Duy hurled fireballs at the wall—left hand first, then right. Flames slammed against the concrete, searing black marks across its surface.
The last fireball bounced off the wall, skidding along the floor before vanishing into a puff of smoke.
"Who should I kill now…" he muttered, bored.
Behind him, the TV played a news broadcast. The anchor's voice was somber:
"Another fire in Hanoi has claimed the lives of 23 people, ranging from young children to the elderly. A devastating loss… Our heartfelt condolences go out to the victims' families."
Duy smiled faintly.
"Well, guess it's time to go kill someone again," he thought.
A knock tapped on the door.
"Sir, may I come in?" a female voice asked politely.
He waved his hand, allowing her inside.
She stepped in quickly—sharp eyes, neatly dressed, holding a slim folder. She sat down across from him.
"There's a man who's been beating his child regularly in an alley off Ngo Trong Ly. Security cameras caught everything."
"Okay. Leave it to me," Duy said calmly. "Now go make me a pizza."
"Yes, boss," she replied obediently and exited.
Duy popped a grape into his mouth as he skimmed the footage. The boy curled on the ground, arms over his head, his father towering over him with fury. Duy's expression darkened.
—
The alley was narrow, dimly lit.
Duy knocked on the metal door. No answer.
He pressed a finger against the lock. His skin glowed orange-hot. The metal melted and fell away like wax.
Inside, the house was still.
A shadow moved behind him.
Whoosh!
A cleaver swung toward his head—Duy sidestepped it effortlessly.
Another swing—he dodged again.
The third strike lodged into the wooden doorframe with a crack.
Duy stood silent.
The man turned, sweating, confused.
"Who the hell are you!? You breakin' into my house, huh!?"
Duy smiled.
The man's face shifted—from rage to unease.
Duy struck.
One slap—crack!—sent the man's face crashing into the doorknob. It broke off.
A woman and child rushed in from the hallway, eyes wide with terror.
"You two—step outside," Duy said coldly. "This is just between me and him."
They fled.
Duy grabbed the man by the hair, forcing his head up. The man panted, his eyes wild with fear.
"Who are you!?" he gasped.
"You like hitting people?" Duy hissed.
"You want prison? Or would you rather die?"
His palm lit up—burning red-hot.
He pressed it against the man's scalp.
"AAAHHH!" the man screamed.
"If I ever find out you've laid a hand on that boy again, I'll tear your head off. Got it?"
The man collapsed, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, don't kill me…"
"Alright. Ma'am!" Duy called out.
The wife peeked inside.
"Take him to the hospital. Tell them he spilled boiling water on himself."
She nodded quickly, respect and fear in her eyes. "Y-yes, sir."
Duy crouched down to the boy, who peeked from behind the doorframe.
"Come here, kid."
The boy stepped forward.
Duy handed him a small glowing stone. "Take this. Don't lose it."
Then Duy left the house.
Outside, he climbed onto his black motorbike and sped off.
The smell of pizza greeted him as he walked into the apartment.
"Trang, that pizza smells amazing," he called.
From the kitchen, she answered brightly, "Wow, boss, your nose is sharp! It's ready. Margherita—your favorite."
She handed him a hot slice.
Duy grinned and took a big bite.
He devoured it like a king.