Chapter 7: The Predatory Game

When the massive, overflowing table of seafood finally arrived, the proprietress returned with $60 USD in change, her manner entirely transformed. The sneering contempt was replaced by a nervous, almost fawning politeness.

Skylar stuffed the crumpled bills into her pocket, paying no attention to the stall owner’s predictable transformation. Her inner thoughts were consumed by the shockingly low cost of this feast. In the life she had just left, this spread would have cost ten times as much.

Ignoring the envious and curious stares of the surrounding patrons, Skylar attacked the meal with dual chopsticks. Despite her speed, her movements were economical, precise, and carried an inherent, deadly elegance that betrayed her training. It was the movement of a killer, not a teenager.

In any era, such a noticeable display—paying with the equivalent of a week’s wages and consuming five lavish dishes alone—was an invitation for trouble. Her blatant exhibition of wealth and isolation had already drawn the predatory attention of dark forces.

A moment later, a small group of oily, disreputable thugs swaggered into the stall’s entrance, their arrival announced by a chorus of foul language. “Where in the hell is the boss? Didn’t you see the great one approach? Is this how you welcome me?”

As he spoke, the lead thug slammed his foot into a nearby customer’s chair, sending the man sprawling onto the ground. The victim didn't dare make a sound.

The proprietress had immediately ducked behind her cash register. Terrified of a scene, she emerged with a grimace, bowing and scraping before the leader. “Oh, Little Blade, sir! I was busy in the back, I didn’t see you. Please don’t be angry. You see, I just paid my protection f*e two days ago, so why are you…”

She didn't need to finish. Everyone knew the local code. In this rough, chaotic era, gangs of hoodlums and local despots extorted money from businesses, justifying it as ‘protection’ from interference. This entire riverside area was their self-proclaimed territory.

The thugs roared with laughter at the woman’s humiliation. “Little Blade”—the leader—waved a dismissive hand, feeling generously magnanimous. “I remember the payment. The big man is here to eat today, you just worry about the food.”

“Yes, yes…” The proprietress sighed, knowing this meant they would gorge themselves and disappear without paying.

But instead of ordering, the thugs strode purposefully across the crowded stall, heading straight for the corner. The patrons followed their gaze, finding Skylar Vance, calmly devouring her elaborate feast. A wave of protective, though impotent, pity washed over the crowd for the girl who was clearly about to be targeted.

CRASH. Skylar’s table shook violently as several figures dropped onto the seats opposite her. She didn’t need to look up to know who they were.

Ordinarily, a young girl facing local criminals would either burst into tears or beg for mercy. The sound of the table slam had instantly silenced the entire stall. But the thugs waited, grinning, for the customary display of fear, only to find the ordinary-looking girl across from them continuing to eat, unmoved, utterly absorbed in her food. Her expression was one of quiet, almost transcendent enjoyment.

The lack of reaction was deeply unsettling. The thugs exchanged confused glances. “Boss, is she deaf?” one muttered, embarrassed by the complete disregard. This was the first time their intimidation tactic had failed so spectacularly.

Little Blade scowled, his ego bruised. “Deaf or blind, she’s coming with us today.” He abruptly stood, his large, filthy hand shooting out, aiming to grab Skylar’s arm.

Just as his fingers were millimeters from her skin, Skylar fluidly leaned aside, evading the grab. At the same time, her hand flashed out, not with a fist, but with the two deadly-sharp ends of her chopsticks, snapping them against the back of Little Blade’s hand.

A sharp, searing pain instantly forced him to recoil. “Hiss! You rotten little bitch! You’re looking for a f—”

“If you want to play with me, you’ll wait until I finish my food.” The curse was violently interrupted. Skylar finally spoke, her voice chillingly clear and detached, like the icy winter wind cutting through the man’s sudden moment of heat. Little Blade felt a primal shiver run down his spine.

He felt a flash of irrational panic, but his pride and arrogance quickly smothered it. What competence could a fifteen-year-old girl possibly possess? She’s bluffing.

But the memory of his humiliation fueled his fury. He slammed his fist down on the table again, this time with true malice. “Stop playing games! You’re pushing your luck! Get up now, or I swear I’ll carve up that little face of yours!”

He punctuated the threat by flashing a silver, folded pocket knife.

At the sight of the weapon, Skylar finally lifted her head. Her eyes, filled with a glacial light, met the blade. Her feigned meal was over. She calmly wiped her mouth, stood up with the grace of a woman much older, and walked slowly, deliberately, out of the food stall.

“Tch, acting tough. You’ll regret that,” Little Blade spat, regaining his swagger. The thugs followed her out, their appetites now entirely focused on robbery and the promise of a more depraved diversion. They had seen her produce the $100 bill and watched her sit alone. In this area, flashing money meant you were either rich or dead.

As the gang disappeared, the proprietress nervously patted her chest, deeply unsettled. She looked at the abandoned plates and sighed, a genuine sense of sorrow replacing her greed. That poor girl is going to suffer.

Skylar, however, was not suffering. She had deliberately allowed herself to be led. The thugs escorted her deep into a narrow, winding alleyway and into a dilapidated cottage. The moment she stepped through the door, the wooden plank slammed shut with a definitive thud.

Under the single, sickly yellow bulb, Skylar scanned the filthy, cramped room. The scene was worse than she expected, yet confirmed her darkest thoughts. In one corner, she noticed a man lying motionless, his clothes ripped, his body soaked in fresh, dark blood. A prisoner? A fellow victim? Or a partner in crime gone wrong? Her analytical assassin mind registered the detail, cataloging it for later.

Little Blade grinned, his eyes raking over Skylar's slender, young figure with a disgusting, hungry leer. “Heh. How do you like our little hideout? It’s nice and quiet here, right?” He then leaned in, his voice dropping into a lecherous, guttural demand. “Now, hand over all the cash you have. And then… we search you.”

“Search?” Skylar’s cold composure did not break. She was briefly astonished that these adolescents’ petty thievery had escalated so quickly to potential sexual assault. But the immediate offense was the spoiled dinner. She reached into her pocket and produced the $60 USD in change, letting the bills flutter onto the dusty floor. Her thin lips curled into a terrifying smile. “If you have the courage for it, come and take it.”

Her cold, utterly fearless demeanor was unnerving. The sight of the meager $60 USD, combined with her challenging stare, briefly paralyzed the young men. They hesitated, staring at the small pile of cash.

Finally, Little Blade spat on the floor. “Stop the posturing, you little witch! Get out of the way!” He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the money.

But his hand was caught mid-air, clamped in a grip that felt like frozen steel. The icy touch sent a shockwave of nausea through his body. Before he could react, Skylar’s small hand rotated violently, and a series of wet, sickening CRACK sounds echoed in the small room. Little Blade’s arm twisted instantly into a grotesque, impossible shape—like a broken toy.

“AAAAAH!”

A piercing, agonizing scream ripped through the air, shattering the silence of the narrow slum alley.