The Mall Clash
Inside a nearly empty shopping mall, right in the center atrium, a tall and skinny young man was in the middle of a fight.
He wore a red tank top and a pair of Adidas athletic shorts, matched with black running shoes. His arms moved continuously, drawing circles in the air with both hands—almost like he was performing a Tai Chi routine. Or perhaps… executing some kind of mystical technique, like the legendary Heaven and Earth Shift.
From above—at a sharp 45-degree angle—someone came diving down at full speed, his leg extended in a deadly arc. The air around his toes sparked from the sheer force of the motion.
That man was Canelo. And the move? His signature attack: Skyfall Kick.
But the guy on the ground—still calmly drawing circles—had something else prepared. Between his hands, a swirling vortex of air formed, catching Canelo’s Skyfall Kick midair and completely neutralizing its force.
Without hesitation, he grabbed Canelo’s leg with both hands and hurled him ten feet across the atrium.
Canelo hit the ground, rolled twice, and immediately sprang back to his feet. He landed in a wide stance, his body slightly crouched, breath heavy.
With a short laugh and a few deep pants, Canelo smirked.
“As expected… Robinson. That Tai Chi crap of yours lives up to the rumors.”
Robinson’s expression didn’t budge. He stared Canelo down and said coldly,
“Give it up. This shopping mall territory—we’re taking it back. Walk away now, and you won’t get hurt.”
Turns out, this was a turf war between two gang factions.
Robinson’s crew was trying to reclaim this shopping mall to reestablish control and squeeze protection money from the businesses inside—much needed income for their crumbling finances.
Meanwhile, Canelo was holding it down for his side, unwilling to let go of such a prime source of revenue.
Spin Kicks and Total Collapse
The battlefield wasn’t just a duel between two top-tier bosses—behind them, a dozen or so underlings from both sides were clashing in chaotic hand-to-hand combat.
Among the crowd, two individuals stood out—not necessarily for their skills, but for their looks.
The first was a man with an unbelievably long neck—at least five times longer than the average person’s. And not just long—it was thin, too. The guy towered at around two meters tall, looking like something straight out of a circus freak show.
He was one of Robinson’s crew, and everyone called him Long Neck.
The second standout was a man with an enormous belly. His arms and legs were stick-thin, almost bony, but his stomach looked like he was six—no, maybe even nine—months pregnant.
People didn’t bother giving him a cool nickname. They just called him The Male Pregnant Guy.
While the freakish fighters brawled in the background, Robinson suddenly spun in place—twice—and with the momentum, launched himself into the air.
As he rose, he unleashed a powerful spinning kick straight into the gut of one of Canelo’s lackeys.
The poor guy was launched like a rocket, flying upward until his head smashed into the ceiling panels. His skull got stuck, and the rest of his body dangled there like a ridiculous piñata.
From the look on Canelo’s face, it was obvious—his crew was getting completely wrecked.
One by one, his underlings were either knocked out, injured, or kicked across the floor like rag dolls.
Seeing how bad things were going, Canelo panicked and shouted:
“Fall back, everyone! Retreat! RETREAT NOW!”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a wave of terrified lackeys scattered, fleeing the shopping mall in pure chaos.
Canelo stayed in his fighting stance just a moment longer, watching the last of his allies vanish through the exit—
Then, without hesitation, he spun around and sprinted out of the mall at full speed.
Robinson raised his hand triumphantly and shouted:
“Victory is ours!”
A New Order
Robinson took two quick steps forward and leapt onto a table about a meter high.
Standing tall above the crowd, he raised his voice and dramatically announced:
“From this day forward, the rules of this shopping mall have changed!”
“All shop owners—your protection fee will officially increase from ten percent of your monthly income… to eighteen percent.”
Gasps rippled through the bystanders.
But Robinson wasn’t finished. He raised one finger and continued, his tone theatrical and full of flair:
“In return, I promise you this—this mall will receive better, stronger, superior protection. We will use every ounce of our strength to ensure your safety… and the prosperity of your businesses!”
The way he spoke—grand, exaggerated, like a stage actor delivering his final monologue—left the room hanging somewhere between awe and disbelief.
The shopkeepers standing nearby looked stunned. Some shook their heads. Others began murmuring complaints.
“Business is already so hard these days…”
“How are we supposed to survive with fees this high?”
“What are we even paying for?”
Just then, a commotion broke out at the mall’s entrance.
A chief officer, dressed in full police uniform and cap, marched in flanked by a squad of officers.
The store owners turned toward the sound—
And for a brief moment, glimmers of hope appeared on their faces.
The chief walked straight toward Robinson.
Robinson gently stepped down from the table, landing without a sound. The two stood face to face, staring at each other in silence for a few seconds.
Then, the chief reached up and removed his police cap.
Underneath… was a bald head. He only had hair on the sides—and on one side, it had been grown out ridiculously long and combed all the way over the top of his head in a desperate, obvious combover.
The scene looked almost comedic.
But there was no mistaking it—this was Grayson, the local chief of police. Everyone in the district knew him.
Grayson broke into a wide smile and said cheerfully:
“Big Brother—congrats on claiming a new turf!”
Turns out—they were blood brothers.
At that moment, whatever hope the shop owners had… was completely shattered.
They knew Grayson all too well.
A corrupt, shameless cop.
And if there was one thing he loved more than his combover, it was working both sides of the law.
The Golden Eyes Arrive
Just then, another unexpected guest entered the mall.
He wore a black tank top, Nike athletic pants, and clean white sneakers.
It was none other than the man everyone had heard of—Brian, the Golden Eyes.
As Brian casually walked into the mall and made his way to Robinson’s side, some of the underlings took notice.
One of them leaned over to Robinson and asked:
“Hey Robinson, is this that younger brother you’re always bragging about?”
It wasn’t a weird question—Brian and Robinson looked strikingly similar. From their outfits to their height and build, they could’ve passed for twins.
But someone didn’t take that comment too well.
Grayson, the bald-headed chief officer with the tragic combover, suddenly snapped.
“The fuck you talking about?! I’m his little brother, motherfucker! That guy’s just some random punk off the street!”
The others looked around awkwardly.
Honestly, Brian did look way more like Robinson than Grayson ever had.
Grayson looked nothing like him.
He was shorter, visibly older, and his sad attempt at covering his baldness only made things worse. The more people stared, the harder it was to unsee it.
And yet, while that identity drama played out, one of the weirder underlings had already started to panic.
The Male Pregnant Guy—still sporting his grotesquely swollen belly—was clearly nervous the moment Brian stepped into the mall.
Without saying a word, he quietly shuffled behind another lackey, trying to hide himself from view.
But Brian had already noticed.
He calmly approached and said:
“Come on now. You showed up at our nightclub last night, tried to get a girl, and skipped out without paying. You still owe us $150.”
Then, with a colder tone:
“Add the penalty fee. That’s $300. I’m here today on behalf of the Humble Organization… to collect.”
The moment that name was spoken—Humble Organization—a shiver rippled through the room.
Everyone froze. That name wasn’t just familiar—it was dangerous. No one wanted to cross them.
But the Pregnant Guy acted out of fear.
While Brian’s attention seemed elsewhere for a split second, he suddenly pulled out a fruit knife and lunged forward in desperation.
Too slow.
Brian’s eyes flickered—just faintly—with golden light.
Then, without warning, his fist shot forward and punched straight through the man’s bloated stomach, tearing a hole clean through.
The Male Pregnant Guy collapsed on the spot.
Dead. Instantly.
Zero Respect
What a brutal attack.
Even Grayson—usually cocky and careless—was completely stunned.
He opened his mouth so wide in shock that his jaw just… came off.
Literally. It dropped right off his face.
Panicking, he scrambled to catch it with both hands and awkwardly shoved it back into place.
Everyone stood frozen.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
And in that stunned silence, Brian walked away calmly—completely unbothered.
He strolled over to a nearby water fountain, turned the tap on, and slowly rinsed the blood off his hand and forearm. Every move was relaxed. Controlled.
As if he’d just finished washing up after lunch.
Grayson, now fuming, clenched his teeth.
Brian had just killed one of his brother’s men right in front of him—without warning, without permission.
He reached down toward his waist, fingers wrapping around the grip of his pistol.
But before he could draw, Robinson gently pressed a hand on his wrist and shook his head.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly.
“He’s from the Humble Organization. We still need to show them respect… We can’t afford to offend them lightly.”
Grayson pulled his hand back, reluctantly.
Brian, meanwhile, had already finished washing up.
He walked slowly back into the center of the group, right up to Grayson.
He gave him a small, amused smile and said:
“Guns are for the weak.
You really think a little pistol like that… could hurt me?”
Then Brian tilted his head back and laughed out loud—a bold, echoing laugh that lasted a few seconds.
After that, he looked straight at Grayson and said:
“To be honest?
To me… you’re no different from a random bystander on the street.
I mean it. A cop, a chief, a big-shot like you? In my eyes, you’re nothing.”
“I show zero respect to you. Understand?”
Grayson’s face turned bright red.
His fists clenched tight.
His breathing grew heavier.
He took a step forward.
Brian stood his ground—calm, silent.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t dodge.
He didn’t block.
He didn’t even lift a finger to strike back.
He just stood there, perfectly still, watching Grayson with golden eyes that flickered faintly.
Grayson threw the punch.
A clean hit.
A powerful, rage-fueled blow—
Right across the face.
“AAHHH! DAMN, THAT HURT!!”
A voice cried out.
But it wasn’t Brian.
It was just some random guy who happened to be standing nearby—caught in the perfect angle between them.
Grayson had missed.
Or rather, he couldn’t bring himself to hit Brian.
So he hit someone else instead.
The poor guy collapsed to the floor, holding his face, groaning in pain.
Brian slid his hands into his pockets, turned slightly, and said with a calm grin:
“See ya, Mr. Chief Officer.”
And with that, he slowly walked out of the mall.
Humble Organization – The Absolute Authority
After Brian walked out of the mall, the room stayed silent for a few seconds—still tense, still stunned.
Then, one of the underlings finally spoke up, scratching his head with a confused look:
“Hey… Chief… why’d you punch one of our own guys?”
Grayson turned around, furious.
“Dickhead, no one said you were mute just ’cause you shut the hell up!”
“You want me to punch you too, huh?!”
The underling immediately straightened up and shook his head innocently.
“Nope, sir.”
Suddenly—
A fist smashed straight through the wall behind them, cracking the concrete and leaving a jagged hole.
It was Long Neck. His long, thin body was trembling, and tears streamed down his face.
“That pregnant guy… he was my brother,” he said, voice shaking.
“We’d been through life and death together. We’ve known each other for years…”
“And now he’s just—gone. Just like that.”
He clenched his fist tight, his face twisted with grief and rage.
“I won’t forgive them. I don’t care how powerful the Humble Organization is.
I heard their boss—Colin—isn’t even that strong of a fighter!”
“If I ever see him on the street… I swear I’ll beat the living shit out of him!”
There was a long pause.
Robinson didn’t say something like “I understand how you feel.”
He just stared at Long Neck for a few seconds, then sighed.
“That’s a stupid idea.”
He stepped a little closer, voice low and deliberate.
“You probably don’t even realize it… but you’ve never seen him in public, have you?”
“If my memory serves, he’s not just powerful—his golden speech can bend all of us combined like a toy. But that’s not all.”
“He’s crafty. He always hides himself behind the shadow.”
“Colin doesn’t stroll through open streets like the rest of us. He doesn’t need to.”
Then Robinson slowly stepped up beside Long Neck and gently patted his shoulder.
“In this world… there’s a kind of power far scarier than cops or gangs.”
He paused, his voice heavy.
“It’s called the Humble Organization.”