School Bully Eugene

Rorschach pedaled his bicycle at breakneck speed.

Whether on TV or the internet, the explosive news about Stark Industries continued to spread like wildfire.

Even the window displays along the street and the towering electronic billboards scrolled with news coverage.

On the phone screens of pedestrians by the roadside, Tony Stark was the sole protagonist as well.

But none of this had anything to do with Rorschach.

He cut through several familiar streets and arrived at the entrance of a Chinese restaurant called "Delicious."

The restaurant wasn't large—small and compact.

But as the saying goes, a sparrow may be small, yet it has all its organs.

After years of painstaking effort by his aunt, the name Delicious Chinese Restaurant was known to every household in all of Manhattan.

Rorschach stepped through the door, wove past neatly arranged tables and chairs, and headed toward the counter.

Even though lunchtime was long over, in the corner of the restaurant, a few rednecks dressed like cowboys were still wolfing down their food.

His aunt's exquisite cooking skills

were nothing short of a dimensional strike to the average citizens of the United States, whose diets were monotonous and cooking methods simplistic.

"Good morning, Aunt."

Rorschach hurried forward and flopped onto the counter.

At this moment, his aunt was sitting behind the counter, her fingers clicking away on a calculator as she sorted through the accounts.

Hearing Rorschach's greeting, she didn't even lift her head and said in a sarcastic tone:

"It's one in the afternoon now, Mr. Rorschach. You're late again."

His aunt wasn't old—around thirty-five years old.

She kept her hair cropped to her ears and wore a white chef's uniform every day.

Her slightly rounded chin only accentuated the clean, decisive aura of a strong woman.

She stopped her calculations and couldn't help but roll her eyes at the grinning Rorschach.

"Our errand boy, apprentice Mike, took a long leave of absence—at least a week..."

She casually pointed at the takeout containers sitting nearby.

"So I'm planning to suspend delivery orders. You can come back after you finish delivering these."

"Big Mouth Mike?"

In Rorschach's memory, the image of a scrawny but voracious black youth gradually came into focus.

"Wasn't he always shouting about working overtime to learn cooking? Why the sudden leave?"

"A few days ago, Mike's seven-year-old brother went missing..." His aunt sighed, a hint of mockery flickering in her eyes. "You know how the cops in poor neighborhoods are. Rich folks like Tony Stark are the ones they serve. Mike can only rely on his friends and relatives' social networks..."

"If I have time, I'll reach out to Mike and see if I can help..."

Rorschach said with a serious expression, then grabbed the helmet from the counter.

"Aunt, I'm off to deliver the food. Otherwise, I'll get another bad review."

He lifted the heavy takeout container with one hand, effortless, and turned to head out the door.

"Brat..."

His aunt stared at Rorschach's broad, powerful back from behind the counter, a fond aunt-like smile spreading across her face.

Still, she blinked in confusion.

"Growth spurt? Or has he been secretly working out? Why does that brat look so much buffer?"

--

After years of his aunt's painstaking trial and error, the business strategy of Delicious Chinese Restaurant targeted the lower-to-middle-class crowd.

While ensuring good value for money, she kept the flavor as authentic as possible.

As a result, most of the delivery range didn't exceed five kilometers.

In just twenty minutes, Rorschach had delivered the vast majority of the orders.

These were mostly regulars who, after tasting his aunt's cooking, couldn't forget it.

Now, Rorschach had only one double-portion set meal left.

Pedaling his bike through several crowded streets, he arrived at a recently renovated apartment building.

Rorschach walked up to the apartment door and found it locked tight—only residents could enter.

So he chose to press the buzzer on the door.

Rorschach said with practiced ease:

"Excuse me, is this Mr. Eugene? Your delivery is here. Could you please come downstairs to pick it up..."

"Damn it! 403! Bring it up!"

Before long, a slurred male voice came through the intercom.

Then, the apartment's locked door swung open, accompanied by a pleasant chime.

"If you don't open the door, how am I supposed to deliver it..."

Rorschach shook his head with a sigh.

Based on past experience, he easily guessed the customer was already drunk.

But in the service industry, you don't get to choose your customers.

Rorschach shrugged helplessly.

He swayed slightly as he picked up the delivery bag and entered the apartment.

Knock knock knock!

It didn't take long before Rorschach rapped on the door of 403.

Accompanied by footsteps, the door swung open with a bang.

A foul stench mixing alcohol and the smell of weed immediately hit him in the face.

Even Rorschach, who had seen it all, couldn't help but furrow his brow.

"Your delivery, sir."

Rorschach maintained his professional smile as he pulled the food from the bag.

"Burp... thanks."

A bleary-eyed blond man behind the door reached out to take the delivery and started to close the door.

Slap!

But Rorschach's hand slammed against the door, abruptly halting the other man's movement.

"Sir, this is a cash-on-delivery order. You haven't paid yet."

Rorschach explained with a smile.

The blond man was clearly taken aback, shaking his head to stay alert.

Then he turned and shouted into the room:

"Hey, Eugene! Come pay!"

"Pay? Pay for what? Do I need to pay for takeout?"

Soon, a tall, staggering figure appeared at the door.

He roughly shoved the bleary-eyed blond man aside.

With bloodshot eyes and a fierce expression, he threatened Rorschach:

"Hey, kid, you'd better get the hell out of here..."

Rorschach instinctively narrowed his eyes.

He calmly pulled out his phone from his pocket.

After tapping a few times, he showed it to the bald, burly man.

"Eugene Paul, if you refuse to pay, I'll call the police to resolve this."

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

Clearly, under the combined influence of alcohol and weed, the bald man's thoughts were a mess.

"Kid, you look familiar..."

After scrutinizing the figure before him for a few moments, the bald man's expression turned suspicious.

"Rorschach?"

Eugene Paul, the former school bully at Rorschach's high school.

The reason he was former was because he'd already been expelled.

"Double combo meal, fifty bucks. Delivery fee, ten bucks..."

Rorschach didn't intend to argue with a drunk Eugene, especially since they had no rapport.

"That's sixty total. Thanks for your patronage."

"You... your delivery was late!"

Eugene's face shifted through several expressions before suddenly darkening.

"I've been waiting over an hour!"

"Eugene."

At that moment, Rorschach couldn't help but let out a sigh as he looked at the other with a sincere expression.

"This is just a delivery. If you're having financial difficulties, I can treat you to it..."

"But right now, you're clearly just looking for entertainment, aren't you?"

Rorschach narrowed his eyes and subconsciously twisted his neck.

His lowered hand curled slightly into a loose fist, fingertips swaying back and forth.

It was the opening stance of the Catachan Fighting Style—concealed and lethal.

"I'm just not paying. What are you gonna do about it? Call the cops? Little man?"

The burly Eugene suddenly grinned wide, his expression ferocious.

Even his muscular shoulders shifted slightly, his whole body already poised to strike.

He was still the same school bully who pushed people around, without a single change.

A minute ago, when Eugene realized the delivery guy was actually a high school alumnus...

The alcohol in his system had already decided he wasn't letting him leave!

He hated that school with every fiber of his being!

And he hated those sanctimonious good students just as much!

Right in front of him happened to be a perfect human punching bag...