Bab 4: Bertarung Tanpa Sepatah Kata Pun

“Hear me out, cowboy from Texas, tone down your attitude. If it weren’t for your lucky save of Leslie, with all the mess you’ve caused these past six months, you’d have been rotting in the Bronx by now…”

Seeing Hoan’s defiant expression, Jerm Brown’s eyes flashed with menace. His once jovial and kind face instantly twisted into a grimace.

At the same moment, two men dressed in black suits appeared silently behind him, one on each side, their fingers pointing toward their waists.

A sudden sense of danger surged through Hoan’s mind. Instinctively, he reached toward his waist. Seeing the gestures of the two men, he casually slid his hand into his jacket pocket again.

Then he pulled out several colorful candies, raised an eyebrow, and turned his face slightly to offer one to Leslie:

“Want some candy, Leslie?”

Leslie, who had just been about to ask Jerm Brown not to intimidate them, turned her face with an exasperated look at the smiling Hoan.

Sure enough, the Texas cowboy was just as fearless as she remembered.

The two stood in the back kitchen of the clubhouse, eating candy as if no one else was around, making Jerm Brown look somewhat awkward, his fierce expression stiffening.

After a moment, he raised his hand and signaled behind him. The two men in black suits retreated.

Then Jerm Brown forced a bitter smile and said, “Alright, tell me, what exactly are you here for?”

“Of course, we’re here looking for work,” Leslie said matter-of-factly.

Hoan nodded lightly.

Jerm Brown’s chubby face twitched, disbelief evident in his eyes. “This is no joke.”

“Uncle Jerm, I heard you’re short a…”

“Oh my God! Look who it is! My dear Leslie, is it really you? You came all this way just to find me?”

Just as Leslie was about to state her request, a shout interrupted her. She didn’t look toward the source but her eyes flashed with disdain.

Hoan, however, looked curiously.

A young Latin man wearing a checkered shirt, with a smug smile, walked in through the back door of the front hall.

His name was Marian, the bartender at the Muscle Man Club.

Hoan withdrew his gaze and smiled at Leslie.

Leslie shot Hoan a glare, ignoring Marian’s greeting as he approached, and continued speaking to Jerm Brown:

“Uncle Jerm, I know you’re short a chef. How about a Chinese chef?”

After all, her family held some shares in this club. Introducing a friend just to wash dishes was a bit embarrassing.

A chef, especially a Chinese chef, sounded quite different.

Hoan froze. Didn’t they agree he’d wash dishes? Why was he suddenly a chef?

Not only Hoan was stunned, but Jerm Brown across from them also looked shocked. Pointing uncertainly at Hoan, he asked:

“Him? A chef? A Chinese chef?”

Leslie nodded confidently, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Oh my god, Leslie, haven’t seen you for months and suddenly you’re cracking jokes, hahaha…”

At that moment, Marian burst into exaggerated laughter.

He laughed for quite a while until Leslie’s face gradually turned cold, then he stopped.

But the mocking look on his face didn’t fade; instead, he sneered, “Leslie, are you sure that Texas cowboy is a chef? You know…”

“Ha! Sorry, couldn’t hold it in. I’d sooner believe that arrogant Texan is a butcher than a chef, let alone a Chinese chef!”

Leslie pretended not to hear Marian’s ridicule and looked at Jerm Brown.

Jerm didn’t stop his employee’s rudeness, because he agreed.

In his mind, a Texan could be a drug lord, a serial killer, anything except a chef.

Leslie took a deep breath, suppressing her anger, then turned to Hoan and gave him a warning glance.

If Hoan didn’t show off some culinary skills today and help her regain face, she swore she’d thrash him once they got back.

Hoan caught Leslie’s signal, gave her a reassuring look without expression.

Then he strode forward, grabbed the foul-mouthed man by his collar, and punched him hard in the stomach.

“Ah—” a wail echoed.

Amid the crowd’s shock and disbelief, Hoan wasn’t satisfied with just one punch. He grabbed Marian’s collar again, lifted him by the neck, and swung more punches.

One punch after another, relentless, cursing in Chinese with each blow:

“Texas butcher, huh!”

“Ah...bi...”

“Cowboy, huh!”

“Ugh...”

“Funny, huh!”

“Help...me...”

“Why don’t you laugh then!”

Amid the screams and incomprehensible curses, the stunned crowd finally snapped back to reality.

“Fuck!!”

“Hoan!!”

“Texas kid, fuck squid, stop right now! I swear I’ll smash your ass!”

Everyone was dumbfounded, including the bodyguards who hadn’t reacted in time and the employees watching the commotion at the door.

They had seen arrogance before but never this outrageous.

Indeed, this was the fearless cowboy from Texas.

Hearing Leslie and the future boss’s voices, Hoan grudgingly stopped beating Marian and looked at Leslie with an innocent expression.

As if to say, you made me do it.

Leslie was dumbfounded. I wanted you to show some skills, but not like this.

“Uncle Jerm, do you believe me if I say it wasn’t my idea?”

Jerm, full of anger, could only sigh. Then with a dark face, he motioned toward the kitchen door, signaling to carry the moaning Marian away.

“You two, come with me.”

Jerm Brown led the way out of the kitchen with a stern face and walked toward the front hall.

Leslie shot Hoan a fierce glare, took a deep breath, then followed. She had to figure out how to explain this.

Whether Hoan could stay or not didn’t matter anymore.

Hoan shrugged indifferently and followed.

Anyway, he had hit someone; compensation was impossible, but staying to work off the debt was fine.

Perhaps because it wasn’t work time yet, the club felt a bit quiet as they passed down a dimly lit corridor.

The two followed Jerm to an office on the second floor.

Jerm entered, bypassed the desk, and took a bottle of whiskey and three glasses from the cabinet behind.

“Listen, Tex… what’s your name?” After handing Leslie and Hoan a glass, Jerm thought to ask the young man’s name.

Hoan took the glass, smiling brightly: “Hoan KI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.