Ever since I was a kid, I’d been a menace. I got expelled from college for fighting, spent my days loafing around, starting trouble, and driving my parents’ blood pressure through the roof. Eventually they reached their limit, pooled their savings, bought me a secondhand apartment, and kicked me out so they could finally have some peace.

Chapter 8

That should have been the end of it.

And maybe for a better man, it would have been.

But I’m not a better man.

So even after they were gone, I kept thinking about the whole thing. The garbage. The poison. The noise. The shop. The car. The alley. The group chat. The final split.

All of it.

People like to say evil gets punished sooner or later.

I don’t know about that.

What I do know is this.

Bullies usually thrive because everyone else is decent.

Everyone else has limits.

Everyone else wants peace more than victory.

That family across the hall had spent years counting on that. They bullied weak neighbors, threw tantrums, made threats, and got away with it because most people didn’t want the headache.

Then they met me.

And the truth is, I wasn’t stronger than them because I was smarter, richer, or more righteous.

I beat them because I was worse.

Meaner.

More patient.

More shameless.

They wanted to play dirty.

I wanted to play until nobody could stand up anymore.

I’m not telling this story because I think I’m some kind of hero.

I’m not.

I’m the villain who happened to be standing in the right hallway at the right time.

But every now and then, when I’m walking my dog past that now-quiet corridor, I look at the empty apartment across from mine and still feel a little warm inside.

Because I know exactly what happened.

A family of bastards ran into a bastard who enjoyed the game more than they did.

And in the end, they were the ones who couldn’t take it.