The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 124 – You Need to Apologize

John watched the two powerful men bicker like children and rubbed his temples in exasperation. "Alright, enough! You're giving me a headache."

He pointed toward a nearby eatery. "Let's eat there—Louis Grill."

The two men paused.

An open-air barbecue joint?

They hesitated.

But before they could respond, John had already walked into the shop.

Alton gave Hugh a sideways glance and sneered, "What's wrong? Too high and mighty to sit at a roadside barbecue table?"

"You—!" Hugh's temper flared. "Who are you calling arrogant?"

He stormed in after them, grumbling under his breath. "Since when have I ever looked down on common folk?"

Not to be outdone, he marched straight up to the owner and barked, "Three boxes of beer!"

The shop owner—a cheerful middle-aged man—led them to a round table outside and served them with warm hospitality.

They sat, drank, and relaxed under the night sky.

After a few bottles, Alton sighed nostalgically. "It's been ages since we sat down like this. Feels just like the old days after graduation..."

Hugh nodded, his mood softening. "You're right. We should thank John for the idea. It brings back memories."

"I remember," he continued with a smile, "back in college, I used to take my senior girlfriend to a place just like this..."

Alton groaned. "Spare me your love stories, will you?"

"Fine, fine," Hugh chuckled. "Then let me tell you about the cow I raised as a kid. She was the fattest, most beautiful cow in the whole village—"

John looked between them and shook his head. "How did you two become such high-level figures with this kind of drinking tolerance and conversation topics?"

Bang!

Their laughter was interrupted by a sudden crash at the next table.

Several young men with dyed hair stood up, drunk and belligerent.

"What the hell do you mean, a hundred bucks? We barely ate anything! Are you trying to scam us?"

Their table was littered with empty beer bottles and plates piled high with food—it was obvious they had overindulged.

The shop owner approached nervously with the bill. "Please don't be angry. We charge fairly here. Your total is one hundred and four dollars. I'm only asking for a flat hundred..."

"Don't show me your damn bill!" snarled the one with green hair. He tore the receipt and threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill on the ground. "Take it or leave it."

He turned to walk away with his friends.

The shop owner stepped in front of them, voice pleading. "Please, I'm just a small business owner. I need this money to help my daughter through college. Don't do this..."

"Move it!" Green Hair shoved him hard.

The man stumbled and nearly hit his head on the edge of a table—until someone caught him from behind.

"Thank you... Thank you, young man," the owner gasped, recognizing John.

The punks sneered at John and moved to leave, dismissing him entirely.

But a calm voice rang out:

"When did I say you could go?"

The punks froze.

Green Hair turned around, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"

"Apologize." John's voice was ice.

"What did you say?"

"I said: apologize."

He gestured toward the shop owner. "To him."

Green Hair burst into laughter. "Did I hear that right? This idiot wants me to apologize?"

His buddies joined in, laughing mockingly.

"I won't say it again," John warned, eyes cold.

The mood shifted.

Green Hair's face darkened. "You must be tired of living."

He smashed a beer bottle against the table, gripping the jagged neck like a weapon. "You're dead."

In a blur, John moved.

Before Green Hair could react, John was behind him.

With a swift motion, he slammed the man's head onto the table, then pinned his hand down with a bamboo skewer so fast it was over before the others could blink.

"Apologize," John said again—his tone final, undeniable.