Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 27: The One Who Will Kill You

The hotel was in complete disarray. The person Adelaide had instructed them to keep an eye on had now vanished without a trace—this was unthinkable. Just as they were frantic with worry, Zhao Wuji returned alone and unnoticed to the Sharon Hotel. He left in that car, and he returned in that same car—only the people sitting inside were no longer the same as before. With a somber expression, Zhao Wuji drove back to the Sharon Hotel alone. After getting out of the car, he headed straight for the lobby and took the elevator back down to the basement—that bewildering, frenzied world. It was late at night, but here, everything was just getting started. Everyone here was completely immersed in this unique atmosphere, and Zhao Wuji didn’t pause for a moment as he headed straight for a specific spot. He was going to kill someone. Ever since he’d seen Asim discarded like a piece of trash, he’d decided he wouldn’t let his boss, Gammon, live. Gamon lacked even the most basic principles. A boxer like Asim had fought bloody battles for him time and again, yet Gamon had discarded him without a second thought when he was no longer needed—and to eliminate any future threats, he had even gone so far as to try to kill him. So, how many boxers had already been discarded by Gammon? Therefore, Gammon must die—if only to spare a few more boxers from perishing under his rule. People like this have no place in this world. A long time had passed. After watching another boxing match, Gammon was thrilled. This was the debut of his new fighter—a fighter he’d bought for a fortune. The fighter’s skills were astonishing, and his performance in the ring was extraordinary; this single match alone earned Gammon a hefty bonus. Just as he was lost in excitement and elation, something suddenly occurred to him. “Why haven’t the two guys who took care of Asim called yet?” The doubt welled up in Gammon’s mind and he couldn’t shake it off. The more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right, until finally he couldn’t resist dialing the other party’s cell phone. Ring… ring… No one answered for a long time. Just as Gammon was about to hang up, the call was answered, and a calm, serious voice came through the line: “Hello, this is Sheriff Dennis. May I ask if you are the owner of this phone?” With a sharp “click,” Gammon hung up, his brow deeply furrowed. Could it be that those two guys had been arrested by the police? “This is a bit of a hassle,” Gammon muttered to himself. His initially uncertain mind settled somewhat—now that he knew the reason, it would be easier to handle! Gammon might not have much else, but he certainly had plenty of money; sorting out these troubles wouldn’t be too difficult. But he could never have imagined just how big this trouble was—it even threatened his very life. On the other end of the line, a middle-aged police officer with brown hair and a square face listened to the sound of the call being hung up, his expression grave. It turned out he was Officer Dennis from the call. He hung up the phone and turned around. The room was filled with equipment, and in front of it, several police department staff members were frantically working on their computers, their expressions tense. “What’s the situation?” Dennis asked. Although the conversation had lasted only a few seconds, it had revealed a great deal: first, the fact that the caller had hung up so abruptly indicated a connection to the case; second, the police department could pinpoint the caller’s location based on those few seconds of conversation. A uniformed staff member wearing headphones looked up and reported the situation to Officer Dennis. “Sir, we’ve pinpointed the caller’s location—at the Sharon Hotel.” “The Sharon Hotel?” Officer Dennis’s expression changed upon hearing this, and he hesitated. He knew a thing or two about the Sharon Hotel’s background—it was a world-renowned conglomerate! Their wealth was practically on par with that of a nation, and their influence was immense. It was simply not something a low-ranking officer like him could afford to provoke. If he went there to conduct a search, wouldn’t that be a blatant slap in the face? Dennis decided to seek instructions from his superiors before taking the next step. With that in mind, he dialed a number on his phone. Moments later, the call connected, and Dennis adopted a deferential tone as he spoke into the receiver. Meanwhile, Zhao Wuji, dressed in a sleek black outfit, had already made his way to the private room area. This section was divided into several tiers: the standard private room area, the VIP private room area, and the premium private room area. The standard private room area had the largest number of rooms; there were no guards here, so people could come and go as they pleased. In the VIP private room area, however, the number of rooms was significantly smaller, and each was guarded by the hotel’s security personnel, making it quite difficult to gain entry. As for the Premium Private Room Area, in addition to the hotel’s security staff, guests often bring their own private bodyguards. Not only is the environment exceptionally luxurious, but the number of private rooms is also drastically reduced—there are only a handful, reserved exclusively for those with truly deep pockets. Following the map’s directions, Zhao Wuji made his way through the private room area without stopping, eventually coming to a halt at the entrance. There, three paths branched off, leading to the standard private room area, the VIP private room area, and the Supreme private room area, respectively. To the left was the standard private room area. To the right was the VIP private room area. Straight ahead lay the Supreme Private Room Area. Standing there, Zhao Wuji could see that the corridor leading to the Supreme Private Room Area was resplendent with gold and brilliantly lit. A team of security guards patrolled the corridor back and forth, and outside each private room, individual bodyguards stood guard at the doors. Was it difficult for Zhao Wuji to get in? Not at all! He had the hotel’s Supreme Black Card. For most people, this was a symbol of status; possessing it essentially granted many other privileges, and countless people dreamed of having such a card. But for Adelaide, this was nothing special, so to make things easier for Zhao Wuji at the hotel, she casually handed the card to him. So getting in with this card was practically effortless. As for Boss Asim’s status, she had overheard the spectators discussing it while they were standing below the ring just moments ago. The security guards were highly vigilant; Zhao Wuji had already caught their attention simply by pausing there in confusion. The moment he stepped into the hallway leading to the VIP box area, the two guards immediately approached him. As they approached Zhao Wuji, the security team blocked his path. A burly white man leading the group stepped in front of him and said, “Sir, this is a private area. Please present valid identification.” After speaking, he fixed his gaze on Zhao Wuji, closely watching his every move. Zhao Wuji reached into his pocket, and the security guards’ expressions immediately grew tense, fearing he might make some inappropriate move—until he pulled out the glossy black card. “What’s this?” The security chief paused in surprise. Of course he recognized what it was—this was the hotel’s Supreme Card. He’d only heard that the general manager possessed such a card, yet here was a young man holding one as well. Could it be that he holds a very high-ranking position? the security chief wondered to himself, though his expression grew even more deferential. “Well? Can I go in?” Zhao Wuji asked expressionlessly, a hint of displeasure in his tone—which only made the security chief even more nervous; how could he dare to doubt Zhao Wuji’s status? “Esteemed guest, please come in,” he said, quickly stepping aside and extending his hand to invite Zhao Wuji inside. Zhao Wuji made a move to enter, but suddenly turned to the security guard and asked, “I have a question for you.” “Please ask,” the security guard replied, bowing deeply with great deference. “Which private room is Mr. Asim in?” Zhao Wuji maintained a nonchalant demeanor, making it sound like a casual inquiry. “Oh, I know,” the security guard replied promptly. “Mr. Asim is in the second-to-last private room up ahead. Would you like me to show you the way, sir?” The security guard’s eyes were filled with hope—he hoped Zhao Wuji would need his help. After all, someone with a Supreme Black Card wasn’t just anyone! If he could make a good impression on a figure like that, wouldn’t he be set for life? The security guard’s mind ran wild with fantasies, only to be met with a cold reply: “No, thanks. I’ll go on my own.” The head security guard felt a twinge of disappointment, but he didn’t let it show. And so Zhao Wuji walked alone toward Asim’s private room, about to do something that seemed like a big deal to others but was trivial in his own eyes. It was as simple as pie. Bodyguards stood guard in front of every private room. Although they saw Zhao Wuji, they didn’t let their guard down—after all, that’s a basic quality of any bodyguard—but this vigilance stemmed from instinct, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Zhao Wuji. Moreover, they had all just seen Zhao Wuji walk in unimpeded, so they had even less reason to be on guard against him. Of course, Zhao Wuji couldn’t care less whether they were on guard against him or had let their guard down; in any case, his objective had nothing to do with them. And so, Zhao Wuji quickly reached the location indicated by the head of security: Asim’s private room. Outside Asim’s private room, two bodyguards with sunken eyes and shaved heads stood dutifully at the door, protecting their boss. “What’s this about?” one of the bodyguards asked, reaching out to block Zhao Wuji from entering the private room. “I’d like to discuss something with your boss,” Zhao Wuji said calmly, speaking in a measured tone. A look of suspicion crossed the bodyguards’ faces as they sized up Zhao Wuji from head to toe. Then one of them said, “Wait here,” exchanged a glance with the other, and pushed the door open to go inside. Asim was feeling somewhat restless inside the private room when, at that moment, the door swung open. The bodyguard walked in and said to Asim, “Boss, there’s someone outside who says they need to speak with you.” Asim startled and asked, “Who is it? How many of them?” The bodyguard thought for a moment before replying, “A man from Asia, of average build—just one person.” “Oh,” Asim said with a sigh of relief, waving his hand. “Bring him in!” “Yes, sir!” Outside the private room, the bodyguard pushed open the door, stepped out, and said to Zhao Wuji, “The boss wants you to come in.” With that, he opened the door and let Zhao Wuji enter. Hearing this, Zhao Wuji didn’t hesitate and walked right in. Inside the private room, eight bodyguards were scattered about. Each of them had a sharp gleam in their eyes and was so muscular that their tight black suits were stretched to the limit. The moment Zhao Wuji entered the private room, all eight of their gazes fell upon him simultaneously; their stares were as sharp as needle tips, piercing him with intense intensity. Zhao Wuji paid them no mind, completely unfazed by their presence. He turned his gaze to the middle-aged man sitting on the sofa, a fleeting, cold smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Who are you?” Asim puffed on his cigar, looking at Zhao Wuji with obvious impatience. “The one who’s going to take your life!”