The moment the shift-end bell rang in the West District Sales Department, just as Michael finished tidying his desk, he was pulled aside by Zhang Ge, an old colleague from his original department.

  "Michael, it's been a few days since you transferred to the West District, right? The brothers haven't celebrated with you yet. Tonight, we absolutely must have a couple of drinks!"

  Behind Zhang Ge were two familiar faces, and also Kurt. Qian wore a forced smile, a strange-looking expression.

  Michael couldn't find a way to refuse out of politeness and had to go along.

  The little eatery at the alley entrance was a shabby, corrugated iron shack, drafty on all sides, lacking a proper door, just a tattered cloth curtain keeping out the wind.

  Passersby could see right inside from the street, and those inside had a clear view of the outside.

  The table wobbled unsteadily, and the food was pathetically meager: a plate of bitter, pickled wild vegetables, a plate of stir-fried tofu dregs, a plate of rock-hard dried salted radish strips.

  The only remotely "meaty" dish was a few bits of fried pork scraps without a single drop of grease.

  In this resource-scarce wasteland world, having alcohol wasn't half bad. Several bowls of murky, pungent, coarse-grain liquor were the main course of the night.

  A few rounds of drinks later, everyone was a bit tipsy.

  Just then, a provocatively dressed woman with a fiery figure walked past the shack's entrance.

  The breeze lifted the tattered cloth curtain, revealing a glimpse of a slender waist.

  The gazes of the men at the table instantly snapped towards her, even Zhang Ge couldn't help but let out a low whistle.

  Kurt stared at her retreating figure, swallowed hard, nudged Michael's arm, and deliberately said in a mocking, insinuating tone:

  "What are you looking at? Your eyes are practically glued. Usually, you're the quietest one, but when it comes to pretty girls, you're the first to get excited."

  Michael withdrew his gaze, feeling a bit awkward, and didn't respond.

  But Kurt had been waiting for this opening and immediately pressed on:

  "Stop pretending. Back when you used to chat with us privately, wasn't it always you eyeing the girls walking by? Who doesn't know what you're thinking? You want a girlfriend too, want someone to be with, want to hold a soft, nice girl and settle down, right?"

  As soon as he said this, the two other colleagues at the table joined in with laughter.

  Kurt's words grew increasingly venomous.

  Fueled by the alcohol, he spewed out two years' worth of pent-up jealousy:

  "But take a look at yourself! Poor as a church mouse, renting a leaky room, eating the worst compressed biscuits, can't even bear to use a single meat can voucher! What do you have to offer in a relationship? What do you have to marry a wife?"

  "That girl who just walked by, you think you're too good for her? Or a little girl like Mia—you think you're worthy? You can't even give someone a full meal or a proper roof over their head!"

  "I spent two years, threw countless money at it, trying to get into the West District and couldn't. How come you, with a stroke of dumb luck, get to enjoy the benefits? How come you can even find a girlfriend?"

  "You're just a piece of worthless trash, never qualified for anything good in this life!"

  Each word stabbed at the heart, every sentence barbed.

  Michael's face instantly darkened, his fist clenching white under the table.

  The colleagues around them didn't dare to speak; the atmosphere turned icy.

  Kurt, getting more pleased with himself the more he ranted, sprayed spittle on Michael's face.

  Michael had had enough.

  Maybe over these two years, he'd been too easy to push around, too accustomed to being bullied.

  After surviving the company's escaped experiment incident, he'd somewhat gained Elena's backing.

  Besides, he wasn't part of the East District anymore, so why should he still take this from Kurt?

  Michael raised his eyes, his gaze calm but carrying a sharp, icy edge.

  His voice wasn't loud, but it hit Kurt's sore spot with precision:

  "Qian Ge, I was just thinking, why is the pickles tonight so sour? Oh, I know. It's because someone gets to eat the good stuff for free, while others have to empty their savings just for pickles."

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  A single sentence, light as a feather, yet like a knife, straight into what Kurt cared about most—his pathetic two-year, money-draining failure to get into the West District.

  The fact that Kurt wanted into the West District was something every East District sales rep knew.

  Kurt's face instantly turned ashen, his eyes flashing with ferocity.

  He couldn't maintain even a shred of his mocking smile. Furious and humiliated, he clenched his fist and swung it straight at Michael's face:

  "Shut your damn mouth!"

  The punch was fast and vicious; no one at the table had time to react.

  But Michael merely tilted his head slightly and lifted his wrist lightly.

  In the face of his enhanced reflexes, Kurt's swing seemed as slow as a snail, as light as cotton.

  Michael caught his wrist firmly with one hand.

  The moment his fingers closed around Kurt's wrist, Michael's mind churned violently—

  He hated it more than anyone, yet he'd endured it longer than anyone.

  When he first joined the company, Kurt was his senior mentor, teaching him the products, teaching him to fill out forms.

  That tiny bit of kindness, Michael had remembered for a long time. And precisely because of that, he had endured it all later—Kurt bossing him around, stealing his sales, humiliating him in public.

  He endured his arrogance, his acerbic tongue, endured being treated as a pushover.

  It wasn't that he wasn't angry. It was that the old him simply didn't have the right to fight back.

  But now it was different.

  He had the Tengwan mark on his chest, a beast's strength hidden within his body. He was no longer that useless guy who could only bow his head and take the abuse.

  A flash of coldness passed through Michael's eyes; his fingertips exerted a slight pressure.

  "Ah—!"

  Kurt immediately contorted in pain, crying out. His punch lost all force, his whole body immobilized.

  No one saw clearly how Michael moved.

  They only knew—

  The pushover from before had suddenly grown a spine.

  "You let him go! Don't you touch my Mike!"

  A clear, angry shout exploded from the shack's entrance.

  Mia stood outside the tattered curtain, her eyes red, visibly furious.

  She hadn't seen Michael after work and had come looking, just in time to hear Kurt's most vicious insults and see him throw a punch.

  Kurt, sweating profusely from the pain, wrenched his hand free from Michael's grip and stumbled back several steps.

  Mia charged in, wrapped her arms tightly around Michael's arm, straightened her back, and glared defiantly at Kurt. Her voice was bright and firm:

  "I'm his girlfriend! I like him! I don't want money, I don't want a house, I don't want cans! I just want to be with him!"

  "Mike's excellence is something you'll never understand. Only a woman like me has the right to say! All you know is how to bully people! You'rethe one who'll never be liked in your whole life!"

  Her words turned Kurt's face the color of pig liver.

  The West District he'd spent two years and money trying to enter, Michael had walked into easily;

  The Michael he'd mocked as "unworthy of a girlfriend" had this pretty, lovely girl devoted to him;

  Even in a fight, he couldn't win.

  Shame, anger, jealousy, and humiliation instantly drowned him.

  Mia tugged Michael's arm. "Mike, let's go. Don't pay attention to people like him!"

  Michael stood up. Without another glance at Kurt, he took Mia's hand and walked with her into the twilight.

  Inside the shack, Kurt, enraged, violently overturned a wine bowl.

  The murky liquor splashed across the table, a pathetic, ridiculous mess.

  He stared at the departing figures, his eyes filled with venomous resentment:

  Michael, I won't let this go!

  And in the shadows of the street corner, a black sedan sat silently.

  Elena rolled down the window, taking in the entire scene that had just unfolded—

  Kurt attacking, Michael effortlessly deflecting it, Mia stepping forward, the two clinging tightly to each other.

  A faint, utterly controlled smile slowly curled at the corner of her cold eyes.

  Stronger, and now with a weakness.

  Perfect.

  Michael, you'll never escape my grasp in this lifetime.