Henry Clark had probably instructed the waiter in advance. Every glass was topped with a thick layer of fresh mint leaves used for mixing cocktails, tightly covering any possible bubbles on the surface of the drinks and obscuring the color of the liquid, as if to prevent anyone from identifying them by the smell of alcohol. The tray holding ten drinks was also filled with vodka, and the overwhelming scent of alcohol mixed together, making it impossible to distinguish anything.

William Harris silently watched for a minute, then gave up on picking by experience.

With ten glasses placed together like this, even a bartender couldn’t tell them apart.

Ethan Wood was so angry his face turned red. He gritted his teeth and said, “Are you crazy? The odds are so low, there’s no way you’ll pick the right one! Don’t you get it? This little wolf cub is getting revenge! He wants a legitimate excuse to send you to the hospital!”

Henry Clark opened another can of beer for himself, not bothering to argue.

William Harris looked up at Henry Clark, who was smoking and drinking with practiced ease, momentarily lost in thought.

It had only been two years.

Separated by a wide table and nine deadly glasses of hard liquor, the two of them locked eyes for a moment.

It had only been two years.

“When I left before, it was a bit rushed. There’s something I always forgot to say.”

William Harris looked at Henry Clark: “It was my fault. I didn’t keep my word.”

Henry Clark’s eyes instantly turned red.

Henry Clark’s Adam’s apple moved with difficulty. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Drink.”

William Harris nodded, didn’t even try to pick, just grabbed a large glass at random and took a swig before Ethan Wood and the others could stop him. He froze.

“What is it? Spit it out! If it’s not lemon tea, spit it out!” Ethan Wood was so anxious he was about to jump on the table. “What’s with your face? The car’s downstairs, get up, I’ll take you to the hospital…”

William Harris slowly took another sip. “…Lemon tea.”

Everyone in the private room instantly let out a huge sigh of relief, cold sweat pouring down their backs.

Ethan Wood still didn’t believe it. He grabbed the glass and sniffed it himself, muttering, “Damn… what kind of god-tier luck is this?”

William Harris slowly finished the lemon tea. Henry Clark took a deep breath, tossed his beer can aside, and accepted his loss: “I’ll contact you about the transfer later and have your legal team draft the contract in advance.”

Everyone in the room whispered among themselves, unable to help but marvel at William Harris. This wasn’t just pure luck anymore—without spending a cent, he’d directly signed the number one assault player in the national server!

Edward Grant wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, afraid something else might happen. He stood up and said, “Alright, you guys handle the details privately. It’s getting late, let’s call it a night.”

After witnessing such a dramatic scene, no one was in the mood to sing anymore. They all nodded and started heading out. Only Henry Clark still sat silently at the table, quietly staring at the nine remaining glasses of vodka.

“Let’s go!” Ethan Wood’s back was drenched in sweat. Still shaken, he urged William Harris, “Come on, let’s go home and figure out what to do next.”

William Harris moved slowly, following the crowd down the elevator and waiting with them in the club lobby.

Ethan Wood’s heart was still pounding. He clutched his chest. “Scared me to death… And you! He’s crazy, and you’re crazy too? You’re usually so careful with your life! What happened just now? If you end up in the hospital again, it won’t just be for a month this time!”

William Harris seemed lost in thought, saying nothing.

“You think winning him over is a good thing? He was just trying to drink you to death a moment ago.” The more Ethan Wood thought about it, the more worried he became. “He was never easy to deal with, and now he’s even tougher—he’s out for blood. This is the little cub you brought home to raise back then!”

A flash of light suddenly appeared in William Harris’s eyes. He turned and walked back.

Ethan Wood panicked. “Oh my god, what now?!”

Ethan Wood was about to follow William Harris, but just then Edward Grant, who had gone to the underground garage, came back to ask for the car keys. Ethan Wood had no choice but to hurriedly rummage through his bag for the keys someone had accidentally tossed in, quickly handed them to Edward Grant, and by then William Harris had already entered the elevator.

The elevator rose to the top floor. With a ding, William Harris strode out and returned to the private room from before.

The empty room still held Henry Clark in the same position as before.

Henry Clark looked up, frowning uncomfortably. “You won and still won’t leave. Came back to laugh at me?”

William Harris stared at the nine remaining glasses on the table, his fingertips trembling slightly.

Henry Clark realized what was happening and shouted harshly, “It’s over. Get out!!!”

William Harris ignored him. Before Henry Clark could stop him, he stepped forward, picked up an untouched glass, and took a gulp.

William Harris’s expression changed instantly.

His pupils trembled as he turned to look at Henry Clark in disbelief.

Henry Clark’s eyes were bloodshot, as if he wanted to kill someone. He grabbed William Harris’s wrist, his voice hoarse and enunciating each word: “I. Said. Get. Out.”

William Harris’s lips trembled slightly. He slowly, resolutely pushed Henry Clark’s hand away, picked up another untouched “vodka,” and took a gulp.

William Harris froze in place.

A moment later, William Harris picked up a new glass, took a sip and put it down, then picked up another and drank, then put it down.

Henry Clark gritted his teeth tightly.

Just like that, William Harris picked up each glass, his wrist trembling, and drank from all nine remaining drinks one by one.

Ten drinks—every single one, every single one, every single one was lemon tea.

Chapter 9

Two years ago.