The restroom was silent for a beat—too silent. Tyler stood still, the shard of mirror gripped tight in his hand. His body felt light, controlled, like every muscle had a purpose. The memory of the Dragon King's martial arts ran through his veins like a second instinct.
Ten men stood at the door, each built like brick walls, tattoos lining their arms, scars on their faces, and eyes that said they'd fought and won dozens of times. They didn't talk. They simply cracked their knuckles, pulled out knives, and started surrounding him slowly.
Tyler rolled his neck with a soft crack and then tied the handkerchief tighter around his knuckles. "Alright, gentlemen... let's dance."
The first thug lunged at him, knife forward. Tyler didn't dodge. He stepped in. A hard elbow to the man's jaw dislocated it instantly, followed by a swift knee to the gut. As the thug crumpled, Tyler grabbed his collar and used his falling body to throw him into two others behind him.
The next guy came swinging a baton. Tyler caught the arm mid-air, twisted it around, and drove his palm straight into the man's ribs. Three cracks. Tyler shoved him into the stall wall. The mirror shard flashed in his other hand. A gangster with a mohawk tried a downward stab. Tyler ducked under, stepped in with a brutal shoulder check, and jammed the mirror shard across the man's thigh.
He was efficient, brutal. Not flashy. Every move calculated. Punch. Step. Twist. Elbow. Knee. Flip.
They came in waves. One tried to choke him from behind. Tyler threw his weight back, slammed the man into the wall, stomped on his foot, elbowed his temple, and spun him into another attacker. He ducked under a punch and answered with a brutal uppercut that lifted the gangster's feet off the floor.
By now, five were down. Bleeding, groaning, unconscious.
Another charged at him with a broken bottle. Tyler stepped aside and let the man stumble forward. Then he kicked the back of his knee, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the sink.
"Not classy," Tyler muttered. "But effective."
Three were left. They hesitated now.
"What's wrong?" Tyler smirked, panting slightly. "Didn't expect a rich guy to hit back?"
One of the three finally got brave, rushing forward with a roar. Tyler kicked a loose tile off the floor into the man's face, then followed it up with a brutal roundhouse that sent him spinning.
The last two attacked together. Tyler grabbed one by the wrist, redirected the punch into the second guy's stomach, then smashed their heads together with a loud *crack*.
And then... silence.
He stood in the middle of the ruined restroom, breathing heavily. His shirt was ripped at the sleeve, his knuckles bloodied, and a small cut ran down his cheek—but he stood tall. Around him lay ten trained gangsters, groaning or unconscious, bleeding on the tiled floor.
Richie peeked his head out of the stall, knife still gripped in his hand, eyes wide. "Holy... Tyler?"
Tyler turned slowly, wiped blood from his cheek, and grinned. "Told you to stay in."
Richie stepped out, looking around. "Dude... What *are* you?"
The restroom door burst open as Mikey and several guards from the auction house rushed in. They froze at the sight.
"Boss?!" Mikey shouted.
Tyler held up a hand. "I'm fine. They're not."
One of the guards looked around at the bodies. "What the hell happened in here?"
Richie was still in shock. "He took out *ten* of them. Ten! With a piece of mirror and some bare fists!"
Tyler glanced down at the bloodied mirror shard still in his hand and then casually tossed it into the sink.
The guards stared. One of them pulled out a phone and whispered, "I'm getting this on the news. This is nuts."
Reputation Points Gained: +500 (Impressed Witnesses)
Reputation Points Gained: +300 (Shock Value: Richie Lee)
Reputation Points Gained: +200 (Security Team Respect)
Tyler adjusted his collar, turned to Richie, and smirked. "So, about that wine bottle. I did bring it. But I think I earned a second one tonight."
Richie nodded slowly. "You didn't just earn wine. You earned your own movie, bro."
Tyler chuckled and walked out of the bathroom, stepping over groaning bodies like they were puddles. "Let's get back to the auction."
Behind him, Richie and Mikey just stood there.
Mikey finally said, "He's not just rich anymore, is he?"
Richie replied, still stunned, "No, man… he's something *else*."