Bully Lord

Part-95

The familiar bustle of the vegetable market greeted James as he weaved through the stalls. Today, his usual gym routine would be delayed by a grocery errand – his mother had entrusted him with buying some fresh produce. He expertly navigated the crowded aisles, a practiced shopper despite his young age. Suddenly, a commotion erupted a few stalls down.

James' keen eyes spotted a group of boys, their swagger bordering on arrogance, accosting a vegetable vendor. They were collecting money, their voices loud and demanding. They spoke about a "big star concert" and the "cost of bringing them in." 

The scene made James' blood simmer. He recognized the glint of intimidation in the vendor's eyes – fear disguised as reluctant compliance when handing over a few bills. Just as he was about to intervene, a different kind of courage stepped forward.

An elderly woman, her face etched with wrinkles but her eyes sparkling with defiance, marched right into the center of the commotion. She stood tall before the boys, her voice raspy but firm. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, her words laced with righteous anger. "Why are you harassing this kind man?"

The boys, momentarily stunned by the unexpected challenge, exchanged confused glances. One of them, the apparent leader, puffed out his chest, trying to maintain a facade of authority. "We're just collecting donations, grandma," he mumbled, his voice losing its earlier bravado.

The old woman snorted in derision. "Donations made under threat are not donations, young man," she countered. "This is extortion, plain and simple."

James' blood ran cold. The situation had escalated from intimidation to outright violence. He watched with growing anger as the leader of the boys, the one with the cut on his cheek, stepped forward, his bravado returning.

"What's your problem, old lady?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disrespect.  "Why you gotta interrupt our business? Mind your own affairs, alright?"

The old woman stood her ground, her chin held high despite the tremor in her voice.  "This is my business," she retorted.  "I won't tolerate bullies preying on honest people."

The boy's face contorted with rage.  He leaned in, towering over the woman, his voice laced with a dangerous threat.  "We're just asking for some money, hag.  Don't make a scene."

But the woman wouldn't back down.  She met his gaze defiantly.  "This isn't a scene, young man," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.  "This is standing up for what's right."

Fury flickered in the leader's eyes.  He leaned into the woman's face, his voice low and menacing.  "Look, old hag," he growled, "you're messing with the wrong people.  Just shut your trap and go about your day."

But the woman wouldn't be intimidated.  In a move that surprised everyone, she raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap across the boy's cheek.  "Manners!" she barked, her voice surprisingly strong.  "That's how you speak to your elders!"

The market went silent.  The slap echoed in the tense air, a shock to everyone.  The leader boy, stunned and humiliated, stood frozen for a moment, a red handprint blooming on his cheek.  His eyes burned with fury.

"You… you hit me?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.  Rage boiled within him, threatening to erupt.  "You wanna die, old hag?" he roared, his control slipping.

Fury painted the leader's face a dangerous crimson. In a flash of uncontrolled rage, he shoved the old woman with a sickening thud. A startled cry escaped her lips as she tumbled backward, landing with a pained gasp on the rough cobblestones of the market square. The crowd gasped in unison, a collective wave of shock rippling through them.