Chapter 11 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

A pair of jet-black and fiery red eyes locked in a fierce gaze, neither willing to yield. Heavy breaths tangled in the air between them, as if even this invisible territory had to be contested. Losing wouldn't lead them to suffocate, but neither man was prepared to back down.

 

From any perspective—ambiguous or straightforward—it was undeniably childish. Yet, people caught in such moments would rarely acknowledge their own pettiness, determined to stubbornly fight for dominance. Even when one was a college lecturer with mafia ties and the other, a rising-star lawyer whose life had been a seamless journey of success.

 

The door creaked open, and a golden-haired youth with amber eyes froze in place, stunned by the scene on the sofa: two men locked in a silent but heated clash of wills.

 

To an outsider, the pose seemed... quite suggestive. The black-haired, Eastern man sprawled on the sofa, his slender-framed glasses askew, his healthy skin flushed with a deep red. Sweat glistened on his forehead, slipping down with an oddly seductive allure. His plastered arm was gripped tightly by the bearded man, whose furrowed brow betrayed the force he was applying.

 

Their legs intertwined awkwardly, close but never quite touching, maintaining a precarious balance.

 

The youth hesitated for several seconds, then silently stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

 

"Fitch, done with class?" The man pinning the other, Tengshe, addressed the youth casually. His red-brown eyes flicked toward the boy, who stood there deliberating whether to approach.

 

"Let go!" Embarrassed by the sudden presence of a third party, Shuai Zhaomin's flushed face deepened in color, betraying his mortification. His tall frame strained to break free, only to be harshly forced down again.

 

The crack in his ribs screamed in protest at this struggle, sending him into a fit of suppressed, rasping coughs.

 

"Yes, master." The youth glanced at Shuai Zhaomin, who was contorted in pain and drenched in cold sweat, then shifted his gaze to Tengshe, whose malicious enjoyment was evident. His amber eyes narrowed faintly.

 

"Let go, damn it!" Shuai Zhaomin roared in frustration between coughs, his voice raw. Tengshe, now restraining even his legs, showed a disturbing aptitude for rapid learning.

 

"Master, you're hurt!"

 

I'm hurt even worse! Shuai Zhaomin's nerves were frayed beyond tolerance. Even in his state of agony, he found a moment to glare at the boy, who promptly ignored him and treated his plastered arm like trash, he ruthlessly smacked it away.

 

Caught off guard, Tengshe loosened his grip, allowing Shuai Zhaomin's arm to whip back onto his own chest, sending a new wave of pain searing through his body. The sensation was sharp and icy, as though his very nerves were being shaved down to their rawest state.

 

"Master…" The youth's voice, soft and pleading, was heart-wrenchingly pitiful.

 

Even Shuai Zhaomin, in his current miserable state, couldn't help but feel some sympathy. He had a soft spot for those weaker than himself. A fleeting glance confirmed what he suspected—this youth must be one of Tengshe Brelini's subordinates. Tengshe had even referred to him by name earlier, calling him Fitch.

 

"I'm fine." Tengshe shrugged indifferently, still firmly seated on Shuai Zhaomin's lower abdomen. The taller man's weight pressed down heavily, and the lawyer could only grit his teeth, helpless.

 

"Who dared hurt you, master? It's outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!" From Shuai Zhaomin's vantage point, the youth's amber eyes glistened with unshed tears. Small, pearl-white teeth bit down on his trembling lower lip as his hand trembled lightly, brushing over Tengshe's supposed injury.

 

"Who, indeed?" Tengshe's gaze sharpened, his teasing red-brown eyes fixed on Shuai Zhaomin, whose flushed face had now turned alarmingly pale. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

 

"Thanks for asking." Shuai Zhaomin's crooked smile was laced with venom. He tried to push Tengshe off with his free hand, but the man, shielded by the boy's intervention, had positioned himself just out of reach.

 

Fine. Keep acting smug. Just you wait—once I'm healed, you'll be begging me for mercy!

 

"Was it you?" Fitch suddenly snapped, his petite face flushed with fury. The amber depths of his eyes darkened, and his soft voice took on a menacing edge. "How dare you harm the master?"

 

"Perhaps I underestimated my opponent," Tengshe admitted with a casual shrug, carelessly throwing Shuai Zhaomin under the proverbial bus.

 

You son of a—! "Underestimate? I hardly think Mr. Brelini is that kind of person!" The boy's glare could've sliced through steel, and the lawyer had the distinct impression that if not for Tengshe's presence, the boy might've even launched a physical attack on him.

 

"Well, I'm also a considerate client." Tengshe's laughter rolled out low and dangerous. Towering over Shuai Zhaomin, he glanced down with an infuriatingly playful smile. "Fitch, did you know? Attorney Shuai has been boxing since high school. Even won awards in college."

 

"Really?" The youth's voice was eerily calm, but his amber eyes betrayed a sharp, predatory edge.

 

Really?

 

Those two syllables could carry countless implications—some good, some bad, and many ambiguous. Shuai Zhaomin himself often used them in court to pressure or provoke his opponents.

 

"Really." What else could he say? His experiences with Fitch were limited to two encounters—one in a compromising position on a bed, the other steeped in sensual tension on the streets. Neither situation lent itself to a clear interpretation of the boy's words.

 

Fine. Let's assume hostility and provocation. Fitch's gaze was strikingly sharp, as brutal as Tengshe's. A pity, Shuai Zhaomin mused. Those amber eyes could've been stunning without that murderous intensity.

 

Pushing himself upright on the sofa, Shuai Zhaomin glared at Tengshe, who was now casually smoking with an infuriatingly smug expression. "Mr. Brelini," he said coldly, "allow me to remind you that if you don't want me handling your case, you can simply tell my boss. No need for all this melodrama."

 

From their first meeting, the two had clashed endlessly. If they somehow managed to see this case through successfully, his boss might as well enter a bodybuilding competition fueled solely by his donuts. Damn it!

 

"Is this you begging for mercy?"

 

Tengshe Brelini—this man must have been born a bastard. Shuai Zhaomin could feel the veins in his temples throbbing, his blood pressure skyrocketing as his internal curses reached new heights.

 

Never in his life had he been suppressed so completely. Even in their verbal sparring, he'd only managed to gain petty victories while losing on every major front. Hell, my logic's in shambles! Why am I even thinking about losing his underwear to break even?!

 

"Fine, let's call it begging," he conceded with a brittle smile. "If that'll make you cooperate a bit more."

 

"Then kneel and apologize for hurting the master! You rude lowly peasant!" The boy's angry shout, though scolding, carried a soft lilt that could have been endearing in any other context. But seriously, what teenage boy still used words like peasant*?

 

[T/N: 賤民 was used historically to refer to members of the lower social strata, often implying a person of no status, respect, or value in a rigidly hierarchical society.

In modern usage, it can be derogatory, used as an insult to demean someone, akin to calling someone a "peasant" or "lowly scum."]

 

"Fitch, right?" Shuai Zhaomin scoffed. "Let me clear a few things up for you."

 

"What?" The boy's delicate brows furrowed, their elegant arc momentarily distracting. But that face, and his overly refined features, were both pleasing to the eye and maddeningly reminiscent of someone else.

 

Someone Shuai Zhaomin absolutely despised!

 

"First, I'm the injured party here. Kindly take a look at the cast on my left hand. Second, I'd be well within my rights to sue for damages, but being the nice guy I am, I'll settle for the minor compensation of cracking a glass on his head. Third, if you'd like your master to make it back to Italy for his family's meeting in one piece, I'd advise against escalating violence."

 

The boy's frown deepened as his slender arm moved swiftly.

 

What the hell? Do these people ever listen? Shuai Zhaomin thought, catching Tengshe out of the corner of his eye, puffing smoke rings and looking entirely too pleased with the situation.

 

So, no intervention. Got it.

 

The boy's fist came down fast and hard. Though it was difficult for him to make a move, Shuai Zhaomin managed to dodge just enough for the sofa to absorb the impact. Judging by the deep indentation left behind, if that punch had landed, his fractured ribs would now be outright shattered.

 

The boy was skilled. Despite the miss, he wasted no time, fluidly transitioning his fist into a hand chop aimed at Shuai Zhaomin.

 

Not happening. Shuai Zhaomin had never been the type to meekly take a beating. From a young age, he'd learned to fight back tooth and nail in a world that respected nothing else.

 

What a colossal pain in the ass.

 

Though his awkward position made balance tricky, his long legs gave him the advantage. Though his upper body was battered, his legs were still strong.

 

"Ugh!" The boy let out a muffled groan as he crumpled, clutching his side.

 

"Sorry," Shuai Zhaomin said with mock politeness. "I have no intention of ending up back in the hospital." The force of his kick had left a clear, unmistakable imprint of his shoe on the boy's clothes. "If you're thinking of sending me new shoes, I trust you've got the sizing figured out by now?"

 

What a lame joke... Shuai Zhaomin couldn't help mentally roasting himself. His sense of humor must've been bound to his fractured wrist—once broken, gone for good.

 

"I'll keep that in mind," Tengshe replied, not even sparing the boy a glance. Instead, his crimson-brown eyes stayed fixed on Shuai Zhaomin, his laughter low and unrestrained, as though thoroughly entertained.

 

"Master… I'm sorry!" The boy, still kneeling, raised a tear-streaked face, his lips trembling as if he might draw blood from biting down so hard. "Please don't abandon me. I'm sorry!"

 

What kind of soap opera is this? Shuai Zhaomin wanted no part of it. He'd never watched a single drama in his life, not even romantic films, preferring gritty war and action movies. This entire situation left him utterly at a loss for how to respond.

 

If this were a romance, would he now rush over to the boy, apologize, and claim the kick was just an overextension, then beg him to stop crying because it broke his heart? ──Of course, he wasn't heartbroken at all. Unless, of course, the boy wanted his broken ribs to ache instead.

 

And if this were something out of "The Godfather", should he berate Tengshe for being a leader so heartlessly indifferent to his subordinates, lamenting the decay of mafia honor? Not that he ever believed in the supposed honor of organized crime—it was all just smuggling, drugs, and human trafficking. Garbage, the lot of it.

 

Scratching his cheek, Shuai Zhaomin let out a small sigh. "Mr. Brelini, care to enlighten me on what's next? Your case is your business, not mine. Even if you lose, it doesn't bother me one bit. And let's not forget your opponent will probably enjoy it immensely."

 

Most of all, he just wanted this job wrapped up so he could head back to Taiwan for a vacation. He had never seen a client treat their lawyer like this before.

 

Damn it! Whose case is this anyway?!

 

Did he need to grab a stir stick and mix that snake's brains around a bit, see if he could skim off the sludge and debris?

 

"My opponent?" Tengshe's crimson-brown eyes narrowed in a way almost… endearing, if only his grin weren't so revolting.

 

"I mean the people trying to assassinate you." The discomfort in his chest—was it from that smile or the lingering pain? Shuai Zhaomin had neither the time nor the patience to figure it out.

 

Tengshe exhaled a trail of smoke, violet-tinged and curling lazily in the air. He ignored the boy still kneeling in adoration and circled past him to stand directly in front of Shuai Zhaomin.

 

"How much do you know?"

 

"Why don't you start by telling me how you plan to justify that bullet?"

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