The Real Bully

After defeating Roger and his lackeys early this morning—when they showed up to bully him—Vincent had received some rewards.

But with how packed and eventful the day had been, he was swept away by attention and distractions, nearly forgetting about them altogether.

It wasn't until he left his homeroom teacher's office, descending the stairs and stepping out of the building, that the memory resurfaced. Instantly, he checked them out.

And just as he expected—they were very cool cards.

They were the reason why Vincent had the audacity to smile so foolishly... even though Ferdinand was a second away from planting his stone fist into his jaw.

A notification flashed before his eyes.

[You are using Spinning Serpent Strike...]

Vincent moved in an instant, his body twisting with startling agility. His right leg swung in a wide arc, heel slicing through the air—smashing into Ferdinand's neck.

Ferdinand never saw it coming.

A stunned silence settled as his body staggered back before collapsing into a heap.

Everyone was shocked. Even Vincent himself.

Ferdinand... went down in one hit?

The so-called "fearsome gangster" now lay face-down on the ground, motionless.

I guess he wasn't all that much to begin with.

Roger's face twisted with fear, his breath unsteady as his head jerked up in disbelief.

"Y-Y-You—! You actually dared to hit Ferdinand?! Do you even know who you're messing with? Do you know who his gang members are?!"

His voice shook with accusation, but Vincent paid him no mind, his gaze locked on the fallen hooligan.

He had done that.

He had defeated him.

The more it happened, the more surreal it felt.

'But seriously... I didn't expect him to go down in one hit. I guess that's the difference between a rare-grade card and a common grade one… or is he just a leader.'

Earlier, when he fought Roger, he'd relied on a common-grade skill card—forced to land repetitive strikes just to bring him down.

If he'd only had that same common card today... would he have even stood a chance against Ferdinand?

Vincent doubted it.

He shook his head and scanned the surroundings. The ladies cast pitying glances at Ferdinand before strutting off, hips swaying.

The other lackeys had already scrambled away while Roger remained frozen on the ground—the only one left.

Roger's breath hitched when Vincent's gaze fell upon him. Instinctively, he tried to skedaddle backward, only to hit the wall behind him.

His panic deepened.

Vincent advanced, slow and deliberate. Roger shrank further.

Lowering himself to eye level, Vincent studied him with a gaze sharp enough to carve into bone.

"I have a very strict warning for you," he said.

Roger swallowed hard, his face paling. His lips trembled as he nodded furiously.

Ferdinand, he respected.

But Vincent...

This guy was different. This wasn't the same pushover from before.

Had he been pretending to be weak all along?

Even as Vincent spoke, Roger's mind spun with countless questions.

"If I ever—ever—see you in this school picking on someone again…" Vincent's voice dropped, dark and razor-edged, "trust me, I'll make you wish you transferred away."

Roger nodded so hard his neck nearly snapped.

Vincent's gaze drifted downward, settling on Roger's shoes.

His own leg ached like hell from that earlier kick.

"Take off your shoes."

"Huh?" Roger gasped, looking up. Hesitation flickered across his face.

"What, don't want to?"

"N-No! It's just that they're expe—"

His voice died mid-sentence when Vincent's expression shifted.

Something about the look in his eyes carried an undeniable weight.

One could almost say... he had the makings of a gangster himself.

Without further protest, Roger hastily removed the shoes, his hands trembling as he bowed a full ninety degrees to hand them over.

Vincent slipped them on, stomping his foot against the ground a few times. A satisfied smile crept onto his lips.

"Wow… these are nice."

The difference was immediate—like walking on clouds. Even as he stomped, his feet felt as if they were bouncing within.

"Wow… really nice. How much did you pay for these?"

Roger hesitated before mumbling, "Three thousand five hundred and ninety-nine dollars. It's an original, limited-edition Narkas High Dunk."

His voice was soft but laced with resentment as he glared at Vincent—who, predictably, didn't care.

"Well, whatever that is, I'm sure it's impressive. Three thousand five hundred dollars... what a generous gift."

Vincent admired the sleek white canvas on his feet.

'Is he insane?!'

Roger quickly wiped the scowl from his face when Vincent's gaze flicked back up.

A beat of silence passed.

Then Vincent turned slightly—catching a glimpse of Ferdinand's shoes.

"Oh, he's got nice ones too!"

His were black and red, way cooler than Roger's. Something straight out of a professional basketball player's wardrobe.

Vincent wasn't much of a sports guy, but he'd watched enough games on TV and flipped through enough magazines to recognize quality.

And those shoes? Yeah, they were going to be expensive.

Instead of asking Roger to help, Vincent bent down himself, yanking them right off Ferdinand's feet.

He turned back to Roger, smirking.

"With all the crap you guys put me through... is it really unfair that I take one or two pairs of shoes?"

Roger shook his head furiously.

"N-Not at all! It's totally fair! We—we deserved it."

Vincent's lips curled into something downright devilish.

"Of course… you did."

Hands stuffed into his pockets, he strutted off—loudly, deliberately—his legs flinging forward just enough to show off his new footwear.

He smirked over his shoulder.

"See ya later, dimwit."

And with that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving Roger alone with nothing but his socks... and a deep, bone-chilling regret.