Chapter 5: We're All Washouts-Who's Afraid of Who?

Words : 1739 Updated : Oct 17th, 2025

Nala Jameson felt wronged-really, just pent up. She'd been a golden girl once: a top-university grad from a wealthy family, living carefree until she was twenty-two. Then, the year she graduated, a car crash killed her mother; six months later, her father was diagnosed with cancer, and she had no choice but to take the helm of the Jameson Group. She thought she could make the company thrive on her own merit. Instead, an industry shake-up hit and the group's operations stalled. To make matters worse, the looks she'd always been proud of became her biggest obstacle-men like Bryson Lawson started targeting her, and the Jameson Group, because of it. She didn't blame Otto Nicholson; even without him in the picture, with Bryson's personality, neither she nor the Jameson Group would've gotten a break. But when emotions run high, you need somewhere to vent. Unfortunately, Otto ended up taking the brunt of it. By the end of her rant-she'd always projected a tough, career-woman image-her tears came, streaming down her face and wouldn't stop. Seeing his wife-to-be crying her eyes out, Otto was at a loss. He knew how to fight; he'd never learned how to comfort anyone. Still, whether he'd done it before or not, sometimes you just have to step up. "You misunderstood me. That's not what I meant. First, Uncle Reid's illness doesn't need treatment abroad. I can handle it. Second, the Lawson Group and the Glory Gang aren't worth worrying about. I can take care of them in no time." Otto spoke patiently. Nala cried even harder. She wasn't buying any of it. "Looks like talk won't cut it. I'll have to show you." Otto moved Nala aside and pulled off Reid Jameson's robe. "What are you doing?" Nala jumped. Otto ignored her and said to Reid, "Uncle Reid, bear with me." Then his fingers hammered into the man's chest and back in a blur, point after point. Each jab left a red dot, a little blood beading up. With the last strike, Reid coughed up a mouthful of black blood. "Dad, don't scare me!" "Otto Nicholson, if anything happens to my dad, I'll fight you to the death!" Only then did Nala snap out of it. She rushed to the bedside to check on her father. "Don't touch me yet." Reid grabbed her hand. "I feel so much lighter." "Lighter?" Nala froze. Under her stunned gaze, Reid swung his legs off the bed and paced around the room in long, steady strides. She was shocked and thrilled. Lately, her father needed a cane to walk, and the doctors had said he'd be bedridden within a month. But once the shock faded, fear set in. A man modern medicine had basically written off suddenly moving around briskly was anything but normal. "Did you give my dad stimulants?" Nala grabbed Otto by the collar. "Ever heard of a stimulant that makes a late-stage cancer patient walk like nothing's wrong?" Otto rolled his eyes. "This is an acupuncture technique." "Acupuncture? I didn't even see any needles." "I didn't bring my needles, so I used my fingers instead." Otto wiggled his fingers. He'd learned this technique from a villain in the Valley of Villains. It's called the Rejuvenation Technique-it strengthens the body and taps into its potential. But to actually cure the cancer, you still need the right medicine. "Fingers instead of needles? Your fingers are like steel rods-how does that replace fine needles? You're bluffing." Still uneasy, Nala decided to take her father to the hospital for a full checkup. Five minutes later, a black Audi A8 pulled out of a gated villa community in the western suburbs. At the same time, a Rolls-Royce Phantom sped down the highway from the state capital toward Nykomar, doing over 120 miles an hour. Inside sat Bryson Lawson's father, Ronan Lawson, chairman of the Lawson Group. He was on his way to negotiate a big project, but before reaching the city, news arrived-his son had been beaten. For seven generations, the Lawsons had only one son in each generation. Bryson was his only child, and since he was a kid, Ronan never let him suffer even the smallest hardship. Now, his boy had been thrashed in public, teeth knocked out. When he saw the photos, Ronan's heart broke; he dropped the project and told the driver to turn back for Nykomar immediately. The more he stewed, the angrier he got. He called Tyler, boss of the Glory Gang. "Boss Tyler, did you know someone beat my son?" "Beaten? No way. I sent Maximus to protect him. Maximus has mastered everything I taught him. In Nykomar, not many can take him on." Tyler was soaking in a hot spring, rubbing the tattoos across his chest-the Azure Dragon on the left, the White Tiger on the right-speaking in a lazy drawl. "Want me to send you the photos?" Ronan's voice jumped an octave. "He really got beaten?" Splash! Tyler shot up from the hot spring. "Mr. Lawson, don't worry. I'll make this right." He tossed the phone aside, wrapped a towel around his waist, and strode out. Outside, Maximus knelt ramrod straight. He'd been on his knees for over half an hour, not daring to go in; Tyler hated being disturbed while bathing. As Tyler liked to say, even if the sky falls, wait till I finish soaking. Tyler's love of hot springs had a simple origin. Years ago, someone had shoved him into a hole in the ice. He spent three days and nights in it, nearly freezing to death. "Maximus?" Maximus's face was a swollen mess of bruises. At first, Tyler didn't recognize him. "Boss, I failed you." Maximus banged his forehead on the ground. The wound that had just begun to clot split open again. "You did fail me. I told you to protect Bryson Lawson. What did you protect? Don't think beating yourself up and acting pathetic will get you off the hook." Tyler's face went cold. "Beating myself up? I didn't hurt myself." Maximus looked confused. "You didn't? Then how'd your face end up like that?" "I was hit." Maximus told the truth. "Who could beat you?" Tyler had assumed Maximus had bailed, and that's why Bryson got attacked. But the facts said otherwise. "I don't know who he is, but he's trained in the Crushing Fist. I didn't stand a chance against him." "He fights using the Crushing Fist? Is he from the Valley of Villains?" Tyler's brow arched. He muttered, "Even if he's from the Valley of Villains, so what? If you're out, it means you were eliminated. We're all washouts-who's scared of who?"

Chapter 5: We're All Washouts-Who's Afraid of Who?

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