Chapter 2: The First Fight
Ethan had been working at the café for only a week when trouble found him. It was a quiet afternoon, the kind where time moved sluggishly, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and rain-soaked streets. Most customers were regulars—students, office workers, and elderly men playing chess in the corner.
Then, they walked in.
Three men, loud and cocky, barged through the door like they owned the place. Ethan had seen their type before—wannabe gangsters, bored and looking for someone to push around. He kept his head down and continued wiping the counter, but he could feel their eyes on him.
"Hey, waiter!" one of them called, tapping his knuckles on the wooden table. "Get us some coffee. And be quick about it."
Ethan nodded, keeping his expression neutral. He brought their drinks over, but as he placed the cups down, one of them "accidentally" knocked his elbow, spilling hot coffee across the table.
"Oops," the man smirked. "Clumsy, huh? Maybe you should find another job."
The other two chuckled, clearly enjoying themselves. Ethan took a slow breath, controlling his temper. He wasn't here to make enemies—he was here to gather information.
"Let me clean that up," he said calmly, grabbing a cloth.
But before he could move, another one grabbed his wrist. "Nah, I think you should apologize first. Maybe on your knees?"
Ethan's fingers twitched. He had spent years training in martial arts—Muay Thai, Jiu-Jitsu, and a bit of Wing Chun. Fighting was in his blood, but he had learned to control it.
Unfortunately, not today.
The moment the man tightened his grip, Ethan moved. In a blur, he twisted his arm free and drove his elbow into the thug's jaw. The man stumbled back, cursing. His friends barely had time to react before Ethan was already on them.
The second man swung wildly, but Ethan ducked under the punch, stepping in close and slamming his knee into the guy's ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the café. The man crumpled to the floor, groaning.
The third one pulled out a knife. "You wanna die, huh?" he snarled.
Ethan's eyes sharpened. The moment the thug lunged, Ethan sidestepped, grabbing the attacker's wrist and twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor. With one swift kick to the chest, Ethan sent him flying into a table, smashing cups and plates.
Silence filled the café.
The customers gawked. The old men in the corner muttered in surprise. Even Mr. Duy, who had come rushing out from the back, stared at Ethan with wide eyes.
The three thugs lay groaning on the floor, broken and humiliated. Ethan wiped his hands on his apron and turned to Mr. Duy.
"Sorry about the mess."
Mr. Duy exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Ethan… what the hell was that?"
"They started it," Ethan said simply.
Mr. Duy looked at the beaten men, then back at Ethan. Finally, he sighed. "Go home for today. And be careful. You just made some enemies."
Ethan glanced at the men one last time. He hadn't just defended himself—he had sent a message.
If someone in Hanoi knew the truth about his family's murder, he wanted them to know one thing.
He wasn't afraid to fight.