Rampaging Through the Heavens: Starting by sending Chan Ho-nam to Stanley

Chapter 214 Exposed

The wrestling ring owner stood behind the table, looking at the man standing to James' left and behind, his heart filled with turmoil.

Who is this Mr. Chen?

Isn't James the group's second-in-command?

Besides Kingpin, who else could command such respect from him?

And judging from his appearance... the person who commands such respect from James is actually an Asian?

The man was very young, looking more than a decade younger than James.

His attire was simple—black trousers, a dark blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a section of his strong wrists.

No tie, no watch, no unnecessary decorations.

But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, expression indifferent, his gaze sweeping across every corner of the office, as if looking at something not very interesting.

The wrestling ring owner noticed that when James was introducing him, Mr. Chen didn't even lift his eyelids.

The man nodded slightly, his gaze falling on Peter in the room.

"Who is this?"

James followed his gaze and then turned to the wrestling ring owner.

The gaze was calm, but the wrestling ring owner immediately broke out in a cold sweat.

Don't be fooled by James's amiable appearance now; he has countless lives on his hands.

He started his career with Kingpin at the age of nineteen, working his way up from underground casinos in Brooklyn to skyscrapers in Manhattan.

Some say he has killed more people than he has eaten salt.

If he's not careful, he might end up being fed to sharks.

And this wrestling arena will also welcome a new "boss".

The wrestling ring owner quickly gave a dry laugh, his face scrunched up.

"Mr. Chen, Mr. James, this is a contestant who has come to collect his prize money after the competition."

His voice was soft and quick, as if he was rushing to finish what he was saying.

"bonus?"

James showed interest and glanced at Peter.

"Who is he fighting?"

Although his face wasn't visible, Peter's back was turned to him.

But it's not hard to tell from his back that he's thin and small.

Who in the wrestling ring isn't a big guy?

The behemoth, the hammer, the bone crusher—each one is a burly man weighing at least two hundred pounds.

How could such a skinny kid win a prize?

The wrestling ring owner's face stiffened. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"A contestant who just registered today..."

His voice grew softer and softer.

"I fought the Big Mac!"

Peter turned around abruptly, his expression as stubborn as a child arguing with an adult.

He gripped Franklin's hand and raised it to his chest, his knuckles turning white.

"I even beat him!"

When Peter finished speaking and saw the man next to James, his expression froze instantly.

From stubbornness to shock, from shock to disbelief.

His mouth was slightly open, his eyes were wide open, his pupils were dilated, and he was frozen in place as if he had been frozen in place by a spell.

His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

The change in his expression was so drastic that it was impossible for James not to notice.

He glanced at Peter, then at Chen Yuan beside him, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two, but he said nothing.

He continued by addressing the question he had just asked.

"big mac?"

His tone was full of praise, as if he were genuinely commending a capable subordinate.

"Good job, young man."

He looked Peter up and down again.

"I didn't know you had this skill."

"Yes, Mr. James."

The wrestling ring owner emerged from behind the table, approached James, and bowed and scraped with an approving expression.

of.

"I never expected him to be this good. We haven't had anyone here who could beat a giant in a long time. This young man has potential, a lot of potential."

As he spoke, he reached out and nudged Peter's shoulder, leading him toward the door.

His hands were large, his fingers short and thick, and his palms were wet; they felt like a warm, damp towel on Peter's shoulder.

"Young man, you can go out now. Don't disturb my distinguished guest."

Peter was pushed forward, but his head was still turned back, his eyes fixed on Chen Yuan.

How did he end up here?

How did he end up with this man named James?

James looks so rich and powerful that even the wrestling ring owner is afraid of him.

James treated Chen Yuan with even more respect than his boss treated him.

Who is Chen Yuan?

His mind was a jumbled mess as the wrestling ring owner pushed him toward the door.

As he neared the door, Peter finally realized what was happening, grabbed the doorframe, turned around, pointed at the wrestling ring owner, and said in a low voice...

Urgent and bright.

"GG ​​said he'd give me $3,000, but he only gave me $100!"

The office fell silent.

Chen Yuan and James both turned their attention to the wrestling ring owner.

One was indifferent, the other was cold.

The wrestling ring owner stood there, his face showing the expression of a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

His mouth was wide open, revealing two rows of yellow teeth, his eyes were squinted into slits, and beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks.

"Actually, I was going to pay for him anyway."

His voice was dry and hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed.

"But it just so happens that Mr. Chen and Mr. James have arrived..."

'

Before he could finish speaking, James interrupted.

"The one that lost to this young man was the Big Mac."

His voice was slow and soft, but every word was like a nail driven into the air.

"So the wrestling ring should make a killing tonight."

He paused, his gaze slowly sliding across the boss's face.

"Could it be that I was wrong?"

His voice became even softer.

"You can't even afford three thousand dollars with the money you earned tonight?"

He took a step forward.

It was just one step, but that step felt like a mountain pressing down on it.

"If that's the case, I should consider changing my boss."

The wrestling ring owner stood there, sweat pouring down his face like rain.

His lips trembled, his eyes blinked incessantly, and the veins on his neck bulged.

"Of course not..."

His voice was trembling.

"What is that?"

James pressed him for an answer.

His tone was still so soft and slow, but it was already as cold as ice.

The wrestling ring owner was drenched in sweat.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, making a series of "uh uh uh" sounds in his throat, like a chicken being choked.

He can't exactly say he wants to profit from the middleman's markup, can he?

He can't say.

Saying something like that in front of LeBron James is practically suicide.

His fingers rubbed together along the seams of his trousers, his toes curled up inside his shoes, his lips were chapped, his throat was tight, and his mind was like an overheated machine, buzzing and unable to function.

James stared at him for a while.

That gaze was like a scalpel, peeling away his disguise layer by layer.

"Give him his share."