Chan looked up, terrified, his body shaking. He tried to recall if he had done anything wrong to make the boss grip his hand so tightly.
The boss grinned, his cold eyes locking onto Chan.
"Rethink, boy… rethink," he said slowly. "There's no going back."
Chan swallowed hard but refused to let the words break him. He tried to maintain eye contact, but the boss's presence was overwhelming.
Suddenly, the boss released his hand.
Chan quickly looked down and began reading the terms and conditions. As he read, his heart grew heavier.
Even the police couldn't touch this organization.
Everything was clearly stated—anyone who joined was on their own. Dirty deals, silent settlements… no escape.
Taking a deep breath, Chan signed the papers.
"Very good," the boss said with a grin. "A brave… weak one. You may leave."
Chan turned with Lee to exit.
"Not you, Lee," the boss added.
They both paused. Lee gave Chan a slight nod, signaling him to go ahead.
Chan walked out of the office and waited outside.
Minutes later, Lee finally came out. Chan immediately noticed something was off—Lee didn't look as confident as before.
"Hey, man… you good?" Chan asked.
"Yeah… sure. Why not?" Lee replied, forcing a smile.
Chan nodded slowly.
"I think I should head home now," he said, already turning to leave.
"Come on, man—stay the night," Lee said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Have fun. Pick any girl you want, drink whatever you like. Those are some of the benefits of working for the boss."
Chan shook his head.
"No thanks. Maybe some other time."
Lee shrugged and lit his cigarette.
"Alright… if you insist."
As Chan walked away, Lee called out again.
"Hey, Chan!"
Chan turned.
Lee tossed a few hundred bills toward him.
"Use that for your upkeep before the job," he said before walking back into the club.
Chan stared at the money in his hand, then slipped it into his pocket. He hailed a cab and headed home.
When Chan got home, everything looked the same.
But something inside him had changed.
For the first time in a long while, he felt… hopeful.
He lay back on the couch, already planning how he would spend his first earnings.
His phone beeped.
A message from Lee.
Job confirmed.
Meeting address.
Tomorrow, 8:00 PM.
Forty percent share per job.
Chan's face lit up with a small smile.
Finally, a sense of relief.
The cool night breeze drifted through the room, calming his restless thoughts.
Before long, he fell asleep.
Morning came quickly.
Chan jolted awake and checked the time.
7:00 AM.
He rushed into the bathroom, got ready, and prepared for school.
After a twenty-minute drive, he arrived and quickly paid the cab driver before rushing toward his classroom.
But as soon as he reached the door—
He froze.
Mrs. Morrison.
One of the teachers he hated the most.
The entire class turned to look at him as if he were a ghost.
"Hm… Chan," Mrs. Morrison said coldly, adjusting her glasses. "What does your time say?"
Chan already knew what was coming.
"Good morning, Mrs. Morrison," he said politely.
"Keep your useless greeting to yourself and answer my question," she snapped.
"It's… 7:36 AM, ma'am," Chan replied nervously.
"And is that the time you're supposed to be in my class?" she barked. "You always violate school rules!"
Chan stayed silent. Defending himself would only make things worse.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."
"Squat there for thirty minutes," she ordered.
Chan obeyed quietly.
"I can smell poverty in this classroom—and it's disgusting," one student mocked.
The class burst into laughter.
Chan didn't react. He was used to it.
"I thought I was the only one who noticed," another student added, fixing her hair while looking into a mirror.
Mrs. Morrison smirked slightly.
"Quiet down," she said, though her tone carried no real authority.
Just then—
The classroom door opened a group of boys walked in. Chan felt a knock on his head as they passed he didn't need to look.
Tyson.
His worst nightmare.
Tyson walked in like he owned the place.
"Yo… doggy," Tyson said mockingly. "Miss your master? Guys, this is my personal puppet."
Chan ignored him.
Tyson walked closer and tapped his head again.
"Did you hear me, or are you trying to ignore me?"
Silence.
That only made Tyson angrier.
Tyson came from a wealthy family, and his father funded the school. No one dared to challenge him—except one person.
The dean.
Mrs. Morrison watched everything without interfering.
She hated Chan too.
During a school conference, Chan had once outperformed her—answering questions better than she could in her own subject.
That humiliation stayed with her.
Since then, she had made his life miserable.
"What is going on here?"
A deep voice echoed through the classroom.
Instantly, everyone rushed to their seats—even Tyson.
No one needed to look to know who it was.
The dean.
A tall, bald man in his forties, his presence commanding silence.
The entire room grew cold.
Mrs. Morrison quickly grabbed a marker, pretending she had been teaching all along.
Everyone stood up to greet him.
The dean walked straight toward Chan, who was still squatting.
"And why is this gentleman being punished like this?" he asked calmly.
"U-Um… Dean Matt," Mrs. Morrison stammered. "He came late, just as I was rounding up, so I had to discipline him."
The dean turned to Chan.
"Is that true?" he asked.
"Dean Matt, why would I lie—" Mrs. Morrison began.
"Did I ask you to speak?" the dean cut in sharply.
The classroom fell dead silent.
Mrs. Morrison froze.
Chan hesitated, then lowered his gaze.
"She's right, sir," he said quietly.
"Stand up and go to your seat," Dean Matt said.
Chan obeyed immediately.
As he walked to his seat—
A foot stretched out.
He tripped.
Chan crashed to the floor.
Laughter erupted again.
He clenched his fists but forced himself to stay calm.
Fighting back would only make things worse.
But this time—
The dean saw everything.
"Tyson," Dean Matt called, his voice firm.
"Come with me."