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2.75% Marvel: Warhammer Simulator / Chapter 3: 003, school bully Eugene

Chapter 3: 003, school bully Eugene

Zaire pedaled his bike swiftly through the streets.

The explosive news about Stark Industries was still making waves on TV and the internet. Even the TV displays in store windows and the electronic billboards were continuously broadcasting the news. Tony Stark was the main topic on every passerby's phone screen.

But none of this mattered to Zaire.

He navigated through a few familiar streets and arrived at a small restaurant named 'Delicious.'

The restaurant was small but well-kept, thanks to his aunt's years of dedicated management. Despite its size, the name 'Delicious' was known all over Manhattan, a testament to his aunt's hard work.

Zaire entered the restaurant, walked through the neatly arranged tables, and approached the counter.

Even though lunch hours had passed, a few cowboys in the corner were still enjoying their meals.

His aunt's exquisite culinary skills were a major draw for the locals, whose usual diet was monotonous and bland.

"Good morning, Auntie."

Zaire quickly approached and leaned over the counter.

At that moment, his aunt was busy with the calculator, organizing the accounts.

Without looking up, she responded, "It's 1 PM, Zaire. You're late again."

His aunt, around thirty-five years old, sported short hair and always wore a white chef's outfit. Her slightly rounded chin enhanced her clean and efficient appearance.

Stopping her calculations, she rolled her eyes at the smiling Zaire. "Our helper, Mike, took a long leave—at least a week..."

She pointed to the takeout boxes nearby. "So, I plan to pause takeout orders after you deliver these."

"Big Mouth Mike?" A clear image of a skinny yet voracious young man formed in Zaire's mind. "Wasn't he always talking about working extra to learn cooking? Why the sudden leave?"

"A few days ago, Mike's seven-year-old brother went missing..." His aunt sighed, with a hint of sarcasm in her eyes. "You know how useless the police in poor neighborhoods are. They only serve the rich like Tony Stark. Mike has to rely on family and friends to help search..."

"If I get time, I'll contact Mike and offer help..." Zaire said seriously, then picked up the helmet on the counter. "Auntie, I'll deliver these meals now. Otherwise, I'll get more bad reviews."

Effortlessly lifting the heavy takeout box with one hand, he headed out.

"You little rascal..." His aunt watched Zaire's broad and strong back with a pleased smile but blinked in confusion. "Is he in a growth spurt or secretly working out? He looks much different than before..."

---

After years of his aunt's hard work, 'Delicious' focused on serving the middle and lower-income populace, ensuring good quality at reasonable prices. The takeout range usually didn't exceed five kilometers.

Within twenty minutes, Zaire delivered most of the orders to regular customers who couldn't forget his aunt's cooking.

Now, he had only one double meal left.

Riding his bike through several crowded streets, Zaire arrived at a recently renovated apartment building.

He approached the door and found it locked, accessible only to residents. So, he pressed the call button.

"Is this Mr. Eugene? Your takeout is here. Could you please come down to get it?" Zaire asked professionally.

"Damn it! 403! Bring it up!" slurred a man's voice through the intercom.

Soon, the apartment door opened with a pleasant chime.

"You could've just opened the door in the first place..." Zaire sighed, guessing from experience that this customer was likely drunk.

With no choice in his customers, Zaire shrugged and carried the takeout box into the building.

Knock, knock, knock!

Before long, Zaire knocked on the door of apartment 403.

After some footsteps, the door swung open, and a wave of alcohol and weed stench hit him, making him wrinkle his nose despite his usual composure.

"Your takeout, sir," Zaire said with a polite smile, handing over the food.

"Ugh... thanks." A bleary-eyed blonde man took the takeout and started to close the door.

Wham!

Zaire's hand shot out, stopping the door.

"Sir, the takeout is cash on delivery. You haven't paid yet," he explained with a smile.

The blonde man blinked in confusion, trying to clear his head, then turned and shouted into the apartment, "Hey, Eugene! Pay for the food!"

"Pay? Pay for what? I need to pay for takeout?" Soon, a large, staggering figure appeared, shoving the blonde aside.

With bloodshot eyes and a threatening expression, the man growled at Zaire, "Hey, kid, you better leave..."

Zaire squinted slightly, calmly pulling out his phone and showing it to the bald man.

"Eugene Paul, if you refuse to pay, I will call the police."

"How do you know my name?" Eugene's eyes widened. "Who sent you?!"

Clearly under the influence of alcohol and weed, Eugene's mind was a mess.

"Kid, you look familiar..." Eugene scrutinized Zaire closely, his expression suspicious. "Zaire?"

Eugene Paul, a former school bully from Zaire's high school, was expelled long ago.

"A double meal costs fifty bucks, plus ten for delivery..." Zaire stated plainly. "Total is sixty dollars. Thank you."

"Your takeout was late!" Eugene's face twisted, suddenly looking even more menacing. "I waited over an hour!"

"Eugene," Zaire sighed, looking sincerely at the man. "It's just a takeout. If you're struggling, I can treat you..."

"But you're clearly just looking for trouble, aren't you?"

Zaire squinted, tilting his neck slightly, his hand hanging loosely, fingers twitching subtly.

This was the starting stance of Catachan combat techniques—hidden but deadly.

"I'm not paying, so what can you do? Call the cops, shorty?" Eugene sneered, his muscles tensing, ready for action.

He hadn't changed at all from the bully he used to be.

A minute ago, realizing the delivery man was a former classmate, Eugene, emboldened by booze, decided Zaire wouldn't leave unscathed.

He hated the school and despised those goody-two-shoes students.

And now, standing before him, was a perfect human punching bag...

......................................................................................

Stones?


Chapter 4: 004, daily life

To others, this seemed like a one-sided conflict.

Zaire, standing at 1.75 meters tall and with a lean build, looked significantly smaller than the burly Eugene. Eugene, a former school bully, had years of street-fighting experience, far surpassing that of a typical high school student.

The blonde man tried to stop Eugene, fearing he would hurt Zaire and cause even more trouble. "Stop it, Eu... Eugene!"

But Eugene, like a raging bull, ignored his friend's plea.

He had only one thought in mind: to make the student in front of him cry in pain. He wanted to see fear, enjoy the power of his fists, and instill terror.

However, Zaire remained calm and unafraid, even in the face of Eugene's bloodshot eyes. 

Fear was just another part of the Catachan morning routine.

"Cry, kid!"

Eugene suddenly raised his arm, aiming a heavy punch at Zaire's face. But Zaire's hand had already slipped past Eugene's line of sight. His hard knuckles struck Eugene's ribs.

Catachan Combat Technique, First Strike!

"Ugh!"

Eugene's menacing grin froze instantly. He opened his mouth wide, a scream of pain building in his chest, ready to burst out.

But Zaire showed no mercy, giving Eugene no chance to cry out.

Catachan Combat Technique, Second Strike!

The delivery box fell as Zaire's other hand moved like a scythe, striking the side of Eugene's neck. In just two moves, Eugene's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a ragdoll.

Thud!

The wooden floor echoed with the fall, and the blonde man was left gaping in shock. Everything happened too fast! The tables had turned in an instant, shattering the blonde man's limited imagination. The seemingly ordinary high school student had swiftly taken down the battle-hardened Eugene!

Even against adult attackers, Eugene's size would usually let him hold his ground for a long time. 

Fear washed over the blonde man as he stared at Zaire, his voice trembling. "Please, don't hurt me! You can take my phone and wallet!"

"Sixty dollars, please."

Zaire sighed, trying to remain patient.

"Money! I'll get it right away!"

The blonde man, snapping out of his stupor, frantically searched his pockets for cash. After a few moments, he produced sixty dollars, his hands shaking as he handed it over.

"Thank you."

Zaire took the money, forcing a smile. He hesitated before saying, "Eugene's not dead, but he'll need a few days to recover."

"Ah?" The blonde man blinked in surprise, then bowed deeply. "Th-thank you!"

Zaire shrugged, picked up the fallen delivery box, and headed for the elevator. He had plenty of work waiting for him back at the restaurant.

"Phew—"

As the elevator descended, Zaire let out a small sigh of relief, his eyes still gleaming with excitement. His first real fight, and he had won so easily!

Of course, if he had used the Catachan Fang earlier, his first strike would have pierced Eugene's heart. But their minor conflict didn't warrant such brutality.

Zaire stepped out of the apartment building, the breeze cooling his heated thoughts. He considered the aftermath of the fight. Self-defense against a known troublemaker would likely be seen as justified, even by the police. Eugene, underage and drunk, causing trouble while using drugs, would face far worse consequences.

Confident, Zaire smiled slightly, his movements more fluid as he pedaled his bike back to the restaurant. Ten minutes later, he arrived and quickly resumed his work preparing ingredients.

As the evening wore on, more and more customers filled the restaurant, perhaps drawn by the approaching weekend. People rewarded themselves with a hearty dinner after a long week, making Zaire and his aunt busier but also happier.

By six o'clock, the "Delicious" restaurant was bustling. Different people of all origin, chatting, eating, laughing, and cursing, blended with the neon glow of city at night, showcasing the vibrant pulse of life.

Stealing a moment to breathe, Zaire wiped his sweat and took in the lively atmosphere. He appreciated this organized chaos, where food brought together people of all professions and backgrounds, erasing societal divisions, leaving only the joy of good food and new friendships.

"Zaire! Orders up!"

His aunt's voice pulled him from his reverie. He quickly got back to work.

"Table 38, General Tso's Chicken, for one!"

The busy scene continued until nine in the evening. After the last customer left, Zaire and his aunt finally sat down to eat. After finishing his meal, Zaire, under his aunt's direction, packed up leftover food in takeout boxes to share with the homeless waiting outside the restaurant. This was a tradition his aunt had upheld for years, ensuring no one went hungry if the "Delicious" restaurant was open.

After closing up, Zaire biked his aunt home. By ten, Zaire, freshly showered, lay on his bed, lost in thought. The sound of the calculator resetting in the living room echoed softly—his aunt was still tallying the day's earnings.

Unable to sleep, Zaire opened his Warhammer Simulator.

[Cooldown Time: Seventeen Hours]

[Please provide resources to reduce the cooldown time (currently no resources available).]

Frowning, Zaire grabbed his phone and held it up to the simulator.

[Current resources do not match. Please provide resources to reduce the cooldown time.]

Determined, Zaire tried a series of random items—tissue paper, a keychain, and even his bedsheet. But the simulator refused them all.

"What kind of resources do you need? At least give me a hint!"

Frustrated, Zaire fell into deep thought. Then, an idea struck him. With a serious expression, he bit his finger, squeezed out a few drops of blood, and offered it to the simulator.

[Current resources do not match. Please provide resources to reduce the cooldown time.]

"Forget it, I'll just sleep!"

Muttering curses, Zaire turned over, sucking his finger, and closed his eyes.


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