As the group of well-built men entered the room, they immediately acknowledged Baldy with a respectful nod. “Boss,” they greeted in unison, their voices a mix of deference and readiness.
Baldy, exuding authority, surveyed his men with a satisfied smirk. He nodded, signaling the leader of the group to step forward. “Alright, show this guy what happens when you mess with us,” Baldy instructed, pointing at Julyan, his voice carrying a weight of command. “Teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”.
The leader of the group, a formidable figure with a reputation that preceded him, nodded in understanding. “Yes, Boss,” he replied, turning his gaze toward Julyan with a dismissive sneer. “Even the weakest among us can take him down. No need to call everyone.”
Julyan, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle. “You should’ve brought more,” he quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm. “I was hoping for a real challenge.”
His companion, still seated and visibly anxious, stood up, his face pale. “Julyan, that leader was once a boxing champion. He killed someone in the ring with a rabbit punch, which is why he lost his license and got banned from boxing,” he whispered urgently, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation.
Julyan nodded, seemingly unfazed by the revelation. “Don’t worry,” he said with a reassuring smile, gesturing for his companion to sit back down. “It’s a shame we don’t have popcorn. It would be perfect for watching a good show.”
His companion sat back down, his mind racing with disbelief. ‘Is this what a Battle Junkie is really like?’ he wondered, still trying to wrap his head around Julyan’s fearless demeanor.
Meanwhile, Baldy watched the interaction with a smug expression, confident in his men’s abilities. “Make sure he remembers this day,” Baldy added, his voice dripping with menace.
The leader of the group nodded once more. “Yes, Boss. We’ll make sure he won’t forget,” he assured, turning back to his men. “Let’s not make it too hard on him. Just cripple him,” he instructed, his tone cold and calculating.
One of Baldy’s men nodded and strutted toward the center, mocking Julyan as if he were an easy chicken ready for slaughter. “You look like you’re about to be plucked,” he taunted, a sneer on his lips.
Julyan walked calmly to meet him, unfazed by the insults. “You talk a lot for someone who’s about to get a lesson in humility,” Julyan replied, his voice steady and composed.
The man laughed, circling Julyan. “Big words for a small fry. You think you can handle this?” he jeered, trying to get under Julyan’s skin.
Julyan shrugged, a playful smile on his face. “I hope you can back up all that talk. I’d hate for this to be over too quickly,” he said, his tone light and teasing.
The man’s patience wore thin, his expression turning serious. “Enough talk. Let’s settle this with our fists, not our mouths,” he snapped, getting into a fighting stance before charging at Julyan.
Julyan sidestepped effortlessly, watching as the man came at him again. The man danced around like a boxer, throwing jabs and combinations, but Julyan moved with ease, dodging each attempt smoothly and gracefully.
Baldy watched from the sidelines, a smug grin on his face. “My guy’s got skills, doesn’t he?” he boasted, his voice dripping with pride.
The leader of the group nodded in agreement. “He won’t last long. That guy’s going down soon,” he predicted confidently.
Baldy chuckled, crossing his arms. “Serves him right for daring to challenge me,” he said, his laughter echoing through the room as he watched the fight unfold.
The leader nodded confidently. “Don’t worry, boss. There’s only one outcome for this fight,” he assured Baldy before shouting to his fighter, “Finish him off now! Use your special technique!”
Hearing the command, the fighter paused his assault and looked at Julyan with a mix of pity and arrogance. “Boy, you’re out of luck. The leader just told me to use my special skills,” he announced, bouncing lightly on his feet as he prepared.
Julyan watched with interest, his eyes following the man’s movements.
“Here it comes!” shouted one of the other men in the group.
“This guy’s done for,” another agreed, nodding in anticipation.
“It seems the boss wants this over quickly. Honestly, he didn’t even need to use the ‘Phantom Cyclone,'” one of them remarked, convinced that Julyan would be left crippled.
The ‘Phantom Cyclone’ was a fearsome technique, a whirlwind of rapid punches and swift footwork that seemed impossible to counter. It was a combination of blinding speed and unpredictable angles, designed to overwhelm any opponent.
As the fighter prepared, he charged at Julyan, showcasing his unique style. His fists flew in a blur, each punch aimed with precision and power.
But Julyan merely smiled, his grin widening with each attack. He moved with an almost playful ease, dodging the onslaught as if it were a dance. The more the fighter pressed, the more intrigued Julyan became, finding amusement in the man’s every move.
The room watched in awe and disbelief as Julyan continued to evade the seemingly unstoppable technique, his calm demeanor unshaken by the chaos around him.
The three men who had spoken earlier were now in a state of disbelief, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them.
“How is he dodging the Phantom Cyclone?” one of them exclaimed, his mouth agape wide enough to fit an ostrich egg.
Another’s eyes were bulging in shock, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing. “It’s like he’s not even breaking a sweat. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
The third man, still trying to process the scene, added, “This guy’s either insanely skilled or just plain crazy. No one should be able to move like that against the Cyclone.”
The leader was equally stunned, and even Baldy was momentarily speechless. They were all too familiar with this attack, knowing its deadly reputation. No one had ever withstood it before, let alone evaded it so casually. Yet, here was Julyan, effortlessly sidestepping each punch with a mischievous expression on his face.
“What is happening?” Baldy shouted, his voice tinged with frustration and confusion.
The leader shook his head, equally perplexed. “I don’t know, boss. I’ve never seen anyone dodge this technique before. It’s like he’s toying with it,” he admitted, his voice filled with disbelief.
In the center of the room, the fighter continued his relentless assault, growing increasingly irritated as his punches failed to land. Julyan moved with a casual grace, retreating and turning as if he were dancing the cha-cha, a teasing smile never leaving his lips.
After a few more moments, Julyan caught one of the punches mid-air. “Hold on a second,” he said, halting the fighter’s attack with ease.
The fighter stopped, a frustrated grin on his face. “Are you scared now?” he taunted, pulling back his fist. But inside, he was puzzled by how effortlessly Julyan had caught his punch with just one hand.
“Your technique is interesting,” Julyan remarked, his tone genuinely intrigued.
What happened next left the onlookers even more astonished.