I Refuse To Become Scumbag In Tokyo Mga Nobela at Kwento

Both my parents are warrior's , They made sure I could hold up on my own , but I never made a show like other teenager's , showing off around the training ground like a peacock was never appealing to me ,so I was labeled different and punished accordingly . Now, looking up at my tormentor and the three other wolves following him around like dogs on leashes I'm reminded of just how much I hate these guys. "Fuck off, Gabriel" I sneer through clenched teeth as I collect my stuff from the floor and stand to my full height , which is still considerably shorter than him. He chuckled and looked around at his buddies . "Excuse me, Dear ? I don't think I heard you correctly ." He says with a hint of

Need I care about the outer opinions? It's what inside hurts. I possess an enemy. It's my head. What's in it? I don't know. I do not like Tiffany's. Sorry, but I don’t. Kill me, I don’t. Sue me, I don’t. Fuck me in the ass, I still do not. I’d rather suck my own dick but eat in that dimly lit little crackpot in the middle of Appy Lane or anything prepared by them. It’s a mysteriously ugly catastrophe hidden under the mist. It is unnoticeable and yet to be shattered by a thunderstrike.

So I help her and decide to stay with her because I find it weird if I just leave her filled with disgusting trash bags--yeah, so here comes the human epitome of trash bags. I know it's dumb. Also, I am an awkward wreck and cluttered brain IN FRONT. OF. ANYA MOORE THE POP SENSATION OF AMERICA because guess what? She thinks--italic and bold--I will kill the heck out of her. I kid you not, she looks scared, and I forgot to tell you, I also talk smack about her mother in front of the media and fans, so yeah, I don't have that good points if ever we get famous on the internet and something and NO this does not mean I am crushing hard on her or something. Wait, what the fuck am I saying? I don't

They stand out from the others due to their outfits but thank God, they didn't show their tattoos. It was easy to spot them from the crowd so I approach them. They probably can't recognize us since we dress to blend in with the other tourist. They speak in Japanese and thinking I won't be able to understand them I replied, "shita ni kiotsu kero! Kono kuso yarou !! shini tai-no?!" (Watch your tongue! you fucker! Wanna die?!) They were quite shocked by the challenge I give but it was not long until they realize who they're talking to. They bow their head and apologize to me. Apparently, they didn't receive the notice that we will dress up as tourists and expect us to come like a mafia member.

"I'm not interested." Breaker's nostrils flared, his ego wounded. "I don't think you understand who you're talking to." "An asshole is who I'm talking to," I snapped back, my patience wearing thin. "Now, kindly fuck off." His buddies at the table chuckled, fueling his anger further. Suddenly, his hand lashed out, gripping my arm with a forceful intensity. "You fucking cunt. Let's go. Now." In that moment, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, and a fierce determination ignited within me. I refused to be silenced or intimidated. With a defiant stare, I summoned the strength to break free from his grasp, standing tall and reclaiming my power.

I’d spent too long holding my world together with duct tape and sarcasm to lose it now. “Let me make this very clear for the peanut gallery and the two muscle-bound nutjobs up front,” I snapped, voice sharper than I meant, pain spiking behind my eyes. “I am not a bone to be fought over. I’m not your prize, or your future, or your whatever. I am a person, and if you idiots can’t see that, well, then maybe you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

I gestured to her minions. I don’t normally abuse my power and I hardly ever pull rank, but sometimes I just gotta remind everybody that I’m HBIC—head bitch in charge. When the HBIC in me comes out, I don’t suffer fools and I don’t hesitate to dole out my pimp-slap. A hulking muscle-head goober in a Kings College football jersey stomped up to me and tried to intimidate me with a sneer. I crinkled my nose from the whiff of testosterone and Alphahole musk emanating from him.

The alley was so dark he couldn't see properly. The place was filled with the stench of urine and garbage. Coupled with the smell from the men, it was nauseating. Tears filled Aito's eyes but he refused to cry. Instead, he threatened, "Don't fucking touch me! Do you even know who I am? I am Yamamoto Aito. Heir to Yamamoto Inc. I'm also the cousin of the Yamaguchis. I have many influential friends. If you don't let me go, my family will make you suffer!"

Stand UP, you little shit," I scolded myself. Okay. Plan B. If I wasn't going to go out and party, then maybe I could. walk? You know, breathe some foreign air and get my head clear. I yanked on a lemon-yellow sweatshirt and stormed out of my room like I had somewhere to be. Tokyo at night was a buzz of neon and muted sounds, and somehow, that made me feel even smaller than usual. I crossed a street, singing some bizarre made-up song, when—BAM—I almost collided with a little Japanese kid.

Alex was teasing me last time about Tokyo but of course, I didn't confirm anything. I forgot to ask Tokyo what Alex knows since Tokyo wanted us to be a secret, I can't just blabber everything to Alex even though we're friends. He was even pestering me why I was trying to find out how Tokyo and I first met. But then I can't tell him why. Alex: Fragile kid my ass. Tokyo threw me once on the floor just because I ate her food. Is that what you call fragile? I snickered at his words. Impossible.