From Bullets To Billions

Chapter 678: Not The Same Stern

There was a part of Max that had deep down expected this to happen. The entire reason Aron had infiltrated the university under the humble guise of a janitor was for this exact purpose: to act as a shadow guardian. Aron was the man who had promised to protect him regardless of the situation, a silent sentinel who operated in the background while Max tried to navigate his "normal" life.

Even within the seemingly safe confines of a university basketball court, Max knew that if enough time passed without a check-in, Aron would inevitably come investigating. In fact, knowing Aron’s meticulous nature, he had likely been tailing the group from the very beginning. He had probably been standing just behind the heavy metal doors, listening to the taunts and the sounds of the beatdown, merely waiting for the tactically perfect moment to strike when the hostages were most vulnerable and the seniors were most distracted.

What Max appreciated more than anything was that Aron had prioritized the safety of the students over jumping in to help Max himself. It was a silent admission of respect; it appeared that Aron was finally starting to trust Max’s evolved abilities. He had evaluated the scene and concluded that Max could handle a physical pounding, but the freshmen could not.

However, just as the students were being pulled to safety, the seniors didn’t stop. A massive senior from the rugby team, a man built like a boulder, seized the moment of distraction. He lunged forward and delivered a brutal, heavy kick to the back of Max’s leg. The force was enough to make Max’s knee jolt and buckle, sending him crashing down onto the hardwood floor.

A collective scream erupted from the freshmen watching from the sidelines. The sight of their "hero" falling to his knees after such a sustained beating sent a fresh wave of panic through them.

"Hey! You’re here to help, right? Why are you just standing there? Go and help him!" Yovan screamed at Aron, her voice shrill with desperation.

Before Aron could respond, a burst of loud, mocking laughter bounced off the high walls of the hall, interrupting the chaos. The sound was coming from Donto, who was watching the scene with a look of manic amusement.

"Oh, so there’s a small change in our itinerary," Donto said, stepping forward and spreading his arms wide. "But look at you. It’s just one more person—a janitor? Do you really think that changes the math? Do all of you idiots really believe he can do something now that we don’t have the leverage of the students? Max, did you truly think that even if you were in perfect condition, you could fight your way through a room of thirty seniors? You’ve lost your damned mind."

One of the seniors standing directly in front of Max, emboldened by Donto’s words, wound up a heavy punch aimed straight for Max’s bloodied face. But the fist never landed. With a blur of motion, Max’s hand shot up, catching the senior’s wrist in a grip that felt like a closing vice.

"Your knuckles look a bit red," Max said, his voice coming out as a low, dangerous growl. "I guess you hit me a bit too much."

Max placed one foot firmly on the floor and stood up, the senior’s arm still trapped in his grasp. The athlete tried to pull away, his face contorting in sudden pain, but he was pinned in place.

"You punched me a lot," Max continued, his eyes glowing with an intensity that made the senior’s blood run cold. "And I’ve been waiting for this!"

Max jerked the man forward, pulling him off balance. In the same motion, Max readied his own fist and unleashed a strike that carried the accumulated weight of his frustration. The punch hurled into the man’s face with the force of a wrecking ball. The sound of the impact was sickening—the distinct crack of a jawbone shattering echoed through the hall. When Max let go, the man didn’t just fall; he flew backward several feet and hit the floor, completely unconscious before his body even stopped sliding.

Max realized then that in the heat of the anger and the pain of being hit over and over, he had forgotten to hold back. With all the opponents he had been facing lately and the sheer irritation of being a punching bag for "sport," he had unleashed a level of violence that was far beyond a schoolyard scrap. But "forgotten" wasn’t the right word. Right now, as he looked around the room, he simply didn’t care about restraint anymore.

Hearing the heavy, frantic footsteps of someone charging from behind, Max didn’t even turn around. He snapped his leg low in a lightning-fast reverse kick, his heel connecting squarely with the shin of a charging senior. There was a horrific snapping sound as the bone bent inward at an unnatural angle. The man collapsed instantly, howling in agony as he clutched a leg that would never see a sports pitch again.

Another pair of seniors lunged at him, swinging wild punches, but Max was no longer a stationary target. He ducked under their attacks with fluid, predatory grace and swung a heavy counter-punch deep into the first attacker’s side. He felt the ribs give way under his knuckles, a sharp pop that sent the man to the ground gasping for air.

The fallen seniors didn’t get back up. They lay on the polished wood, clutching their injuries and wondering why every breath they took felt like a stab of white-hot lightning. They had spent their lives dealing out hits on the field, but they had never been hurt like this.

Max didn’t stop to admire his work. He ran straight ahead, launching himself into the air. His knees drove into the chests of two more seniors who were trying to form a line. The impact flung them backward as if they had been hit by a car, sending them sliding across the court. In just a matter of moments, the entire mood of the hall had shifted. The predatory swagger of the seniors had vanished, replaced by a visceral, paralyzing fear as Max systematically dismantled anyone close to him.

"Haha! You guys are speechless, right?" Rick shouted from the sidelines, a triumphant grin on his face as he looked at the other freshmen, whose mouths were hanging open in shock. "We told you he wouldn’t need help! We told you who he was! Although, I have to admit... has he actually gotten even stronger?"

"So... the rumors... all of it... everything people said about the Notting Hill Legend..." Yovan whispered, her eyes wide as she watched Max move. "They were all true?"

"I knew it! I knew they had to be true!" Steve shouted, punching the air. "A person who could unite all the delinquent schools would have to be at least this strong!"

Max didn’t look back at his friends. He stepped over a groaning body and fixed his gaze on the only person left standing at the far end of the court.

"Donto," Max said, his voice echoing through the now-silent hall. "You’ve officially pissed me off. I hope for your sake you have every bit of information I want about your father... because if you don’t, I’m going to need to vent the rest of this anger, and I don’t think there’s anyone left to stop me from taking it out on you."