is in the back room right now," Luke said casually. "He's looking at your financial records. Taking bribes from local gangs? Cover-ups? Abuse of power? You won't just lose your job, Smith. You're going to share a cell with Vane."
Smith's knees gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.
The lobby was dead silent. Even the air conditioning seemed to have stopped.
At that moment, the hallway door opened again.
**Alpha Juan** walked out.
He was holding Ren's uninjured left hand. He didn't look at the sobbing Smith. He didn't look at the terrified Madam Vane. He didn't even acknowledge the Chief, who was bent double in a deep bow.
He walked with a regal, terrifying grace, shielding Ren from the chaos.
Vera stood frozen in the corner. She watched as her daughter walked past her. Ren didn't look at her. Ren's eyes were fixed ahead, her expression numb.
Juan stopped for a split second as he passed Vera. He didn't say a word. He just cast a glance at her—a look of such profound coldness and disappointment that Vera felt like she had been slapped.
Then, they were gone.
They walked out the glass doors to a waiting black sedan with a red-lettered Capital license plate. A driver in uniform opened the door for them.
Vera watched the car drive away, her legs shaking.
"Mom," Lance whispered beside her, his voice hoarse. "I think... I think we made a terrible mistake."
Vera looked at her hands. The hands that had almost slapped Ren just minutes ago.
"Who is he?" Vera whispered, her voice trembling. "Who is that man?"
Lance swallowed hard. "That was the car of the highest authority in the Capital. Ren... she isn't just a student. She has the protection of a god."
**[Chapter 26 End]**