Richie's gaze barely changed as he glanced back at Nason's hand, which was still gripping his arm.
An inexplicable fear rose in Nason, and under Richie's gaze, he hurriedly pulled his hand away.
Richie seized the retreating hand and sneered:
"Scared now? Where was that fear when you were bullying someone?"
Nason's heart went cold. He had thought the frail little boy before him, with bandages still wrapped around his head, would be easy to bully.
He had never expected him to be a powerhouse in disguise!
Nason could feel the extraordinary strength with which Richie gripped his wrist.
If that grip had been a little lighter, it might not have hurt him. If it grew any stronger, Nason felt his wrist bones would shatter.
Richie wore a lazy, unconcerned expression as he looked calmly at Nason.
That look sent goosebumps racing over Nason's entire body.
If he had known Richie was this formidable, he would never have provoked him.
"Hey, I-I know I was w-wrong..." Nason stammered, tears and snot streaming down his face.
Richie frowned in disgust at the snot covering Nason's face.
"If apologies worked, what would we need the police for?
You think I'm a good person? I never do good deeds!
My father treats mental illness. A little while ago, I happened to ask him about the essence of treating it-the Beating Therapy Method.
Since you're beyond saving, I'll reluctantly give you some treatment!"
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Richie's lips, making him seem approachable yet impossibly distant.
For a moment, Nason actually stared in a daze. As he gazed into Richie's eyes, he seemed to be drawn deep into the shifting light within them, as though he had sunk into a swamp and could no longer escape.
While Nason was distracted, Richie yanked