After a quick call to Uncle Joe to say he was "meeting clients," Max hauled his groceries back to his apartment complex.


As he walked, his mind raced. Now that he knew who the real enemy was, the game had changed. He couldn't treat this killer like some random thug anymore. He needed a strategy to beat this level.


The police were officially off the "trusted allies" list. Max figured his future self must have realized too late that the department was compromised from the inside, which explained why he'd tasked Hazel with investigating from the outside.


It meant Max had to operate under a new, paranoid standard: Trust no one. Everyone is a suspect.


If he had a choice, Max would have avoided a head-on collision with a juggernaut like the Schuster Corporation. But running wasn't an option. Even if Hazel and Lily moved across the country, a corporation with Schuster's reach would eventually sniff them out. York already had a personal vendetta against Hazel, and given the man's track record of brutality, he wasn't the type to just let the sisters walk away.


He couldn’t play defense forever.


The problem? His combat stats were absolute trash.


Unlike the housing market, fighting ability didn't just skyrocket because you wanted it to. And relying on weapons wasn't exactly an option either. This wasn't the movies; you couldn't just pose for a family photo and look like an extra from Call of Duty with an assault rifle strapped to your back. Real life had rules.


Max slapped his forehead in frustration, realizing he'd autopiloted his way back to the studio apartment building.


"Master Yana, please! You have to reconsider!"


"I told you, quit bugging me!"


“We can’t take no for an answer, Master Yana! My Master was very clear. If you don't attend ‘The Summit Club’ this year, the reputation of our Twelve-Step Kick Style won't even make it halfway up the mountain!"


"Then let it stay at the bottom. Look at you people. How old are those geezers now? Why are they obsessed with climbing mountains? Just to show off that they haven't crumbled into dust yet?"


"Uh... Master Yana, please..."


Max blinked, looking at the pair in front of the building.


One was his landlady, Vivian. She was dressed in her usual slumlord-chic outfit, a massive ring of keys jingling at her waist like wind chimes. The other was a young guy in a tracksuit. He looked earnest, slightly tanned, and built like a brick.


“Master Yana,” the track-suit guy said, blocking Vivian’s path with widespread arms. His eyes were puppy-dog sad but stubborn. “If you don't agree, I’m just going to follow you. I’ll follow you until you say yes!”


Vivian gave him a once-over, sneered, and launched a kick straight at his right knee.


The guy panicked. Instinctively, he snapped his right leg back to dodge, but Vivian was already one move ahead. She changed the trajectory of her kick mid-air, snapping it toward his stomach.


The guy frantically crunched forward, slamming both palms down to block the strike.


Smack!


But instead of retreating, Vivian used the downward force of his block as a lever. She drove her heel down, stomping hard right onto the guy's left kneecap.


Since his left leg was the only thing holding him up, it instantly turned to jelly. He pitched forward, face-planting toward the concrete. He managed to catch himself with his hands, but before he could push up, he froze.


Vivian's sneaker tip was pressed gently, but firmly, against his throat.


She looked down at him with pure disdain. "You didn't learn much of your master's kung fu, but you definitely inherited about ninety percent of his stubbornness."


She retracted her foot. "Go back and tell him: 'The Summit Club'? Not in this lifetime."


Vivian walked away without a backward glance. The tracksuit guy tried to scramble up to chase her, but the second he put weight on his left leg, it buckled, sending him crashing back to his knees. His leg looked like it had fallen asleep—the kind of dead-leg numbness you get from sitting on the toilet scrolling through your phone for an hour.


"Man," the guy muttered, wincing. "Master was right. I've got a long way to go."


He sighed, defeated, until a hand appeared in his field of vision.


"You okay, bro?"


Max offered a hand, wearing his best 'concerned citizen' face.


"I'm good. Just give me a minute. Thanks, man," the guy said, gripping Max's hand.


"If you don't mind me asking," Max said as he hauled him up, "what's the deal with you and Ms. Vivian? And why did you call her Master Yana?"


"Huh? You know Master Yana?"


"Oh, yeah. I'm her tenant. We see each other all the time. We're super tight. I'm Max, by the way. What's your name?"


“My surname is Fan. Vance Fan.”


Fan? Max bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Like a ceiling fan?


“So, Vance,” Max asked, keeping a straight face. “Why the ‘Master’ title?”


Vance eyed Max with sudden suspicion. "Wait, you're not part of the Society, are you? Why are you asking about this?"


Max paused. The Society? Was that like a secret club? A subreddit? Or were they talking about, like, the Society society—the martial arts underworld?


"Well," Max said, shifting gears instantly to his cover story. "Actually, I'm not just her tenant. I... I'm trying to court her." Max threw in a shy, pained expression for effect.


Vance's suspicion evaporated, replaced by a look of profound respect.


"Master Yana is incredibly beautiful, that is true," Vance said solemnly. "But to have the courage to pursue Master Yana... Brother Max, your bravery is an inspiration to us all."


"Uh... judging by the way you talk," Max probed gently, "Vivian is pretty famous in this Society of yours?"


"Famous? She's legendary!" Vance nodded vigorously. "Even my Master can't stop praising her. He calls her a once-in-a-century genius."


Max's eyes lit up. This was it. The intel he needed.


"Brother Vance," Max said, rubbing his hands together, "look, it's getting late. How about I buy you dinner, and you tell me a little more about this 'Master Yana' situation?"


"I don't know..." Vance hesitated.


"Please, Brother Vance," Max sighed, looking off into the distance dramatically. "To be honest, I've been in love with her since college. I've confessed my love at least ten times. Do you know what it feels like? To try so hard, but never be able to step into her world? To feel like no matter how close you get, she's always a million miles away?"


"Look, you don't have to get the details," Max said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. "Just know that being a Good Samaritan today is going to score you some serious karma points. You're practically saving a lost soul—me, specifically—from the tragic trap of romance!"


He nudged Vance. "Besides, Vivi and I go way back. If you help me out, I might just be able to talk her into joining that 'Summit Club' you're obsessed with."


Maybe it was Max's sheer persistence, or maybe it was the bribe regarding Vivian, but Vance finally cracked.


"Fine," Vance sighed, defeated. "I'll tell you. It started with Master Yana..."


The two of them walked off toward a nearby restaurant, whispering like high schoolers plotting a prank, arms draped over each other's shoulders.