Blackline Garage had been in business for less than two years, but it was already known throughout the industrial district of West City for its meticulous work and fair prices. Its owner, Fero, never seemed to lose control, even when someone showed up with trouble at his doorstep.
That afternoon, Fero sat casually behind the checkout counter, resting his chin on one hand. The twenty-year-old wore a simple black T-shirt and slightly faded jeans, his somewhat long hair falling messily across his forehead.
His handsome face showed no expression, his eyes calmly fixed on his phone screen. All around him, the sounds of engines and clinking equipment filled the garage. Everything was proceeding as usual.
Until hurried footsteps sounded from the direction of the door.
"Fero! This is bad!"
A man around forty ran inside, breathing heavily, his face pale. Two other employees followed close behind, their expressions no less tense.
Fero lifted his gaze from his phone. "What is it?"
"Mr. Alex's men are here! They look angry!"
The sounds of equipment gradually died down. Fero blinked once. "How many?"
"Four bodyguards... and one man claiming to be Mr. Alex's representative."
"I see." His reply was so calm that the three employees exchanged glances.
"Boss, they didn't come here to talk things out," one of them said.
"I know."
Footsteps sounded outside. The garage door was shoved open. A middle-aged man with slicked-back hair entered with a swagger, wearing an expensive shirt and a gleaming watch on his wrist. Four large men followed behind him, their sleeves deliberately rolled up to reveal their tattoos.
The atmosphere in the garage changed instantly. The three employees standing near the checkout counter backed away several steps. One of them even grabbed his coworker and instinctively pulled him away from the door.
Fero remained seated.
The slick-haired man stopped a few steps in front of the counter, his eyes sweeping across the garage before finally settling on Fero. "Fero?"
"Yes," Fero replied flatly.
The man gave him a faint smile. "It's time for you to pay two hundred million. The payment is due." His gaze shifted to the vehicles and neatly arranged spare parts inside the garage. "If you haven't paid by today, we'll seize the belongings here."
One of Fero's employees clenched his fists. "But the money was already..."
Fero raised one hand. The employee fell silent immediately.
Fero calmly opened his desk drawer. He took out a receipt, glanced over it, then placed it on the counter. "It was paid in full a month ago."
The slick-haired man stared at the receipt and picked it up, his eyes moving from one line to the next. A flash of surprise appeared on his face, but only for an instant. The corners of his lips soon lifted again. "This is fake. Mr. Alex never received any money from you."
Fero did not argue. He picked up his phone, opened his transaction history, and held the screen out toward the man. "The transfer record is right here."
The man looked at the screen. The recipient's name was clearly listed: Doni, Distribution Manager at Alex Corp. His smile did not fade. "Doni resigned last week."
Fero leaned back in his chair. "And?"
"The money never reached the company." The man returned Fero's phone with a somewhat rough motion. "That's not our problem. You still have to pay two hundred million for the spare parts you took."
One of the employees could not hold back any longer. "How can that be our responsibility? We already paid!"
"Shut up!" the man barked.
The employee fell silent. Fero stared at the man in front of him for several seconds. His index finger tapped the surface of the counter once, then stopped. His expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes shifted. His gaze turned much colder.
The slick-haired man straightened unconsciously. He felt uncomfortable.
"So," Fero said slowly, "your manager ran off with the company's money, and now you want me to pay for it a second time?"
The man clenched his jaw. "It's your obligation."
Fero gave a short laugh. "So that's how it is."
Silence fell again. The slick-haired man glanced at his four bodyguards, then looked back at Fero, realizing the conversation would not go the way he wanted. "In that case..." He raised his hand slightly. "Take him down."
The four bodyguards moved at once. Fero let out a quiet breath, placed his phone on the counter, and stood. His movements were so calm that one of the employees blurted out, "Boss..."
Fero glanced over. "Don't leave."
One of the bodyguards swung a fist at his face. Fero merely tilted his head, and the fist passed within inches of his face. Before the man could pull his hand back, Fero had already seized his wrist, twisted his body, and yanked him hard. The man's body slammed into a spare-parts rack, sending several boxes scattering across the floor.
The second bodyguard attacked from the side. Fero ducked, his opponent's elbow passing over his head, then used the opening to drive a blow into the man's stomach. The man staggered backward, clutching his breath.
The last two bodyguards advanced together. This time, Fero struck first. In less than two minutes, all four large men were already down.
The garage fell silent. One of the employees still held a rag in his hand without moving. Fero stood in the middle of the room, his breathing steady as he straightened the sleeve that had shifted slightly.
The four bodyguards got back to their feet one by one, grimacing through the pain. The slick-haired man swallowed, his expression turning wary as he took one step back, then another. Even so, he still tried to maintain his authority. "This isn't over."
"Then," Fero said, "come back after you bring the proper proof."
The man did not answer. He gestured to his four bodyguards, and they immediately left the garage.
Several seconds passed in silence before Fero's three employees emerged from behind the counter. One of them let out a long breath. "That was crazy..."
"We really thought they were going to take everything in here," another said.
"What's even crazier," said the forty-year-old man from earlier, "is that they actually tried to extort us."
Fero picked up his receipt. "I'll handle it. Get back to work. We still have two hours before closing."
"Okay." One by one, they returned to their respective tasks.
Fero lowered his gaze to his hands. His knuckles were red. He opened and closed his palms several times. There were no serious injuries. Good. He couldn't afford to have any problems with his hands tonight, because a race was waiting for him.
Night had fallen over the industrial district of West City. Engines roared in the distance, while vehicle lights filled the roads, now packed with hundreds of people. The night-racing area was far busier than usual. Sports cars lined the roadside, modified motorcycles were parked in groups, some people were busy placing bets while others shouted the names of their favorite racers.
A black car entered the area. Fero stepped out. A black racing jacket clung to his body, a buff covered part of his face, and he held a dark helmet in one hand. No one there knew what he really looked like.
"Dark King!"
Someone shouted, and cheers immediately followed. Fero merely raised one hand, but the cheering grew even louder.
Behind him, members of Black Tiger began to gather. The club Fero had led for the past three years was not the biggest in West City, but they had the Dark King—the mysterious racer who almost never lost and made the other clubs wary.
"Boss." One of the members approached. "Everything's ready."
Fero nodded. "How many are competing?"
"Six clubs." The young man paused briefly. "Red Devils are here too."
Fero's gaze changed at once. He turned toward the other side of the arena, where a group of men in dark red jackets stood near several sports cars, keeping apart from the other clubs. They simply stood there, watching and waiting.
Red Devils. A club known for its skill on the track. Their reputation, however, was not very good. They were known for being underhanded.
One of the men in the group suddenly turned. His gaze met Fero's, and he grinned. Fero did not return the smile. He simply put on his helmet and walked toward his car.
In the distance, the announcer's voice came through the loudspeakers. "Welcome to tonight's race! Six clubs! Three rounds! And tonight's grand prize is worth... three billion..." Cheers drowned out the announcement of the prize amount.
Fero stopped beside his car, his hand touching the hood as he stared at the track stretching out before him.
"I have to win."