From Bullets To Billions-Chapter 40: Back At School

While Max had been in the middle of his training, he couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the two adults standing near the front of the gym.

He was deep in thought, already planning how best to use the both of them in his future endeavors.

Right now, he was tangled in the mess of Max’s life, sorting out the chaos that had spiraled too far. But once that was over, there was still something far more dangerous waiting for him, the White Tiger Gang.

Taking them on wouldn’t be something he could handle alone.

He understood the value of a reliable crew, people he could trust at his back. The problem was, he didn’t know the true strength of the two standing near him.

So he was trying to come up with a way to gauge them, test their abilities without making it obvious.

That led him to getting up and asking the question.

"Hey, kid, what do you think you’re saying?" Steven said, raising a brow. "I know you probably grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth, but you can’t just tell two adults to fight like we’re your entertainment."

"I’ll give you an extra thousand if you fight him," Max replied coolly.

In a flash, Steven was already in the ring, cracking his knuckles and starting to warm up.

"Young master, are you certain you want me to do this?" Aron asked, calmly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"You’re supposed to be the head of my personal security, aren’t you?" Max replied. "Every now and then, it makes sense to test just how strong my security really is. Just pretend he’s trying to attack me."

Aron’s face twitched with clear reluctance, but he didn’t question the order. He stepped forward, bent between the ropes, and entered the ring.

It looked like a strange setup, one man dressed in a red tracksuit, hands wrapped, lightly shadowboxing in the corner... and the other, standing stiff in a full black suit like he was about to present a company pitch, not throw a punch.

"Alright!" Max called out. "The fight ends when one of you gets knocked out or gives up. And to keep things interesting, whoever wins gets an extra thousand."

"Yes, sir!" Steven shouted immediately, practically bouncing on his feet.

Max could already tell, if there was an easy way to control Steven, it was definitely through cash. What surprised him more was that Aron didn’t even flinch at the mention of money.

He figured that meant Aron’s salary from his grandfather had to be pretty impressive, because it clearly wasn’t the money that motivated him.

’Now this should be interesting,’ Max thought, a smirk curling on his lips. ’One’s a professional boxer, the other is the head of a private security team. Honestly... hard to say who’s gonna come out on top.’

He leaned forward slightly, enjoying the suspense before giving the signal.

"Fight!"

As soon as the word left his mouth, Steven sprang into action. He launched forward with quick footwork, his form sharp and practiced, keeping a tight, professional stance.

"I’m not gonna go easy on you!" Steven shouted, eyes locked in.

"Neither am I," Aron replied smoothly.

But something was off, Steven noticed it right away. Aron’s stance wasn’t typical. It was nothing like a trained boxer or even a brawler. Instead, he moved in an odd, almost tactical rhythm, his hand reaching for something near his waist.

"Wait... is that a—?"

Whack!

A metal baton extended from Aron’s hand and cracked hard across Steven’s face. The boxer dropped instantly, collapsing to the floor with a thud.

And Aron wasn’t done.

He calmly pulled another small device from his belt and pressed it to Steven’s neck. A sharp buzz filled the air as the stun gun jolted through Steven’s body, making his limbs twitch and spasm uncontrollably.

After a few seconds, Aron stood tall, clicked off the device, and straightened his tie. He turned to Max with a smug, satisfied expression.

"The threat has been eliminated, young master," Aron said proudly, as if expecting Max to clap for him.

Instead, Max just stood there, frozen in disbelief.

"What was that?" he snapped. "I wanted to see how strong you both were in an actual fight—not... whatever that was!"

Aron, completely unfazed, responded calmly, "Sir, if it had been a real threat, that is exactly how I would’ve handled it. The quickest and most efficient way to neutralize danger. No one in their right mind fights bare-handed if they don’t have to."

Max let out a long sigh and shook his head. Well, that was the end of that experiment.

Steven definitely wasn’t in any shape to fight again, not after getting zapped into the floor, and Max wasn’t too keen on watching Aron go full cyborg mode again anytime soon.

So, the gym session ended early. Max even agreed to cover any medical expenses... if there were any.

The weekend, full of chaos and unexpected turns, finally came to a close.

Max said his goodbyes to Aron and braced himself for what was coming next: school. Back into the lion’s den.

The next morning, Max woke up early. He was sharp. Focused. Dressed and ready to go.

He didn’t know what the day would throw at him, but this time, he’d be cautious. This time, he was ready.

Walking into the school, the same heavy, suffocating air still clung to the halls. The weight of what had happened to Sam hadn’t vanished, it hadn’t even been that long.

Still, Max noticed a few things. As he made his way through the corridors, he caught glimpses of the old habits returning. In other classrooms, the delinquents were starting up again, minor bullying here, cruel jokes there.

Slowly but surely, the school was forgetting. Forgetting Sam. Forgetting the pain. And soon, everything would slip right back to the way it was before.

This place seriously needs to be fixed, Max thought as his jaw clenched. Kids shouldn’t be living like this. No wonder more and more of them end up going down the same dark road I did.

He reached his classroom. As he stepped inside, the usual noise greeted him, chatter, laughter, desks scraping against the floor. Everyone was in their spots.

Joe sat off to the side, quietly tucked in his usual corner. But Max immediately picked up on something else, Mo wasn’t there. That was rare. Still, Ko sat in his normal place, leaning back and chatting with Joe like nothing had changed.

As Max moved to his desk, he felt it. The sharp, darting stares, especially from Ko. But it wasn’t just him. Several others in the room were watching him too.

Max didn’t flinch. He just kept walking. Eyes forward.

As Max made his way to his desk, his eyes drifted to the one next to his, Sam’s old seat.

What is that? he thought, narrowing his eyes. There was something off.

Stepping closer, Max’s stomach turned.

Black marker was scrawled all over the surface of Sam’s desk, mean, cruel words etched into the wood like a twisted memorial.

"I hope there’s lots of bacon for you up there."

"I heard they mistook him for an animal at the hospital at first."

"Always trying to get attention even in death."

"RIP, PIG."

Max’s grip on the desk tightened, his knuckles whitening. Rage bubbled up from deep inside, and just as his breath grew sharp and shallow, he heard footsteps approaching behind him.

Slive.

One of the regulars. He wasn’t part of the main trio, but he always tagged along, throwing in his insults when it suited him.

"Haha, look at that!" Slive laughed, stopping next to Max with a smirk. "Man, those are some good ones, right, Max?"

He reached out and tapped Max on the back of the head, twice. On the third tap, Max snapped.

His hand shot up, grabbing Slive’s wrist mid-swing and twisting it sharply.

Slive let out a sharp yelp of surprise, but Max didn’t let go. Not yet.

Max’s foot slammed into the side of Slive’s leg, sweeping it out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor. Still gripping his wrist, Max didn’t let up.

"I’m sick of it... I’m sick of it all," Max growled, his voice low and trembling with fury.

With his free hand, he reached for Slive’s fingers, and yanked. A sharp crack echoed through the classroom, silencing the murmurs and laughter in an instant.

"I’m going to break the hands of every single person who wrote on this damned desk!" he shouted, his eyes wild, voice trembling not from fear, but from rage that had been simmering for far too long.