Noonday Visitor
It was noon the next day.
Lawson was back in his usual spot—same alley, same cracked brick wall, same broken-down trash bins cooking in the heat. He wore the same outdated railroad worker uniform and squatted in his signature pose, arms dangling over his knees while one foot bounced lazily.
Just then, a tall, lean man came walking down the alley.
He wore a tight black tank top, Nike shorts, and athletic sneakers. His physique was clean-cut—athletic, but not bulky—and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like someone who didn’t belong in a place like this.
As he passed, he casually lifted his sunglasses just a bit and glanced toward Lawson. His eyes briefly shimmered with a soft golden glow.
Lawson didn’t notice. He remained motionless, his eyes low, foot still bouncing.
A moment passed.
Lawson finally gave his chipped ceramic bowl a casual shake and said, “Spare some change, good sir? Haven’t eaten all day.”
The man stopped.
“I’m Brian,” he said calmly. “One of the senior members of the Humble Organization. I’m here on assignment.”
Lawson raised his eyes, confused. “Huh? I’m just a broke, ordinary guy trying to get by. What could someone like me possibly have to do with your organization? You sure you’ve got the right person?”
Brian gave a faint smile.
“Yesterday, one of our businesses—a massage parlor—filed a report. Said a customer received two hours of our most… specialized services and walked out without paying. Not only that, but he also tricked our masseuse out of all her tip money before leaving.”
Lawson blinked and tilted his head. He seemed to realize something but kept his act straight.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’ve got money to give, I’ll take it. If not, kindly move along. I’m trying to run a business here.”
He lifted his chipped bowl again and gave it a gentle shake.
A soft golden glow shimmered from within.
The Golden Light That Failed
The two of them stood there, unmoving. Ten… maybe twenty seconds passed. Nothing happened.
Brian gave a small, knowing smile—like he’d already expected this outcome.
Lawson, on the other hand, frowned. He glanced at his bowl, then back at Brian. He shook it again, harder this time. The golden glow grew brighter, warmer, more pronounced. But Brian just kept watching, completely unbothered.
Lawson gritted his teeth.
He gathered every ounce of mental energy he had. Every brain cell, every last drip of inner power was focused on the bowl. His hands trembled. The glow intensified until it looked almost blinding.
But still… nothing.
Brian didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even move his hands. His eyes remained fixed on the glowing bowl, calm and unfazed.
Lawson’s breath turned shallow. He was panting like someone who had just sprinted ten miles. His head started to spin, his body felt light. That same dizziness you get when your blood sugar crashes hit him all at once.
Then Brian spoke—calm, cold, and to the point.
“Alright. Let’s talk about your debt.”
“The room fee… plus the tip… plus the cash you stole from our massage technician’s purse… plus the penalty. That adds up to about a thousand bucks. Hand it over now, and I’ll pretend this never happened. Just a warning, since it’s your first offense.”
Lawson immediately shook his head, breathing hard.
“No way. You’re not getting a cent from me. I don’t care who you are.”
Brian’s smile faded.
“Well then,” he said, voice dropping into something quieter—sharper.
“If that’s how you want it… I’ll take it by force. One way or another.”
The Golden Eyes
Lawson’s smirk vanished the moment Brian brought up the debt. His body stiffened. He looked around nervously, then nodded quickly.
“Alright, alright! I’ll pay up—just don’t hurt me.”
He reached his right hand into his pants pocket and began rummaging around. His fingers moved slowly, like he was trying to dig out crumpled cash.
Brian’s golden eyes shimmered faintly, catching the light. Without emotion, he said:
“Don’t even think about it. If you’re about to fake a coin search and throw a cheap sucker punch at me… don’t.”
Lawson froze mid-motion. His fingers, just inches from curling into a fist, stiffened. He looked stunned, as if Brian had read his mind.
“H-how did you…?”
Brian stared calmly at him and answered:
“It’s called the Golden Eyes. I can see through every twitch, every muscle shift, every data point your body gives off. I know what you’re going to do before you know it. If it’s physically possible, I can even mimic your moves. All of them.”
Lawson’s expression twisted—part disbelief, part resentment. But he quickly realized he had no chance in a straight fight.
Then suddenly, his face changed.
A glint of resolve flickered in his eyes.
In one quick motion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a spring-loaded knife—a compact switchblade with a thin, jagged blade. With a yell, he lunged forward and thrust it toward Brian’s chest.
But before the blade even got close, Brian moved.
A sharp crack! rang out.
Brian’s hand shot forward like lightning—a single knifehand chop slammed down on Lawson’s wrist. The blade clattered to the ground.
Lawson staggered backward, stunned and winded.
“W-what the hell? How are you so fast?!”
Brian shook his head.
“It’s not that I’m fast. It’s that your attack was painfully predictable.”
Lawson clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in silent fury. But beneath the anger… was helplessness. Frustration. Defeat.
Brian took a step forward and rose his voice.
“Now! Last chance!”
The Golden Bow
Lawson stood frozen, unsure what to do.
Across from him, Brian calmly crossed his arms and started tapping one finger against his elbow. He didn’t speak—just stood there in silence, watching, waiting. The steady tapping echoed through the alley. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.
Finally, Brian spoke.
“I’ll give you five seconds. I don’t want this to get ugly.”
But Lawson kept standing there, caught in his thoughts.
Brian didn’t wait for the countdown.
In a flash, he sprinted forward and launched his first punch.
Honestly, even without Golden Eyes, Brian completely outclassed Lawson in speed, strength, and precision. Within seconds, he had landed several clean hits—one to the jaw, two to the ribs, and a few more across the legs. Lawson stumbled and staggered, already bruised and battered.
Then Brian decided to show off a bit. He grabbed both of Lawson’s shoulders and yanked him forward, bringing him in close.
With a sudden burst, he started doing high knees in place—knees flying up like a cartoonish runner. It was the same move Tom had once used in the alley against Canelo. The motion looked ridiculous, almost comedic—but the power behind it was no joke.
Brian’s knees slammed into Lawson’s gut and chest, again and again. Blood sprayed from Lawson’s mouth. He couldn’t even raise his arms to block anymore.
After barely ten seconds, Brian let go and stepped back.
Lawson collapsed instantly—falling forward, limbs sprawled out on the ground. Then, trembling, he pushed himself up slightly, shakily got to his knees, and bowed down.
“Please, please… spare me,” he stammered. “I-I’ll pay… I’ll pay whatever money I owe you. Please, just don’t hurt me… don’t kill me… I’m begging you…”
As his forehead hit the ground, a soft golden light flickered from the center of his forehead—the signature glow of his technique, the Golden Bow.
The Truth About Golden Techniques
Brian froze for a moment. His eyes were locked ahead, unmoving. The glowing light from Lawson’s forehead had stopped him in his tracks—or so it seemed.
Then, from the ground, Lawson let out a strange, creepy chuckle.
In an instant, he grabbed the switchblade that had fallen earlier and sprang up with a sudden burst of energy, driving it straight toward Brian’s chest.
But Brian had been playing along the whole time.
Just before the blade could reach him, he let out a grin and struck Lawson’s wrist with a brutal kick. A loud crack echoed through the alley. The blade flew into the air, spinning wildly before landing ten feet away with a clatter.
Lawson collapsed to his knees, clutching his broken wrist and crying out in pain.
Tears streamed down his face as he screamed, “Why?! Why didn’t my Golden Technique do anything? Why didn’t it work?! I don’t understand!”
Brian, arms calmly folded across his chest, gave a composed reply:
“Golden Techniques have limits. They’re based on intelligence. The greater the IQ gap, the stronger the effect.
But if the other person has the same IQ—or higher—it usually doesn’t work.
Golden Techniques are a form of IQ-based domination. They only work when you’re smarter.”
Lawson stared up at him, eyes wide with disbelief.
Then… he lowered his head.
The fight was over. Completely and utterly over.
Lawson had finally given up.
The Last Grab
Brian crossed his arms, tapping one finger against his elbow, visibly running out of patience. His voice was sharp and impatient.
“Alright, alright. The debt still needs to be paid. Hand it over.”
Lawson was still kneeling, sobbing, ignoring him completely.
Brian narrowed his eyes. His golden eyes flickered faintly as he scanned Lawson from head to toe. Something didn’t sit right.
His gaze locked onto Lawson’s crotch area.
It looked… unusually bulky. Suspiciously bulky. A bulge that didn’t match the rest of his skinny frame.
Brian’s expression shifted. Without a word, he stepped forward—fast.
His hand dove straight into Lawson’s pants. Fingers gripped around the bulge, yanked hard, and pulled with full force.
Lawson let out a scream of pure agony.
“OH NO! AHHHH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! MY GOD!”
Brian froze mid-motion, eyes wide.
“Oh my god…” he muttered. “I thought that was a wad of cash. Turns out it was just a gigantic cock…”
A heavy silence followed.
Lawson, still weeping, reached into his actual pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. He handed them over without a word. Brian took the money, counted it quickly—exactly one thousand. Not a cent more, not a cent less.
He turned to leave, shaking his head.
“If you’d just cooperated from the start, we wouldn’t have had to go through all this embarrassment.”
He paused, then tossed one final remark over his shoulder:
“You’re the number one in this begging business. You don’t even need money. With that Golden Bowl trick of yours, you could make a thousand bucks in a day just begging. So why the hell did you go out, hire a prostitute, enjoy the whole service, and then run off without paying like a total douchebag?”
Lawson didn’t respond.
He stayed kneeling there, hunched over in silence, completely still—deep in thought.