From Bullets To Billions

Chapter 482: Who The F*ck Are You? (Part 1)

Evon had just finished his match, and as he stepped away from the ring he showed little reaction to the applause or the murmurs of surprise that followed him. He was returning to his seat, expression steady, posture relaxed, but internally his mind was occupied. He had already tested the exoskeleton enough to understand most of its practical capabilities. What he had not done, however, was test it against a truly powerful opponent, someone who could push its limits and force him to measure its effectiveness under extreme pressure. But he doubted he would find anyone of that caliber in an event like this, even among the more seasoned participants.

Because of that, Evon remained undecided about how he should handle the rest of the evening. Part of him considered simply withdrawing from the event altogether and leaving the venue. The test had already met its primary objectives, and nothing else tonight seemed capable of challenging him. The other part of him, however, toyed with the idea of continuing the fights but turning off the exoskeleton’s power enhancements so he could enjoy the remaining rounds and assess his personal ability without the suit’s support. He was aware that continuing to dominate too obviously would attract attention, and attention was precisely what he wished to avoid.

His thoughts were interrupted when, upon returning to the seating area, three waiters suddenly approached him. They moved with an oddly rehearsed coordination, forming a semicircle as soon as he came into view.

”The host would like to have a word with you,” one of the waiters said. He leaned in, smiling unnaturally. ”And I’m sure you understand this is something you’re expected to accept.”

The way he emphasized expected was not lost on Evon. There was no threat stated directly, yet it was clear enough. Evon slowly turned his gaze toward the man, studying him for a moment before giving a short nod. He stood up from his chair without further comment.

Watching from a distance, Na immediately noticed Evon’s movement and the sudden appearance of the waiters. He knew Evon was not the type to be escorted anywhere without reason. Na’s eyes narrowed. Don’t these Black Hounds know who he is... or maybe that’s exactly why they’re taking him somewhere. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Evon was led down a hallway, deeper into the venue. The walls shifted from decorated corridors to a more industrial, plain environment. Eventually he reached what appeared to be a storage room. Most of the shelves were filled with bottles and crates, but the center of the room had been cleared out, creating an open space. Around that open area stood a significant number of guards, every one of them a member of the Black Hound gang. Their attention shifted to Evon as he entered.

Near the back of the room stood the masked host wearing the familiar headpiece with the glowing question-mark icon. His posture was stiff, his masked expression unreadable, but his intent was obvious.

”Please. Sit,” the host said, gesturing toward a single chair positioned in the middle of the room.

Evon walked toward it, but when he reached the chair he did not lower himself into it. Instead, he gripped the backrest with one hand, leaving the chair between them as a barrier.

”Do you believe you’re in a position to make demands of me?” Evon asked, tone calm but undeniably firm.

A faint chuckle escaped the host.

”Right... fighters are always so confident. So unaware of the full scale of the underworld. You act as if you’re more than a single grain in a world far larger than you comprehend.”

Evon said nothing, simply listening.

”I will assume ignorance on your part,” the host continued. ”A moment of generosity, let’s call it. You see, you are an unexpected variable in tonight’s event. But variables can be useful if handled correctly.”

He took a small step forward.

”You’ve won all of your matches, and not just won , you’ve dominated. The guests are beginning to see you as one of tonight’s strongest contenders. In your next fight, we plan to pair you with someone... less than ideal. Someone who will, naturally, make the crowds confident in your victory.”

Evon remained silent.

”And because of that confidence,” the host said, spreading his hands theatrically, ”the bets will be enormous. The perfect moment for you to lose, deliberately. The profit for us will be astronomical.”

Evon laughed. A short, dry laugh that made several of the surrounding guards stiffen.

”Let me clarify something,” Evon said. ”You want me to intentionally lose your little fight... for the sake of boosting your margins?”

”You should watch your tone,” the host warned. ”Do you even understand the position you’re in?” Behind him, the guards stepped forward, shrinking the space around Evon.

Evon tilted his head. ”It seems you’re the one who has no idea who you’re dealing with.”

He tightened his grip on the chair,

, and without warning hurled it at a guard to the right.

The wooden frame exploded into splinters upon impact, sending the man collapsing to the ground. Before the others could fully react, Evon lunged forward. Two guards threw punches at the same time, but Evon met them head-on. Using the exoskeleton’s enhanced strength, he grabbed both fists simultaneously.

The pressure he applied was immense. Bones cracked, skin split, and blood sprayed as both men screamed and dropped to their knees.

More guards rushed in. Evon seized one by the wrist and flung him into a cluster of bottles stacked at the back. The impact shattered the glass, sending shards across the floor. Two more guards tried to approach from the sides, but Evon moved with clinical precision, grabbing one by the shoulder and rotating sharply, using the man’s own weight to slam him into the second attacker.

Every impact carried weight. Every movement displayed controlled brutality. It was enough to make the remaining guards hesitate.

The host’s earlier confidence dissolved into fear. He stumbled back until he pressed against the wall.

Evon caught sight of motion, a knife thrown directly at him. With barely any effort, he snatched the blade out of the air between two fingers. The metal trembled under the pressure of his grip. He bent the knife cleanly in half and let it fall to the floor.

He did not need to be a superhuman. With this exoskeleton, the product of top-tier Syndicate technology, he had already surpassed that threshold.

”Who... who are you?” the host stammered, hands trembling behind the mask.

Evon reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

”You’re going to find out,” he said, dialing without breaking eye contact. ”And so is the rest of this venue.”