Chapter 101

Life had been comfortable lately.

But also... Quite boring.

Such a large, luxurious space—and only him to enjoy it.

It needed someone else.

A woman.

Hannah and Olivia didn’t even cross his mind.

The only suitable choice was Teresa.

As for supplies? That wasn’t even a concern. He had more than enough to last a lifetime.

Even if there were several Teresas, he could still support them all.

The more he thought about it, the more restless he became. The urge to bring her to his side grew stronger.

Still, the situation outside was dangerous. And he had already made plenty of enemies in the building.

He couldn’t risk her coming alone.

So he would go to her instead.

And along the way... Collect more supplies.

Soon enough, the entire city would be underwater anyway.

Better that those resources end up with him than rot beneath the flood.

Once he was ready, Richard set out. With his spatial ability, he carried nothing visibly—empty-handed, relaxed.

In reality, his weapons were already stored inside his space.

Before leaving, he checked the surveillance.

No one was outside.

Only then did he quietly step out and begin descending the stairs.

But his movements didn’t go unnoticed. The residents on the nineteenth floor had been watching him closely.

The moment anything happened, they reported it in the group.

Ever since the heatwave ended, some had guessed that he would eventually come out.

And now... He did.

The opportunity they’d been waiting for had finally arrived. The nineteenth-floor residents immediately alerted Bill and the others. Bill gathered his people without hesitation.

Weapons in hand, they moved to the sixth and seventh floors, setting up an ambush.

Everyone understood—this was their chance.

When Richard stayed locked inside, they were powerless. But now that he had stepped out, everything changed.

The stairwell was dim. Power hadn’t returned; only the faint green glow of emergency signs lit the way.

Richard moved through the shadows with a flashlight. Wind howled faintly from outside, masking subtle sounds.

His steps were light as he descended to the seventh floor.

Most residents remained barricaded inside their homes.

The building felt eerily quiet, but his mind was preoccupied with the thoughts pf how to get Teresa out of her building.

What route to take.

What supplies to collect along the way.

His guard slipped—just slightly.

And then—"Now!"

A low shout came from above.

In the next instant, shadows burst from both directions.

From the seventh-floor stairs.

From the sixth-floor safety door.

Bill and his men.

They surged forward, surrounding him. Strong, broad-shouldered men—armed with steel pipes, wooden clubs... And one of them held an axe.

They blocked both his path up and down.

"Twentieth floor... you’ve got guts coming out like this," Bill sneered, eyeing him from head to toe.

Then his gaze sharpened. Richard’s hands were empty. He had no weapons.

Was he an idiot?

Everyone knew he was a target—and yet he walked out unarmed?

A clueless rich kid.

"...Don’t know whether to call you brave or just stupid," Bill muttered, unconsciously brushing the bandage wrapped around his arm.

The wound from last time still hadn’t healed.

This time, he would settle it.

"Hand over your keys," Bill said, voice turning vicious. "Or I’ll make sure you leave here on a stretcher."

He raised the machete in his hand, killing intent flashing in his eyes.

This time, he truly wanted to kill him. After failing again and again, his pride was already in shambles.

Now, the tension between them had reached its peak.

One spark—and it would explode.

"You want to kill me?" Richard said lightly. "You think you’re enough?"

For a brief moment earlier, he

had

been startled.

The sudden ambush. The number of people. The weapons.

But that passed quickly.

Why should he be afraid? He had something far more reliable than knives and sticks.

Something... absolute.

The tension drained from his face, replaced by calm confidence.

That reaction made the others uneasy.

To them, Richard was... strange. His home had always been full of unexpected tricks.

What if he had something hidden again?

But then, they looked at his empty hands.

Nothing.

Maybe it was all a bluff.

"Boss, stop wasting time," someone urged. "Teach him a lesson—he’ll behave after that."

The others nodded. They had all suffered losses because of him. Now, they wanted revenge.

They locked eyes for a split second, then Bill swung his machete down at Richard with brutal force.

The others surged forward at once, weapons raised. In the cramped stairwell, killing intent flooded the air, thick and suffocating.

The blade came down fast.

Richard’s eyes flashed cold.

He pivoted sharply, sidestepping the strike by a hair’s breadth.

In the same motion, he raised his right hand—until now hanging loosely at his side—and pointed it straight at Bill.

As if conjured from thin air, a black handgun appeared in his grip.

"Bang!"

The gunshot exploded through the stairwell, a deep, concussive blast that rattled eardrums like a firecracker detonating inches away.

Bill froze.

Slowly—almost disbelievingly—he looked down.

A dark, blooming hole had opened in his chest.

The force of the impact drove him backward. He stumbled, slammed into the wall, the machete clattering from his hand.

For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to stop. Every movement hung suspended in midair.

"G-gun... he has a gun!!!"

Someone screamed, voice warping under sheer terror.

The others stood rooted to the spot.

Weapons half-raised, half-lowered—unsure what to do, faces drained of all color.

They had thought that with numbers on their side, victory was guaranteed.

Who could have imagined that Richard had a gun?

This wasn’t a fight anymore.

This was slaughter.

One man snapped out of it first. He turned and bolted, adrenaline surging through his veins, pushing his body beyond its limits.

Richard calmly shifted his aim.

Another shot rang out.

The bullet struck true—straight through the heart. The man collapsed like a rag doll, lifeless before he hit the ground.

Then... More gunfire.

Four shots.

Precise. Controlled.

Each one fatal.

To Richard, they were no longer people—they were targets.