Chapter 32: Blackmailing a Dog

"Oh my God, look at that!" A woman in a passing car shrieked, clutching her husband's arm. "That big black dog is helping the old man!"

Her husband glanced over, unimpressed. "Heh, let it help. If I stepped in and got accused of pushing him down, we'd be selling this car to pay the 'hospital bills.' People these days… even worse than dogs." Still, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, and they joined a growing crowd of onlookers, phones out to capture the unusual scene.

Blackie had gently nudged the old man upright, but instead of gratitude, the old man spun around and grabbed a fistful of fur. "Oww! You knocked me down, didn't you? Trying to cover your tracks by helping me up, huh? Pay up!"

Wait… fur? The old man blinked in confusion and finally looked down. It wasn't a person who had helped him — it was a massive black dog.

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

"Did that old man just try to scam a dog?" someone snickered.

Flustered but determined, the old man doubled down. "Hmph! This dog's got an owner, doesn't it? Whoever owns this mutt has to pay!" His wrinkled hands clamped onto one of Blackie's hind legs. "You're not going anywhere!"

"Seriously?" A bystander scoffed. "The dog helped you, and now you're trying to scam it? Have you no shame?"

"Nonsense! The dog knocked me down!" The old man puffed up indignantly. "If you don't pay, I'll make dog meat stew out of this beast!"

Ethan, watching silently from the crowd, sighed. The bad guys are getting older… and now they're targeting dogs.

Before he could step in, a broad-shouldered man with sun-darkened skin shoved through the crowd. "Hey, old man, what kind of nonsense is this? This dog just saved you! Where's your conscience?"

The old man sneered. "Conscience doesn't pay the bills. Pay up, or neither of you are leaving!" He latched onto the man's leg, groaning dramatically.

The man froze in panic. "Wha—?! This isn't my dog! Why are you grabbing me?" He flailed helplessly, trying to shake the old man off.

Ethan finally had enough. "Blackie, teach him a lesson."

"Woof!" Blackie barked sharply and slapped the old man across the face with a massive paw. The slap was loud and satisfying. The old man yelped, staggering back and spitting out a yellowed tooth.

"Awwooo!" Blackie growled, baring his fangs. His sharp eyes glared at the old man's neck like a wolf eyeing prey.

The old man paled, scrambling to his feet and hobbling away without looking back. The crowd burst into laughter.

A man in the parked car smirked. "See, honey? That's how you deal with shameless people. You need to be fiercer than the dog!"

Ethan chuckled and walked over to the honest-looking man who had intervened. "Thanks for stepping in." He held out his hand.

The man hesitated before shaking it, still a bit flustered. "Uh… no problem. Honestly, if your dog hadn't stepped in, I'd probably be stuck here arguing all day."

Ethan grinned and handed him a cigarette. "What's your name?"

"Dylan Hart. I'm from the countryside. Came to town looking for temp work while there's not much to do back home." Dylan accepted the cigarette with a grateful nod.

"Good to meet you, Dylan. I might need some help soon. Can I get your number?"

Dalyn beamed, quickly exchanging contacts. They chatted briefly before parting ways.

The next morning, Ethan and Blackie boarded a battered old van alongside a group of uncles and aunties, heading toward Mistwood. No one batted an eye at the big dog squeezed into the van — someone even had a few clucking hens nestled in a basket.

The roads grew rougher as they left the county behind. Pavement turned to stone, and stone gave way to dirt. By the time they reached Mistwood, the only road left was a winding mud path flanked by hills and forest.

The journey was long, but Ethan didn't mind. Blackie rested his head on Ethan's lap, eyes half-closed. As the van bounced along the bumpy trail, Ethan glanced out the window at the familiar landscape.

He was home.