“What are you waiting for?!” Tyson ordered angrily.
“Right!” The other three guards immediately attacked Jacky at the same time.
Hyaah!
With his vision aided by those red prediction lines, Jacky ducked beneath the second man's crude swing, then drove his elbow straight into the third man's solar plexus and used the momentum to hurl a heavy wooden chair toward the fourth man's legs.
Crash!
Everything happened so quickly and chaotically, driven by a surge of overflowing adrenaline. But the moment the tenth second ended, the red lines vanished in an instant.
【Ding! Temporary Combat Assistance has ended. User's current physical energy level: 12%.】
An overwhelming exhaustion slammed into Jacky's body as if he had crashed into a solid wall.
His muscles burned with pain, his chest tightened as it struggled for more air, and his vision began to blur. He was forced to lean against the edge of the table to keep from collapsing.
Click!
The distinctive sound of a pistol's safety being released rang out sharply throughout the room.
Jacky fell silent for a moment. He lifted his face, breathing hard. “They're pretty strong! But I can't afford to be weak!”
Just five steps away, Boss Tyson stood with the muzzle of his pistol aimed directly at Jacky's forehead. His hand was steady and unmoving, while his eyes radiated unmistakable murderous intent.
Jacky glanced around. He had indeed incapacitated two of the guards, but the other two had already gotten back up with furious expressions, even though their bodies were still aching from the impacts.
Jacky's own energy was completely spent.
The system had helped him see opportunities and predict movements, but it hadn't instantly transformed his thin, malnourished body into that of a master fighter.
“Continuing to fight now would be the same as committing suicide,” Jacky thought, his mind beginning to clear as his adrenaline subsided. “My debt is paid, and I've already proven that I'm not someone who can be pushed around. If I keep forcing myself to fight in this weakened state with a gun aimed straight at my head, I'll only die for nothing.”
He needed time to retreat safely. He had to make this choice so he could stay alive and try to understand how the gambling system in his head worked—one that would surely make him stronger and richer.
With slow, calm movements, Jacky raised both hands. His confident smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
“Two men are already down, Boss Tyson! Not bad for a ‘pathetic nobody,’ right?” Jacky said as he controlled his breathing and stared straight at the gun's muzzle without blinking. “But you're right—the upper hand is in your hands. You have the weapon, and this is your place of business.”
Tyson sneered as his finger began pressing the trigger a little harder. “You're pretty clever, kid. Any last words before I paint these walls with your blood and brains?!” Tyson threatened, certain he had already won.
“How arrogant! I only have one message, Boss Tyson,” Jacky replied in an even tone despite the threat to his life. “Check your phone. It looks like your superior is trying to contact you right now.”
“What?” Tyson glanced at the phone inside his suit pocket. “Damn it! How could he know?”
Tyson picked up the phone, his voice sounding extremely tense, completely different from usual. “Yes, Mr. Rogan… That's right, I'm in the VIP room right now… What? Order that young man to leave just like that?”