THE ART OF BREAKING HEARTS

The Showdown in the Park

The air in the park was thick with tension as Peter stepped forward, his boots crunching on the dry leaves beneath him. His slow, mocking claps echoed through the silence, cutting through the cheers of Luke and his gang like a knife.

"Wow," Peter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've done much more damage than I expected, Luke."

Luke's laughter died in his throat. His smile vanished as he spun around, eyes widening in shock. Peter and his men stood just a few feet away—close enough to strike. How had they gotten here so fast?

"Y-You shouldn't b-be here!" Luke stammered, his confidence crumbling. "I know he called you, but there was no response! And how did you get past my men? I stationed them at every corner of this park!"

Peter smirked, shaking his head. "You ask too many questions, Luke. And why are you so tense? You, of all people, should know… I'd never run from a fight—especially when I'm the one who started it."

Luke's face darkened. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "You're right," he growled. "But look around you, Peter. You're surrounded. My men outnumber yours—just like we outnumbered your stupid friend here."

With a cruel grin, Luke lifted his foot and pressed it down on Josiah's face, grinding his shoe into the bruised and bloodied skin.

Peter's rage exploded. His voice was low, dangerous. "You've forgotten one thing, Luke. I don't waste my time with weak, useless fighters. I only keep twenty men… because I trained every single one of them myself. And don't worry—they won't kill your guys. But I promise, by the time this is over, every last one of you will be crawling to the hospital."

Luke threw his head back and laughed. Then, with a sharp click of his fingers, shadows moved. Dozens more of his men stepped out from behind trees and bushes, their eyes locked on Peter's small group.

"Looks like this battle will be about endurance," Luke taunted. "A hundred of mine against your 'elite' twenty. Let's see how you work out this miracle."

Peter's expression turned icy. Unreadable. His fists trembled—not from fear, but from fury. "I'll put you down for good this time, Luke."

The moment the words left his mouth, Luke gave the signal.

A wave of men charged.

The first ten lunged at Peter's group—only to be sent flying through the air before they could even throw a punch. Peter moved like lightning, darting forward, knocking aside anyone stupid enough to stand in his way.

In seconds, he closed the gap between himself and Luke. His fist shot out—a devastating blow aimed straight for Luke's jaw.

But Luke caught it.

His hand snapped up, gripping Peter's punch mid-air, stopping it cold.

A slow, smug smile spread across Luke's face. "Don't think I'm the same weakling from before, Peter. I'm stronger now. Faster. Smarter."

Peter's lips curled into a snarl. "Then let's test that. Right now."

Luke's grin turned savage. "Agreed."

The moment the fight began, fists flew like lightning. Peter and Luke clashed in the center of the chaos, their men brawling around them. The air filled with the sounds of bones cracking, screams tearing through the night, and blood splattering onto the concrete. What started as a brawl quickly turned into a massacre.

Despite the chaos, Peter's men fought with brutal efficiency. One by one, they cut down Luke's fighters, reducing his hundred-strong force to just ten battered survivors. The ground was littered with groaning bodies, the stench of sweat and iron thick in the air.

Peter, still locked in combat with Luke, blocked a wild swing and smirked. "I'll admit one thing, Luke," he growled between punches. "You've gotten stronger. But it's not enough. You're still too weak to face me."

Those words ignited a fire in Luke. With a roar, he threw a desperate right hook at Peter's face. But Peter dodged effortlessly, grabbed Luke's arm, and drove his fist into the muscle—so hard that Luke's hand went numb. A sickening crack echoed as Luke howled in pain.

Before Luke could react, Peter yanked his head down and smashed his knee into Luke's face. The impact sent Luke stumbling back, blood gushing from his nose. His screams grew louder, raw with agony.

Three of Luke's elite fighters, barely standing, rushed Peter to buy their boss time to escape. But Peter dismantled them in seconds—one crushing blow to each man's ribs, sending them crumpling to the ground.

Panting, Peter turned just in time to see Luke crawling through the carnage, dragging himself over fallen comrades. Peter's lips curled into a cold smile. He strode forward, seized Luke by the neck, and slammed his face into his knee again. The force shattered Luke's nose, his cheekbones caving under the impact. Blood poured from his face like a broken faucet.

Luke's screams turned to whimpers. "P-Peter, please—" he begged, scrambling backward, hands raised. "I'm sorry! I'm—"

Peter didn't let him finish. A vicious kick to the jaw sent Luke sprawling, unconscious before he hit the ground.

But Peter wasn't done.

He dropped onto Luke's limp body and rained down punches—methodical, merciless. Each strike split skin, each thud of his fists echoed like a drum. His face stayed eerily calm, eyes empty of pity.

It took four of Peter's own men to drag him off. James, one of his top fighters, stepped forward, voice shaky but firm. "Boss… he's out cold. We've won. Beating a man who can't fight… it's cowardly. You taught us that."

Peter's jaw clenched so hard his lips split, blood trickling down his chin. He shoved James away—then crushed him with a single punch to the gut, sending him gasping to the ground.

"Carry Josiah's men out of here," Peter barked at the others. Then, glaring at James: "You carry Josiah alone."

James coughed but nodded. "Yes, sir."

Peter pulled out his phone, dialed the police, and spoke in a voice like gravel. "Hello. There's been a gang battle at YKC Junction, Woji Park. Brutal one." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

As Peter and his men vanished into the night, a shadowed figure watched from the rooftop of a nearby building. Hidden in darkness, the stranger smiled.

To be continued.