C46 Interesting

Handsome men come in many varieties.

There are the bright and dashing types, the delicate and beautiful ones, and then there's the mature, scholarly gentlemanly kind of handsome.

This man was of the latter category.

Regrettably, his face was nearly devoid of any smile, giving him a somewhat wooden appearance. This minor detail slightly diminished the impression he made on women.

Nonetheless, it didn't dampen their admiration for him.

Westley observed that the man's walk was peculiar.

Each step he took was measured, the distance between them consistent.

Furthermore, his body tilted slightly forward, his weight almost entirely on his feet.

"He's trained in martial arts," Westley muttered, his lips twisting.

In his eyes, any man more attractive than himself deserved his scorn.

And a handsome man with a martial arts background? Even more so.

When the man approached and stood before Westley, he watched him quietly.

The rabbit girl and the referee, meanwhile, wore serious faces. They bent over in unison and respectfully greeted, "Mr. Rashawn."

The man paid them no mind, instead addressing Westley, "Hello, I'm Rashawn. You can call me Hai."

"Westley. You can call me Handsome Westley," Westley shot back.

Self-love was one area where Westley had never met his match.

A twitch flickered across Rashawn's face.

The rabbit girl and the judge exchanged glances as if they'd stumbled upon a new world.

Who didn't know that Mr. Rashawn's face was perpetually expressionless?

Was that flicker of emotion a medical marvel?

"Mr. Jimenez, I apologize for the intrusion," Rashawn said with courtesy.

"You realize you're sorry, yet you still interrupt me?" Westley rolled his eyes.

Another twitch crossed Rashawn's face.

"I was impressed watching you arm wrestle earlier. I'd like to challenge you myself," Rashawn proposed.

"And you are? Should I know you?" Westley frowned.

Rashawn relaxed his clenched fist, then explained, "I'm the head of Golden Palace. Essentially, I have the authority to determine who gets this platinum card."

"Oh? So Golden Palace is rigging the game now? Weren't we told that first place wins the platinum card? Why all these extra hoops?" Westley said, clearly annoyed.

Rashawn was struggling with an overwhelming urge to bash Westley's head in with a hammer.

But he managed to suppress it with sheer willpower.

"Mr. Jimenez, rest assured, you've earned this platinum card. However, I'd like to up the stakes," Rashawn said earnestly.

"Oh? I'm listening," Westley replied, intrigued.

"Let's have a bonus round. If you win, I'll offer you a complimentary visit next time you come to Golden Palace," Rashawn stated, his face devoid of emotion.

"Sure, I'm in," Westley accepted without a second thought.

His response was decisively swift.

No hesitation whatsoever.

Rashawn nearly lost his grip on his emotions once more.

He had pegged Westley as unapproachable and tough to handle.

Yet, for the promise of a complimentary experience, Westley was quick to agree.

Rashawn's opinion of Westley dropped another notch.

He couldn't resist glancing up at the third floor, where he spotted a woman in red leaning on the railing, a glass of red wine in hand, watching the scene below.

After a subtle nod, Rashawn shrugged off his suit jacket.

Clad in just a white shirt, his physique drew screams from numerous women.

Rashawn had that deceptive build—slender in attire but muscular beneath. His figure was impressive.

Westley sneered and muttered, "He may look fit, but it's all for show!"

Rashawn almost choked on his own indignation.

Westley's words were cutting.

It took several deep breaths for Rashawn to regain his composure.

His master, Derrick, had once advised him that being swayed by an opponent's emotions meant being at their mercy.

Indeed, his master was Derrick, the once-renowned figure of Lindzac.

After Derrick's passing, Rashawn chose not to leave but to remain by Charlotte's side, offering his support.

That enigmatic woman possessed an energy and charisma even greater than Derrick's.

Thus, Rashawn had always followed her commands, without a hint of regret.

"Snap."

Rashawn positioned his wrist at the center of the table and looked steadily at Westley. "Mr. Jimenez, let's start."

"Alright, I'll take you on, in the spirit of your enthusiasm," Westley nodded.

Rashawn's face contorted uncontrollably.

Westley was just too cocky!

As their wrists came together, Westley felt a jolt of surprise.

Rashawn's grip was incredibly strong, like a tiger poised to pounce, radiating aggression.

Across from Westley, Rashawn was a whirlwind of emotions.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding a mere mortal's hand.

No, this hand had no strength whatsoever—it felt like a doll's, fragile enough to crush at any moment.

"Are you trying to conceal your true power?" Rashawn scoffed inwardly.

He wouldn't fall for Westley's petty ruse.

One should never underestimate an opponent, but treat them as a formidable adversary, giving it your all.

The wise words of his master echoed in his ears.

The crowd of onlookers grew, with the Golden Palace's security team buzzing with comments.

"He's clueless, challenging Brother Hai to an arm-wrestling match?"

"He's so naive. Does he even understand the meaning of 'defeat'?"

"I bet Brother Hai will wipe the floor with him in no time."

"And how long do you think that'll take?"

"Five seconds, tops. Brother Hai will have him beat."

"I'm betting on three seconds!"

Marlon was lost in the throng, his face swollen like a pig's head, his lips curled in a savage grin tinged with regret.

No matter how skilled Westley was, facing Rashawn, the Golden Palace's second-in-command, he was bound to lose.

Marlon vividly recalled a notorious incident where a well-known man, drunk and disorderly at the Golden Palace, harassed a waitress.

Upon hearing this, Rashawn confronted the man with the waitress by his side, demanding answers.

The man dismissed Rashawn, even threatening to demolish the Golden Palace and assault the owner, Charlotte.

Enraged, Rashawn struck without warning, leaving the man and his entourage severely injured before tossing them out of the hotel.

Later, Marlon couldn't help but wonder if it was mere coincidence that the man died less than a month after being hospitalized.

At the Golden Palace, Charlotte had tapped into some mysterious energy, yet it had no impact on the business whatsoever.

Marlon had been there in person during that incident.

The memory of Rashawn's cruelty and terror was still crystal clear in Marlon's mind.

Westley thought he could measure up to Mr. Rashawn, but he had a long way to go.

Westley even had the audacity to anger Mr. Rashawn to his face. He was practically asking for trouble!

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One! Start!"

No sooner had the referee announced the start than he swiftly moved away, taking position at a safe distance.

It was at that precise moment that a peculiar sound emanated from Rashawn's bones, as an eerily strange power began to well up from his abdomen, flowing directly into his hands.

Westley's eyes narrowed, sensing the sudden influx of formidable strength into Rashawn's palm.

A power that burst forth in a flash?

How intriguing!