From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 661

Chapter 661: A Fake Story

The sickening, hollow echo of the loud pop reverberated throughout the empty classroom, and every person present instinctively winced, feeling the phantom surge of agony that was currently tearing through Sylan’s nervous system. Before the senior could even draw enough breath to let out a guttural scream that would have alerted the entire hallway, Max moved with a terrifying, mechanical efficiency. He reached out, ripped a jagged strip of fabric from Sylan’s own shirt, and shoved it deep into the athlete’s mouth, effectively gagging him and stifling his voice to a series of frantic, muffled whimpers.

Max looked toward the door. Having more people stumble into the room now would be incredibly troublesome for his undercover mission. Although, he mused privately, if a particular "janitor" happened to be patrolling the hallway outside right now, the situation would be handled before a single student could even think of calling campus security.

Talia and Jono stood frozen, their throats dry as they both let out a heavy gulp. They had spent the last few days living in fear of Sylan, terrified of the physical power he wielded and the authority he represented, and yet, the very person they feared had just been dismantled and treated like a helpless child by the quietest student in their class. Jono, despite his own throbbing injuries, couldn’t help but wonder if the pain Sylan was experiencing right now was actually far worse than what had been inflicted on him at the podium.

"Alright, let’s make this simple. I’m just going to keep pulling at things and breaking things until you agree to every single one of my conditions," Max claimed, his voice dropping into a cold, flat monotone that was far more menacing than Sylan’s screaming. "First, let’s go over what I told you before. You’re going to tell everyone that I’m not coming to the meeting tonight because you beat me up. You need to make it sound convincing, tell them I’m in the hospital."

Max reached out and gripped Sylan’s other, uninjured arm. Immediately, driven by pure, unadulterated terror, Sylan began to nod his head frantically up and down. His eyes were wide, pleading, and darting around the room for an escape that wasn’t there.

"Good, good. So, here’s the plan: we’re going to head back out of this room together. I’m going to pretend that you’ve thoroughly thrashed me. I’ll even rip my own shirt a bit more to sell the image," Max claimed, his eyes locking onto Sylan’s. "That’s how your seniors and everyone else will see this thing play out. You get to keep your pride, and I get my peace. Or..."

Max’s grip shifted. Rather than holding onto the entire arm, he pinched a single finger between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled with just enough calculated force that the joint popped out of its socket with a dull click. Sylan’s muffled cries increased in intensity, his body convulsing. Right after, Max pushed the digit back into place, causing a secondary surge of white-hot pain to ripple through the senior’s body.

Max didn’t particularly care if Sylan suffered long-term nerve damage or if he’d ever be able to use that finger for soccer again; in his world, this was a merciful lesson.

"Or," Max continued, "I find out you’ve told someone the truth, and I come back to finish what I started."

Since Sylan still couldn’t scream through the gag, all he could do was nod his head with desperate vigor. Max reached down and hauled him off the ground. Sylan stood unsteadily, his good hand clutching his dislocated shoulder, his face pale and covered in a cold sweat.

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