Yvette stood calmly, her face impassive, as people neatly moved their chairs. The room emptied, leaving only two groups: Yvette alone, and a crowd of Tiger Head thugs led by Burley and Dorion.

Yvette raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in her eyes. She donned a black cap from the table, smirking as she casually shoved her hands in her pockets. Those watching shared the same thought: This woman is incredibly bold! The elite of Tiger Head stood before her, yet she seemed unfazed.

One of Burley's men lunged, attempting to grab her. Before he could touch her, however, she flung him back with a burst of inner energy. He collapsed, coughing up blood.

This shocked the onlookers. Blood had been shed before the fight even began.

Dorion's expression darkened. He scrutinized Yvette, sensing her potent energy. He realized her strength; even at his best, victory was uncertain. Unknown to him, Yvette had only used twenty percent of her power.

Hands still in her pockets, Yvette relaxed, retracting her energy. She half-closed her eyes, lazily surveying the group, considering the exciting prospect of a fight.

Burley, seeing his injured man, raged. He shouted for an attack, but no one moved. All eyes were on Dorion, awaiting his command. Burley's face darkened; he had long resented Dorion, but the loyalty within Tiger Head prevented an open challenge.

Dorion stepped forward, his gaze menacing. "May I ask your affiliation, miss? Has Tiger Head wronged you? You claim to have killed Eban. If true, this matter will not rest."

Trying to salvage his pride, Burley echoed the question, "How did you kill my brother? If you claim responsibility, what proof do you offer?"

The crowd's attention shifted from the injured man back to Yvette. They agreed with Burley; if she had killed Eban, proof was necessary; otherwise, her claims seemed fabricated.

Yvette tilted her head, squinting slightly. The demand for proof annoyed her. It was unprecedented. She mused that, had she known, she might have carved a message onto Eban's body.

To the onlookers, her silence seemed to confirm their suspicions—that she lacked evidence and was merely boasting.

After a moment, Yvette looked up, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She softly laughed. "You want proof? Eban lost his penis."

Silence descended, then stunned laughter rippled through the crowd.

Burley's face reddened, still shocked, as Yvette's words chillingly confirmed the truth. Eban's body had been largely destroyed upon discovery, his manhood missing. Burley wondered if Yvette had indeed killed Eban and knew the secrets of the drug lab.

Panicked, Burley urged Dorion, "Kill her! She must have killed Eban, and if she reveals the drug lab's secrets, we're ruined."

Dorion's eyes gleamed with lethal intent as he focused on Yvette, his expression fierce. Her mention of Eban's death sealed her fate. Her earlier display of strength, however, made him cautious. He planned to overwhelm her with numbers. It might damage their reputation, but it was preferable to defeat.

Feigning calm, Dorion addressed Yvette, his words intended more for the crowd, concerned about Tiger Head's image. "So, you killed Eban. Then don't blame us for this. Everyone here is Eban's comrade, seeking revenge…"

Yvette cut him off, her eyes cold and impatient. Leaning back casually, she dismissed him. "If you wish to fight, let's do it now. Stop wasting time and attack together."

The spectators were again speechless, wondering if Yvette had lost her mind. No one had ever solicited a beating. Dorion, unable to maintain his composure after Yvette's challenge, turned cold, his lips thin. He sneered and signaled his men to surround her. Armed with knives, clubs, and makeshift weapons, they charged.

Yvette smirked at the approaching group, produced a black strap from her pocket to wrap her hand, and prepared for a "slaughter."

Half an hour later, Yvette stood amidst a pile of men, some in grotesque heaps. Blood darkened her black athletic clothing, saturating the fabric. The smell of blood permeated the bar.

Yvette stood, a barely perceptible smile—wicked and charming—playing on her lips. A few drops of blood marked her cheeks beneath her long lashes, enhancing her allure, making her appear even more enigmatic.

The onlookers' faces had shifted from shock to terror to sheer fear, finally settling into disbelief, leaving them speechless. For thirty minutes, they watched man after man fall before Yvette's skill. Some were felled with a single blow; others who attempted sneak attacks had their arms broken, while those who dared to brawl had their jaws dislocated. Yvette remained unmoved, the center of a whirlwind of falling men. No lives were lost, but every man was battered and unrecognizable, unable to stand. Those who had mocked her earlier now wished for the safety of their shells.

Yvette slowly unwound the blood-soaked bandage, discarding it. She produced a wet wipe, carefully cleaning her hands before looking up at Dorion, grim-faced, and Burley, frozen in shock. She yawned slowly, speaking in a relaxed tone. "Now it's your turn. With so many ahead of you, act swiftly, or forfeit your chance."

Dorion's expression was unreadable. He hadn't anticipated that a group of men would be unable to inflict a scratch upon her. She was a killing machine.