The next day, everything felt just like always—but Alex, for the first time in a while, felt something strange.
Peace.
A rare calm washed over him as he walked alone down a quiet street, hands in his pockets, breathing in the still morning air.
Then came trouble.
A group of high school boys appeared, acting like they were auditioning for a bad gangster movie.
Their leader stepped forward, puffing his chest. "Hey, you there."
Alex didn't even slow down. "Who are you? Your barber? You need help with that haircut."
"I'm someone who's gonna rob you this morning. Hand over your stuff. No funny tricks. No screaming. If not—we beat you up."
Alex sighed and slid one hand into his pocket. Then slowly pulled it out—showing the middle finger.
"What do you think?"
The leader's face turned red. He swung a bat—but Alex caught it mid-air, yawned, and tossed it aside like it was made of paper.
The boy blinked. "...Huh?"
He swung a punch. Alex dodged, grabbed his arm, and slammed him to the ground with a THUD. The rest of the gang froze, mouths hanging open like broken vending machines.
Alex said nothing. Just kept walking.
One of the boys whispered, "Bro, we just tried to rob John Wick in disguise."
Meanwhile, far away in an old farm outside a quiet Italian town, an old man was fighting for his life—against a rusty old car.
He banged a wrench against the hood. "Why you no start, huh? I survived war, but not you?!"
A postal worker approached. "Hello? Anybody there?"
The old man stood up, wiping his greasy hands on his shirt. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. What you want, skinny jeans?"
"Got a letter for you—from someone who apparently still remembers you."
The old man chuckled. "Oh, wow. After all these years? You think it's a woman? Maybe she wants to date me."
The postman glanced him up and down. "Uncle… with that beard? You look like expired milk."
The old man gasped. "You little cockroach! That's an old man joke. Respect the wisdom!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever Gandalf. Here's your letter."
He opened it, reading slowly:
_Dear Grand,
I'm Alex. Your grandson. I want to visit—not just for fun, but to train. I want to become a deadly machine, and I believe you can teach me.
I've got a global boxing championship in November. I'll come a month early.
Hope you're still alive after surviving WW2.
P.S. Hope you've found a new girlfriend to replace Grandma._
The old man stared at it. Then burst out laughing.
"This kid... exactly like his father. Shameless."
At the gym, Alex stood before the team.
"Everyone, assemble."
Joe raised a brow. "What is it now, oh mysterious dark brooding one?"
Alex ignored him. "We've got to capture four more of Sean's leaders this week. After that—I'm heading to the Global Boxing Championship. And... I might not return. I'm thinking of staying in Italy with my grandpa."
Liana looked shocked. "So… you're leaving us?"
"Yeah."
Zairo looked crushed. "But who's gonna steal my protein bars and pretend it was a rat?!"
Abdullah stood dramatically. "Listen up! This ain't betrayal—it's survival. You know that lunatic Miguel won't rest until Alex is gone. The only way he gets peace is by disappearing. One day—we'll meet again. Maybe bald. Maybe rich. Maybe bald and rich."
Joe raised a hand. "Can I be the hot uncle with sunglasses in that reunion?"
Everyone laughed.
Alex smiled. "After this, all of you get a fresh start. Clean. I'll finish what I started. If fate allows… we meet again. Different names. Different places. Different hairlines."
Ash nodded seriously. "I'll hack the system and erase you from existence."
Alex looked at him. "Don't. Just tell me where the next leader is. From now on—we move. No more staying still."
All together, they shouted, "YEAH!"
Outside the club, Alex spoke into his radio. "Roger, Roger. We're ready to go."
The team entered—Alex, Joe, Abdullah, Zairo, and Wellburgh. The club was booming with music and bad perfume.
Upstairs, a flashy dude laughed with a girl on his lap—Nick, the next target.
Joe tried walking up, but a huge bodyguard blocked him.
"Sorry sir, VIP zone. No entry."
Joe smiled. "Cool. Got it."
Then BAM—he sucker-punched the guy. The bodyguard dropped like a bag of potatoes.
More guards swarmed in. Joe shouted, "Alright boys, it's punching season!"
Fists flew. Chairs broke. Someone got hit with a disco ball.
Meanwhile, Alex spotted Nick upstairs.
Nick raised his glass. "Hey Alex! You can't beat me! I'm the king up here! You're dirt down there!"
Alex shouted back, "Did you write that line yourself? Sounds like a Disney villain."
He jumped, climbing the railing like a parkour expert. Nick got into a taekwondo stance.
The music turned into an action beat.
Nick kicked, fast and hard, trying to keep distance. But then—mistake.
Alex caught his leg and SLAMMED him to the floor.
BAM. Out cold.
The team stumbled upstairs, bruised but alive.
Joe sat on a sofa. "We alive? I think I saw grandma during that fight."
Zairo grabbed a bottle. "This better be water. Last time I drank club juice, I woke up hugging a cactus."
Alex tied Nick to a pole.
"Joe. Interrogation time."
Joe cracked his knuckles. "Let me remind him of his childhood."
Alex leaned in. "Where's Sean's drug center? And when's his next shipment?"
Nick tried to act tough. "I won't tell you—"
POW.
Joe landed a clean rib shot.
Nick yelped. "OKAY OKAY! Saturday! 12 PM! Shipment coming! But his location always changes!"
Ash's voice came through the radio. "Cops are coming, lovebirds. Time to move."
Alex stood. "Team—exit plan B."
Nick screamed, "Wait! What about me?!"
Alex walked away coolly. "Tell them you slipped on a banana."
Later, at the beachside hostel they used as a new base, peace returned.
That night, Alex stood under the moonlight. Mark joined him.
"Hey bro."
"Yeah?"
"You've changed."
"How?"
"You're… not cold anymore. You're a chill guy now. Like you'd help an old lady carry groceries."
Alex chuckled. "Maybe I found peace. Maybe revenge isn't my purpose anymore. I want to take Sean down—but not for hate. For justice. And this time, I'm not alone."
Mark smiled. "I'm with you till you die."
Alex smirked. "That's dark, but thanks. And hey—when we hit 20, I might need your help."
"With what?"
Alex grinned. "Hacking. And maybe naming my shampoo line."
Mark laughed. "Only if I get 10% of the profits."