From Bullets To Billions Chapter 661: A Fake Story

The jarring, empty sound of a loud pop echoed through the vacant classroom, and everyone present winced reflexively, feeling the phantom jolt of agony that currently wracked Sylan’s nervous system. Before the senior could even gasp enough air to unleash a guttural scream that would have alerted the entire hallway, Max acted with a chilling, practiced efficiency. He reached out, tore a ragged strip from Sylan’s own shirt, and thrust it deep into the athlete’s mouth, effectively gagging him and silencing his protests to a series of frantic, muffled whimpers.

Max glanced toward the entrance. More individuals stumbling into the room at this moment would complicate his undercover mission immensely. Although, he pondered internally, if a certain "janitor" happened to be on patrol in the hallway outside right now, the situation would be resolved before a single student could even consider summoning campus security.

Talia and Jono stood motionless, their throats parched as they both swallowed hard. They had spent the preceding days living in dread of Sylan, terrified by the physical might he commanded and the influence he wielded, yet the very figure they feared had just been incapacitated and treated like a helpless child by the quietest student in their class. Jono, despite his own throbbing wounds, could not help but ponder if the agony Sylan was enduring at this instant was, in fact, far more excruciating than what had been inflicted upon him at the podium.

"Alright, let’s simplify this. I will continue to pull and break things until you agree to every single one of my demands," Max stated, his voice descending into a cold, level monotone that carried a far more menacing weight than Sylan’s cries. "Firstly, let’s reiterate what I told you earlier. You will inform everyone that I am not attending tonight’s meeting because you subdued me. You must make it sound believable; tell them I am hospitalized."

Max extended his hand and grasped Sylan’s other, uninjured arm. Instantly, driven by sheer, unadulterated terror, Sylan began to nod his head vigorously. His eyes were wide, pleading, and flickered around the room, searching for an escape that did not exist.

"Good, good. So, here is the strategy: we will exit this room together. I will act as though you have thoroughly beaten me. I will even tear my own shirt further to enhance the illusion," Max declared, his gaze fixed on Sylan’s. "That is how your seniors and everyone else will perceive this event. You maintain your dignity, and I achieve my peace. Or…"

Max’s grip tightened. Instead of holding the entire arm, he pinched a single finger between his thumb and forefinger. He applied just enough calculated pressure that the joint dislocated with a dull click. Sylan’s muffled sounds intensified, his body convulsing. Immediately afterward, Max forced the digit back into its socket, inflicting a secondary wave of searing pain that coursed through the senior’s body.

Max felt no particular concern whether Sylan endured lasting nerve damage or if he would ever be able to utilize that finger for soccer again; in his perspective, this constituted a merciful lesson.

"Or," Max continued, "I discover you have divulged the truth to someone, and I return to complete my task."

As Sylan was still unable to scream through the gag, his only recourse was to nod his head with desperate intensity. Max reached down and pulled him upright. Sylan stood unsteadily, his good hand clutching his dislocated shoulder, his face ashen and slick with a cold sweat.

"Now, escort me back to the classroom," Max commanded.

Before their departure, Max directed his gaze toward Jono and Talia. The look he bestowed upon them served as a silent, unyielding warning: they were not to utter a single syllable regarding what they had just witnessed to anyone. He understood that if the truth emerged, the other seniors, and likely Donto himself, would intervene far sooner than he desired.

There was a significant likelihood that whatever gathering was slated for this evening held critical importance for the seniors for reasons Max had yet to ascertain. He had contemplated questioning Sylan about the party's true objective, but the athlete was currently in shock and unlikely to be a dependable source of information. Moreover, if Sylan perceived his fear of Donto as outweighing his current fear of Max, he might falter and reveal everything to the heir. Max needed to maintain the balance of intimidation firmly in his favor.

The lecture hall was re-entered, and their deception proved flawless. Max, with his intentionally disheveled hair and strategically torn clothes, appeared to have endured a severe beating. Sylan, driven by the intensity of his own pain, skillfully portrayed the victor. He maintained his arrogant and aggressive demeanor, ensuring his voice, which quivered only subtly, conveyed a warning: attendance at tonight's event was mandatory for those who wished to avoid suffering the same fate as Max and Jono.

"See? What did I tell you?" Yovan whispered to Steve, her voice resonating with smug, self-assured certainty. "All those rumors about him being some hot-shot legendary delinquent from Notting Hill? All of it was fake. I can’t believe I actually let myself believe for a second that I was the one who was wrong about him."

Talia had rejoined the row and was now standing right beside Yovan. She opened her mouth, a powerful urge to correct her friend surging within her. She had witnessed the truth in that desolate classroom. In fact, the rumors were a significant understatement. The power she had observed was undeniably the strength of someone capable of uniting entire districts under a single banner. However, recalling Max's expression, she bit back her words and remained silent.

"I suppose I was mistaken as well. I don't know what I was expecting," Steve remarked, his shoulders drooping as he observed Max gathering his belongings. "But with him being so quiet, I truly thought he might be holding back some kind of monster. It seems life isn't like the movies."

He let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the blood still staining the podium. "Well, I suppose this means we must attend the event this evening. Would you mind if I accompanied you two? Since Jono is clearly incapacitated for the day."

"Yeah, that should be fine," Yovan replied, already shifting her focus back to her notebook. "But it appears that Max fellow was injured so severely he'll need to go straight to the hospital. He practically fled the room the moment Sylan finished speaking."

"Indeed," Steve commented, his eyes fixed on the doorway. "And it leads me to wonder... what exactly is taking place at this event that the seniors are so insistent on our attendance for?"