The host stood frozen for several seconds, unsure how to interpret Evon’s sudden decision to make a phone call. It struck him as strange. Evon had already demonstrated overwhelming strength, more than enough to subdue every guard in the room if he wanted. If intimidation had been his goal, he would not have needed a phone call. So why contact someone now? Why risk drawing more attention when he already had the upper hand?
As Evon lowered the phone, silent and composed, the host began to feel a sense of smug confidence returning to him. A theory formed in his mind, one that he clung to immediately because it made sense to his ego.
He must have realized who he’s dealing with.
He’s scared of the Black Hounds.
A grin spread beneath the host’s mask as he straightened his posture.
"It’s because you’ve realized you’re messing with the Black Hounds!" the host declared triumphantly. "One of the biggest gangs in Notting Hill, far bigger than anything you could possibly comprehend!"
Evon didn’t respond. He simply watched him, expression unreadable.
"This isn’t our only location," the host continued, puffing out his chest. "We have sites all over the city, and if you think hurting a few guards in a back room will intimidate us, you’re delusional. Just wait until Jett gets his hands on you, he could deal with you in seconds!"
He burst into laughter, a loud and uncontrolled cackle that echoed off the storage-room walls. For a moment, he felt invincible again. He was about to take a bold step closer to Evon when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The host glanced down.
The number flashing on the screen made his entire body stiffen. His stomach twisted violently, and his throat tightened. He immediately answered the call.
Before he could speak a single word, furious shouting blasted through the speaker.
"You idiot! You complete fool!" a voice bellowed. "How can you be stupid enough to do this? If you want to stay alive in this business, you need to understand it properly, inside and out! There are certain people you never, under any circumstances, mess with! Evon is one of those people!"
The host blinked rapidly, overwhelmed. He had followed the same procedures he always followed. Everything he had done tonight was standard. So what was different this time?
"You absolute moron!" the voice continued. "You’re messing with a member of the Gilt Rats!"
Everything inside the host stopped. His breath. His thoughts. Even his heartbeat seemed to freeze for a moment.
The message was loud and unmistakably clear.
There was one rule in the Black Hounds, one rule hammered into every member repeatedly from the day they joined.
Do not antagonize the Gilt Rats. Ever.
Obey them. Assist them. Treat their orders as law.
The Gilt Rats weren’t just another underworld group. They were a Syndicate-level gang in Notting Hill, one of the elite organizations that controlled enormous territory, money, and influence. And more importantly, the Black Hounds were under them. Their entire operation existed because the Gilt Rats allowed it. The luxurious venues, the underground arenas, the flow of money, all of it was tied to the Rats’ protection and oversight.
If the Gilt Rats turned against them, everything would collapse.
The host’s legs weakened, and he sank to the floor, sliding down the wall until he was sitting helplessly on the cold ground.
Evon watched this with mild amusement.
"I’m guessing you didn’t know who I was," Evon said calmly. "I figured at first you might have been testing me. But it looks like that wasn’t the case at all."
He took slow steps toward the frightened host.
"So I’ll let you off," Evon continued, "as long as you help me. You see, I still need to properly test these things..." He lifted his arm slightly, indicating the exoskeleton beneath his jacket. "And I think I know exactly how to do that."
The host swallowed, nodding quickly, too terrified to speak.
Eventually Evon exited the back room with the host trailing behind him. Na, who had been observing from the distance, immediately noticed the lack of guards following them.
Looks like they really didn’t know who they were dealing with, Na thought. And now they definitely know.
Moments later, the host muttered a few hurried instructions to nearby staff members. Several of the medical personnel, assigned to monitor the fighters, rushed into the room Evon had just left. The looks on their faces showed they didn’t know what they were walking into, only that they had been ordered to go.
Evon, as if nothing unusual had happened, returned to his seat and sat down in the exact same manner he always did. The only difference was the way the host stared at the back of his head, eyes burning with a mixture of humiliation, anger, and fear.
What was that earlier...? the host thought bitterly. He expects us to obey him just because he’s one of the Gilt Rats? He slapped me like I was his pet. Patronizing, arrogant, he wants us to do whatever he demands, yet he won’t even tell us what he intends to do. If something... inconvenient happened to him during this event... I wouldn’t shed a tear.
The matches were temporarily paused, and an announcement echoed through the venue speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please be aware there will be a slight delay in the next set of fights. We appreciate your patience."
The delay wasn’t unusual, especially during later rounds when injuries piled up, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted subtly. Several staff members hurried behind the scenes, whispering among themselves.
During this short break, the host moved away from the main floor, disappearing behind a curtain where several more staff were waiting.
A few minutes later, a different group of waiters emerged and approached another area of the seating platform.
This time, they stopped directly in front of Na.
One stepped forward. His voice was calm, but his posture was rigid.
"The host would like to have a word with you about something," the waiter said. "And refusing is not an option."