To any casual observer, this confrontation had a clear outcome already decided.
Nolan stood at 176 cm with a well-proportioned build. Compared to Dmitri's towering, muscular frame, he looked a full size smaller. Not to mention Dmitri's reputation as a former school bully, someone who'd spent years honing his skills in street fights and back-alley brawls. He had far more experience with violence than any ordinary high school student.
The blond man recognized the mismatch immediately. He tried to intervene, grabbing at Dmitri's arm.
"Stop it! Dmitri... Dmitri, don't!"
His voice carried genuine concern. If Dmitri hurt this kid badly, the trouble would escalate beyond anything they could handle.
But Dmitri was beyond reason. Like a bull seeing red, he ignored his friend's warnings completely. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Nolan with singular focus.
One thought consumed him: make this student cry. Make him taste fear. Make him understand pain. Teach him to show proper respect.
Yet even facing Dmitri's murderous glare, Nolan remained perfectly calm. His expression didn't waver. No fear registered on his face.
Fear was nothing but the breakfast companion of Catachan warriors.
Dmitri's arm shot up, his heavy fist arcing toward Nolan's face with brutal intent.
But Nolan's palm had already moved, slipping past Dmitri's guard before the larger man even registered the motion.
His hardened knuckles drove into Dmitri's ribs with surgical precision.
Catachan fighting technique: First strike.
The ferocious grin froze on Dmitri's face. His mouth opened wide, a howl of agony building in his chest, rising toward his throat.
Nolan showed no mercy. He gave Dmitri no chance to scream.
Catachan fighting technique: Second strike.
The takeout box tumbled from Nolan's other hand. His now-free palm swept through the air like a scythe, striking Dmitri's neck with devastating force.
Two hits. That's all it took.
Dmitri's eyes rolled back, showing only whites. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. His body hit the wooden floor with a thunderous crash that shook the doorframe.
The blond man stood frozen, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Everything had happened so fast. The reversal was complete and absolute, shattering his entire understanding of how this encounter should have gone.
A seemingly ordinary high school student had just demolished Dmitri, who'd survived countless street fights without serious injury. Dmitri could take hits from grown men and keep swinging.
Two strikes. Less than three seconds.
The blond man's drunken haze evaporated instantly, replaced by cold, creeping terror. He stared at Nolan with wide eyes, his voice shaking.
"Please don't hurt me! You can have my phone! My wallet! Whatever you want!"
Nolan's face showed only exhausted resignation. He took a deep breath.
"Sixty dollars," he said flatly. "Thank you for your patronage."
"You want money!" The blond man jerked as if shocked. "Right! Money! I have money!"
He frantically patted his pockets, searching for cash with trembling hands.
"Six... sixty dollars!"
A few seconds later, he produced several crumpled bills from his jeans. He counted them twice, his fingers shaking so badly he almost dropped them. Exactly sixty dollars.
He approached the doorway like a man walking toward a hungry lion, extending the money with a trembling arm.
"Thank you for your patronage," Nolan said, forcing his customer service smile back into place as he accepted the bills.
He hesitated, then added, "Dmitri isn't dead. But he'll need a few days to recover."
"Ah?" The blond man blinked, then suddenly bowed repeatedly. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Nolan shrugged, bent to retrieve his delivery box, and turned toward the elevator.
He was a busy man. Countless tasks waited for him back at the restaurant.
The elevator descended slowly. Nolan finally allowed himself to exhale, his shoulders dropping.
Excitement still coursed through his veins, making his hands shake slightly.
His first real fight. He'd won with overwhelming advantage, barely even trying.
Of course, if he'd had Catachan Fang or even a knife, that first strike would have pierced straight through Dmitri's heart. But this conflict didn't warrant that level of violence. It was just a disagreement over takeout payment, not a battle to the death.
Soon, Nolan walked out of the apartment building, his steps light and easy.
The evening breeze cooled his flushed face, gradually settling the restless energy thrumming through his body. As his adrenaline faded, his analytical mind took over.
He'd defended himself against a legitimate threat. Not even the police would criticize a high school student for protecting himself when confronted by an aggressive drunk.
Besides, Dmitri was an expelled student with a criminal record. Underage drinking. Public intoxication. Drug deal. If anyone investigated, Dmitri would face far more serious charges than Nolan would for a simple scuffle.
In short, Nolan wasn't worried about Dmitri calling the police.
With that realization, a small smile crossed his face. His pedaling became smoother, more relaxed.
Ten minutes later, Nolan returned to the restaurant.
He immediately dove into prep work without pause, washing vegetables and preparing ingredients for the dinner rush.
As evening approached, customers began flooding in.
Maybe it was because the weekend was almost here. People who'd endured a hard week chose to reward themselves with hearty dinners. The timing made "The Evening Hearth" busier than usual, which was simultaneously painful and wonderful.
By six o'clock, the small restaurant was already packed.
Customers of every color filled the tables, some chatting animatedly, others eating with fierce concentration. Laughter mixed with conversation and the occasional curse word. Outside the windows, neon lights blazed to life as darkness fell, painting everything in vibrant colors.
The scene radiated life in its purest form.
Nolan, having just cleared a dining table, stole a moment to catch his breath. He wiped sweat from his forehead and watched the crowd, soaking in their joy.
To a certain extent, he genuinely enjoyed this orderly chaos.
The people who came to dine here represented different professions, different races, different backgrounds. But in this moment, delicious food erased those divisions. Class and wealth ceased to matter. All that remained was the simple pleasure of tasting good food and sharing time with friends.
"Nolan! Order up!"
For a moment, Nolan felt transported back to his previous life.
But his aunt's voice from the kitchen snapped him back to reality. He moved immediately, falling into his work rhythm.
"Table thirty-eight! Sweet & Spicy Chicken! Single portion!"
The bustling atmosphere continued until nine o'clock.
After the last customer left, Nolan and his aunt finally sat down to eat their own dinner. Nolan devoured his meal quickly, practically inhaling the food after hours of physical labor.
Following his aunt's instructions, he packed several portions of clean leftovers into takeout containers and brought them outside. A small group of homeless people waited patiently near the restaurant entrance, their faces lighting up as Nolan approached.
This was a kindness his aunt had practiced for years. As long as "The Evening Hearth" Restaurant remained open, the homeless in this neighborhood would never go hungry.
When everything in the restaurant was finally cleaned, the lights turned off, and the door locked, Nolan pedaled his bicycle home with his aunt riding on the back.
At ten o'clock, after a quick shower, Nolan lay in bed feeling pleasantly exhausted but not quite ready for sleep.
Through his bedroom door, he could hear the soft clicking of calculator buttons. His aunt was in the living room, working through the day's accounts and calculating their income.
Nolan, too restless to sleep, opened the Warhammer simulator.
[Cooldown time: seventeen hours.]
[Please invest resources to reduce cooldown time (currently holding no resources)]
Nolan frowned. He grabbed his phone from the pillow and held it up to the floating text.
[Current resources do not match. Please provide resources to reduce cooldown time.]
Determined to figure this out, Nolan tried everything within reach. Toilet paper. His keychain. The bedsheet. Random items from his desk.
The simulator rejected them all.
"What kind of resources do you need?" Nolan muttered in frustration. "At least give me a hint."
He fell into deep thought, running through possibilities.
Then something occurred to him.
With a solemn expression, Nolan bit his fingertip hard enough to draw blood. He squeezed several drops onto his palm and held it up to the simulator.
[Current resources do not match. Please provide resources to reduce cooldown time.]
Nolan cursed under his breath, rolled over, and sucked on his bleeding fingertip. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep.