John downed three glasses of spirits in a row.
Still, Hardy didn't say a word.
The atmosphere turned painfully awkward.
Everyone watched John with puzzled expressions. They couldn't understand why he was humiliating himself like this.
When Hardy ignored the first toast, John could've just walked away. That would've been the smart move. But instead, he kept drinking, three times in a row.
Each time he finished a glass, John silently looked at Hardy, clearly waiting for him to reciprocate—to acknowledge the gesture and diffuse the tension.
But Hardy sat there, cold and unresponsive.
The silence dragged on.
It made everything worse.
At this point, it didn't matter how many glasses John drank. Hardy had no intention of giving him any face.
People started whispering, curious how John would dig himself out of the hole.
Noticing the tension, Hugo stood up and made his way toward them, hoping to ease the situation.
But before he could step in, John shook his head and sighed.
"I thought the son of the guardian would be well-educated," he said, voice calm but cutting. "Didn't expect him to be so... weak."
The air froze.
Silence blanketed the room like a heavy curtain.
Everyone's eyes widened in disbelief.
Did they hear that right?
Weak?
No family upbringing?
When the words sank in, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. They all turned their stunned, gloating gazes toward John.
"This bastard's got a death wish!"
That line didn't just insult Hardy—it dragged his father, the newly appointed Guardian of the Central Martial League, through the mud as well.
Hardy had started out just trying to embarrass John, maybe toy with him a little. But now?
Now, Hardy was the one being publicly humiliated.
He had refused John's toast three times.
That was rude.
And now John had flipped the script.
Hardy's face darkened as he clutched his glass tightly.
"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Say it again. I didn't catch that."
John smiled faintly. "Nothing at all, Mr. Tennant. You must've misheard me."
Hugo, who had been momentarily paralyzed by the shock, rushed to speak. "Mr. Tennant, please don't take it to heart. John was just joking around. It's a misunderstanding."
He shot John a desperate look, silently pleading with him to back off.
This wasn't a fight John could win—not politically, not socially.
Hugo had done what he could. He had helped John before and even tried to recruit him. But John clearly didn't know when to let things go.
Still trying to calm things down, Hugo added, "Mr. Tennant, this is my promotion banquet. For my sake, could we just let this go?"
Hardy snorted. "Only because it's your celebration. Otherwise, this guy would've paid the price already."
"Thank you for your understanding. You're very generous," Hugo said quickly, relieved it hadn't escalated further.
But then—
"It's just boring to argue with someone so ill-mannered," John said casually, almost like a sigh.
Crack!
The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room.
Hardy had crushed his wine glass with his bare hand.
His face was twisted with fury. He had tried to hold back, but now?
Now he wanted blood.
Hugo's expression shifted. He looked at John with disappointment but said nothing. He merely sighed and stepped aside.
What more could he do?
He had extended the olive branch. John had snapped it in two.
From Hugo's perspective, he had done his part. He had saved John once. That was enough.
Lucien, who had been watching gleefully from the sidelines, finally spoke.
"John, we've all seen how arrogant you are," he sneered. "But now you're just asking for trouble. You really think you can insult Mr. Tennant like that and walk away?"
Lucien played a key role in the rising tension.
Just like before—when he'd stirred up conflict between John and the young masters of the Will family—he was at it again.
After John's duel with Bruce, neither Bruce nor Tony came after him again, which annoyed Lucien.
He wasn't satisfied.
He spread rumors that John had stolen Hardy's woman—Sophia.
Of course, that got under Hardy's skin.
And now, Lucien was here, adding fuel to the fire.
But before he could enjoy the chaos he created—
Bang!
A blur shot across the room. In a blink, John had grabbed Lucien by the neck and slammed him face-first into the edge of the table.
CRACK.
Lucien's golden teeth—freshly installed—went flying again.
It was the second time John had shattered them.
John stood over him, eyes sharp, a sneer tugging at his lips.
"You just don't learn, do you? You really are a bitch."
He had warned Lucien before. Taught him a lesson, even. But here he was, flapping his gums again.
If Lucien had forgotten, John was happy to refresh his memory.
Bang!
Another loud thud as Lucien's body hit the ground, dazed and toothless.
Everyone in the room was stunned.
Lucien had practically become Hardy's lapdog.
And John had just beaten the hell out of him—right in front of his master.
A direct slap to Hardy's face.
Hardy's eyes burned with rage. His glare could've set the whole room on fire.
John met his eyes without flinching.
"What?" he said coldly. "Upset I beat your dog? Want to come get a taste yourself?"
Bang!
Another sickening crunch.
This time, Lucien's remaining teeth—his entire front row—were knocked clean out.
John laughed.
He didn't care if anyone else was uncomfortable.
He was satisfied.
Even without the title of King of the Horizon, he was still proud.
Still fearless.
Still John Lopez.