Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
Carter gritted his teeth, enduring the pain in his body as he forced his way through the dense crowd. Each step was heavy, yet each one carried a cold determination.
The scene felt eerily familiar.
—What was the difference between this and being beaten by the Street Racers last night?
A group of crazed individuals, a pack of beasts controlled by some unseen force; whether they wielded clubs or raised banners, they were fundamentally the same.
Finally, he squeezed into the inner circle and reached Rain's side.
Rain stood amidst the throng, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His demeanor was graceful, his tone steady and confident as he spoke to a group of well-dressed businessmen.
His eyes sparkled with shrewdness and an air of control, exuding a persuasive charm that starkly contrasted with the drunken, foul-mouthed man from the hotel suite last night.
Carter quietly stood to the side, refraining from interjecting, his expression blank, his gaze like still water.
—This is Rain.
—A master of disguise.
Rain noticed his presence, turning to him with a smile and a nod, as if greeting an old friend.
But Carter merely responded with a cold glance devoid of emotion.
His indifference and silence carried a suppressed fury that Rain could not ignore.
Rain's smile faltered for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes, but that expression quickly vanished. He raised the corners of his mouth again, as if nothing had happened.
He withdrew his attention from Carter and continued to engage in lively conversation with the group of businessmen, his tone smooth and confident, his expression calm and unhurried, as if everything before him was under his control.
—Carter suddenly felt nauseous.
This man showed no cracks, no gaps; that was the most repulsive part.
Carter stood still, like a silent nail driven into the edge of this political carnival.
He said little, made no unnecessary movements, merely fulfilling his duty as a bodyguard, standing beside Rain like a shadow.
It wasn't until the event concluded, until the last cheer faded away, and the final supporter’s figure disappeared at the edge of the square that he finally relaxed a bit, escorting Rain to the car.
The car door was half-open when Carter was about to close it, but the secretary suddenly glanced at him, as if recalling something, and casually asked, “Where’s your motorcycle?”
Carter paused for a moment, shrugged lightly. “It got wrecked by Street Racers yesterday.”
The secretary raised an eyebrow. “Damn, that’s unlucky.”
However, Rain, sitting inside the car, visibly froze at this remark, his brow furrowing slightly as if he had just noticed Carter's condition.
“What? You mean yesterday… you ran into that Street Racing Gang?” His tone held a hint of shock as he scrutinized Carter closely, only then realizing that his face was pale and his movements stiff; he clearly bore injuries.
“That’s ridiculous,” Rain muttered under his breath before shaking his head, a hint of displeasure creeping onto his lips. “I won’t allow my people to be bullied like this.”
Carter was momentarily taken aback and looked up at Rain but couldn’t read any truth or falsehood from his face.
Is he really concerned? Or does he simply not want his "people" to appear too weak?
But Rain said nothing more. He leaned back in his seat and waved at Carter, speaking gently, "Get in the car. Let's head back to the headquarters together."
Carter stood still for a few seconds in silence, then without saying much, opened the car door and took a seat inside.
As the door closed, it shut out the outside world. Inside the car were only Rain, his secretary, and Carter himself.
This was their true world—no slogans, no crowds, no cameras—only the reality of power.
The atmosphere in the car was heavy; the air conditioning hummed softly, isolating them from the noise outside and making the silence within feel even more oppressive.
Rain leaned back in his seat, his gaze sweeping over Carter. His expression shifted from relaxed to somber, his tone low and tinged with a hint of coldness. "The injuries on you... were they caused by those Street Racers?"
Carter nodded slightly, his tone indifferent as if it were merely a trivial matter. "Yeah, just a few kids."
At this, Rain's previously serious expression darkened further, the smile that had lingered vanished completely, replaced by an unmistakable fury.
He said nothing more but coldly picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number. His fingers tapped impatiently on the screen.
"Hello." As soon as the call connected, Rain's voice cut through with an undeniable sharpness. "Can't you even manage your own underlings? Huh? Is this your person? Is this the quality of your subordinates?"
The person on the other end seemed taken aback. After a few seconds, a flurry of panicked responses came through, filled with forced laughter and fear. "Mr. Ryan, it's a misunderstanding; it must be a misunderstanding... They didn't know about your... this was an accident, really. Don't worry; I will handle it!"
Rain let out a cold laugh, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and cruelty. "You better handle it well because I'm not happy right now—really not happy."
"Who hit me? Heh... what do you think I'm going to do about it?"
The person on the other end of the phone began to apologize repeatedly, their tone growing increasingly anxious, as if they feared that Rain might actually make some extreme decision.
Rain had no intention of listening to any more of their nonsense. He coldly dropped a line, "Enough, don't waste my time here. Figure out what to do next on your own."
With a quick swipe of his finger, he hung up the phone, the entire process swift and decisive, without a hint of hesitation.
A momentary silence enveloped the car.
Carter silently watched Rain, and in that instant, he suddenly realized something—Rain's "concern" might not be mere care; it was an anger stemming from a challenge to his authority.
He wasn't angry because Carter was hurt; he was angry because "someone dared to touch his people."
This anger was devoid of any sentiment, pure and brutal.
The air inside the car felt stifling, like a sealed room with no exit and no fresh oxygen. The harsh words Rain had just spoken lingered in the small space like toxic mist.
Carter remained silent, but he could feel his knuckles tightening, his fists instinctively clenching. The sweat in his palms mixed with the pain from last night's injury, intensifying his agitation.
—He hated this feeling.
He hated how Rain could so casually decide the fate of a group of people. Those street racers were indeed delinquents, but they were still just kids—foolish, arrogant, and thinking themselves invincible. Yet that shouldn't lead to their end being picked apart by gangsters or disappearing in some neglected alley.
He was not pitying them; rather, he was terrifyingly clear—this punishment was not a "solution" to the problem but the beginning of another cycle.
The gang took action, eliminating this group of people, and then what? There would always be another batch of fearless young individuals stepping forward. They would become more violent and reckless because the examples set by the previous generation had taught them that in this world, if one wasn't ruthless enough, they wouldn't even qualify to survive.
Carter loathed this cycle. He had once been part of it and had witnessed too many such events. The slaughter on the battlefield was the same; kill one person, and another would pick up a gun, continuing to stand in the same spot. No one truly disappears; there are only graves that can never be filled.
But Rain did not care. He merely moved his lips and decided the fate of a group of people without even lifting a finger, handing it off to others as if wiping away a stain—effortlessly and without hesitation.
Carter's stomach churned; this feeling made him nauseous, as if memories from last night suddenly surged back.
He could almost see Rain in the hotel suite last night—the man laughing drunkenly, surrounded by women, puffing smoke with gang members while discussing drug trafficking, human trafficking, and the distribution of profits from brothels.
At that time, he still held onto a glimmer of hope, thinking that Rain might just be doing what he had to do. But now...
He finally understood that Rain was an integral part of this world; he was born to be at the top of this cycle rather than to end it.
Carter maintained a stern expression and said nothing.
Rain noticed his displeasure, raising an eyebrow with a hint of a meaningful smile playing at his lips, his tone somewhat flippant: "What's wrong, Carter? Looking so glum?"
That tone felt like teasing, like probing, like playing with a dog that struggled yet wanted to maintain its innocence.
Comment 0 Comment Count