The black sedan with the red-lettered Capital license plate glided through the night streets of Moon City like a phantom. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with a silence that felt more suffocating than the humid air outside.
**Luke** was driving. Usually the chatterbox of the group, he was currently gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, his eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror. He knew **Alpha Juan** better than anyone, and he knew that the Warlord's silence was far more dangerous than his shouting.
In the back seat, **Juan** sat on the right, and **Ren** sat on the left. There was a deliberate space between them, a chasm filled with tension.
Juan was looking out the window, his profile sharp and cold against the passing city lights. He had taken off his jacket, his dark grey shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the tense line of his neck. He hadn't said a word since they left the police station. He hadn't even looked at Ren.
Ren sat with her head down, her left hand gently cradling her injured right hand. The bleeding had stopped, thanks to Juan's initial pressure, but the pain was beginning to throb, a dull, rhythmic ache that synced with her heartbeat.
She stole a glance at Juan. His expression was unreadable, a mask of icy indifference. Ren bit her lip and looked away. For the first time, the fearless girl who could take down a dozen thugs felt a strange sense of guilt. She wasn't afraid of the police or the gangsters, but Juan's silent anger made her feel small.
"Is it hurting?"
Juan's voice broke the silence. He didn't turn his head, but his tone was devoid of its usual laziness. It was low, rough, and laced with suppressed emotion.
Ren hesitated. "A little."
Juan finally turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, deep pools that seemed to pull her in. He sighed, a sound of frustration and resignation. He reached over and pulled a medical kit from the compartment between the seats.
"Give me your hand," he ordered.
Ren obediently extended her injured hand.
Juan opened the kit. It was fully stocked with surgical tools, disinfectants, and bandages. He put on a pair of sterile gloves, his movements precise and professional. He was no longer the terrifying Warlord; he was **Dr. Juan**, the genius surgeon.
"I don't have anesthesia here," Juan said, uncapping a bottle of iodine. "It's going to sting. Bear with it."
Ren nodded. "Go ahead."
Juan poured the iodine over the wound. The liquid burned like fire as it washed over the raw, exposed flesh. Ren's body tensed, her face turning pale, and a fine layer of sweat broke out on her forehead. But she didn't make a sound. She didn't pull away. She just stared at the car seat in front of her, her jaw set.
Juan paused. He glanced at her face, seeing the stubbornness in her eyes. His heart tightened.
He lowered his head and blew gently on the wound. The cool air alleviated some of the stinging.
"You can cry out if it hurts," Juan murmured, his voice softening.
"I'm fine," Ren whispered.
Juan shook his head. He began to stitch the wound. His hands were steady, his technique flawless. He worked with a speed and elegance that was mesmerizing to watch. Luke, peeking through the mirror, shook his head. If the medical world knew that the hands of Dr. Juan were being used to stitch up a street brawl injury in the back of a car, they would faint.
Ten minutes later, the wound was closed and neatly bandaged. Juan tied the gauze into a perfect knot.
"Don't get it water on it for two weeks," Juan said, peeling off his gloves. "And don't lift anything heavy."
"Okay," Ren said obediently.
"And Ren," Juan said, leaning back and looking her in the eye. "If you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I won't be the one stitching you up. I'll lock you in a room until you learn to value your own life."
Ren looked at the bandage on her hand. "I promise."
Juan stared at her for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a lollipop—strawberry flavor—and unwrapped it. He popped it into her mouth.
"Eat," he said. "Sugar helps with the shock."
Ren tasted the sweetness and finally relaxed. The storm inside the car had passed.
***
Meanwhile, outside the Moon City Police Precinct, the storm was just beginning for the Lin family.
**Vera** stood on the curb, watching the black sedan disappear into the night. Her legs felt weak. She clutched her handbag to her chest as if it could protect her from the reality crashing down on her.
"Who was that?" Vera whispered, her voice trembling. "Why did **Chief O'Neil** bow to him? Why was **Deputy Chief Smith** on his knees?"
**Lance** stood beside her, his face grim. He had seen the license plate. He knew what it meant.
"Mom," Lance said, his voice hoarse. "That was a Capital plate. A red-lettered one. It belongs to the highest echelon of the military or government. That man... he isn't just rich. He is power itself."
Vera gasped. "The Capital? But Ren... she's just a girl from the countryside. How could she know someone like that?"
"I don't know," Lance shook his head. "But we made a mistake. A huge mistake. We treated Ren like a burden, like a stain on our reputation. But tonight, she was the one who had the city's gods bowing to her."
Vera thought back to her actions in the interrogation room. She remembered trying to force Ren to apologize. She remembered raising her hand to slap her.
A cold shiver ran down her spine. If that man knew what she had almost done...
"We need to fix this," Vera said frantically. "We need to make amends with Ren. If she has that kind of connection, she could be the key to the Lin family's rise."
Lance looked at his mother with a complicated expression. Even now, her first thought was about using Ren for the family's benefit.
"Let's just go home," Lance said tiredly. "We need to see what happens tomorrow."
***
Inside the precinct, **Deputy Chief Smith** was living a nightmare.
He sat in his office, his head in his hands. **Chief O'Neil** had just finished screaming at him for twenty minutes straight.
"You idiot!" O'Neil had roared. "You tried to arrest the person protected by the **Cheng Family**! Do you have a death wish?"
Smith was sweating profusely. "Chief, I didn't know! It was just a high school fight! How was I supposed to know the Warlord of the Capital would get involved?"
"It doesn't matter what you knew!" O'Neil slammed his fist on the desk. "Director Grant is personally reviewing your files. If you want to stay out of prison, you better pray that Ren decides to be merciful."
At that moment, the door creaked open. **Madam Vane** walked in, looking confused and slightly annoyed.
"Deputy Chief," Madam Vane said, clutching her purse. "What happened out there? Who was that rude young man? And why did you let that girl go?"
Smith looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. He stood up slowly.
"Get out," Smith said.
"Excuse me?" Madam Vane bristled. "I am asking you a question! My grandson is in the hospital—"
"I SAID GET OUT!" Smith screamed, throwing a file across the room. Papers scattered everywhere like confetti. "You and your cursed grandson have ruined me! Do you know who you offended? Do you know who that girl is backed by? Director Grant! The Cheng Family! You are finished! We are all finished!"
Madam Vane took a step back, terrified by the pure madness in Smith's eyes. She turned and fled the office.
As she stumbled out of the police station, the reality of **Luke's** threat echoed in her mind.
*Private Settlement. Public Prosecution.*
*Bankruptcy. Prison.*
For the first time in her life, the arrogant old woman felt the cold grip of absolute terror.
***
The next morning, Wolven High was buzzing with rumors.
**Faye** walked through the hallways with her head held high, but her eyes were anxious. She had heard snippets of conversation from Vera and Lance the night before, but she didn't know the full story. All she knew was that Ren had been taken away by the police.
During the morning break, Faye stood with **Joey** and **Xavier** near the vending machines.
"Is it true?" Joey asked, unwrapping a candy bar. "Ren got arrested?"
Faye sighed, looking downcast. "Yes. She got into a fight with some gangsters. My mother tried to bail her out, but... it's a criminal case. She might be detained for a while."
Xavier frowned. He didn't say anything, but his expression was thoughtful.
"Wow," Joey shook his head. "I knew she was trouble, but jail? That's intense."
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd.
Joey stopped chewing. Faye froze.
Walking across the courtyard, wearing a black windbreaker over her uniform, was **Ren**.
She looked the same as always—bored, slightly disheveled, with her headphones around her neck. Her right hand was tucked into her pocket, hiding the bandage.
She walked straight toward the vending machine, the crowd parting for her like the Red Sea.
"Ren?" Joey gasped. "I thought you were in jail?"
Ren glanced at him, then at Faye. Her eyes were cold.
"Jail?" Ren scoffed. She pulled a coin out of her pocket with her left hand and slotted it into the machine. "Who told you that?"
Faye turned pale. "I... I just heard..."
Ren bought a can of cold coffee. She cracked it open with one hand, taking a sip.
"Don't believe everything you hear," Ren said lazily. "Especially from people who don't know anything."
She turned and walked away, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
Joey looked at Faye. "I thought you said she was detained for criminal charges?"
Faye bit her lip, her face flushing red with embarrassment. "I... maybe there was a mistake."
Xavier watched Ren's retreating back. He noticed that she was favoring her right hand, keeping it hidden. And he noticed something else—the aura around her had changed. It was sharper. More dangerous.
Ren wasn't just a troublemaker anymore. She was a mystery that even the city's elite couldn't solve.
**[Chapter 27 End]**