Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master

The streets of the 11th floor bustled with their usual midday rhythm, but Fenrir and Zerg walked through them like ghosts.

Their presence felt almost weightless among the cheerful crowd, though that changed the moment they reached a worn bulletin board near the square's center.

A large wanted poster flapped in the breeze.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes. "That's new."

Zerg leaned forward, squinting. The paper was cheap, the ink slightly smudged, but there was no mistaking the image—it was a still from the security feed, grainy but clear enough to recognize both of them.

Fenrir's back was turned in the image, but his coat, hair, and stance were unmistakable. Zerg, on the other hand, was staring directly into the camera.

The headline above read in bold red letters:

[WANTED—LEVEL 10 ESCAPEES. ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.]

Zerg groaned.

"We should just turn ourselves in, you know. Save everyone the suspense."

Fenrir gave a dry chuckle.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Zerg shook his head, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You've really not changed at all. The tower's not ready for you."

"It doesn't need to be. I'm not here to ask for permission.

Fenrir replied coolly.

They moved on casually, weaving through the crowds as though they weren't the most wanted men on the floor. The people around them didn't seem to notice—yet.

After a few more minutes of walking, Zerg's stomach growled audibly.

"I need food before I collapse again."

Fenrir nodded toward a small restaurant tucked into a corner.

"That one looks quiet."

They stepped inside. The place was cozy, the tables old but clean. A large window offered a view of the street, filtered through thin blue curtains. The man behind the counter—the owner, presumably—froze when he saw them. His eyes darted from Fenrir to Zerg and then back again. His expression went pale.

Zerg noticed and smacked his hand on the table, voice loud and stern.

"Something wrong, old man?"

The owner flinched but quickly shook his head.

"N-No, sir. Welcome. Please take any seat. I-I'll have someone bring you the menu right away."

They sat in the far corner, where they could see the entrance and the street outside. As soon as they were alone, Fenrir leaned forward, speaking low.

"We've been recognized."

Zerg let out a long sigh.

"Of course we have. I just wanted one peaceful meal."

"Won't happen. Be ready for company."

Fenrir said.

The door opened moments later. A waitress entered, her hands shaking as she handed them menus. Her eyes barely met theirs.

Zerg gave her a tired smile, trying to defuse the tension.

"Relax. We're just eating."

She nodded quickly and backed away.

Zerg glanced at Fenrir.

"You think they'll send guards or hunters?"

"Hunters. Guards are too slow. They'll call the bounty guild."

Fenrir said.

Zerg grimaced.

"I hate bounty guilds. Too loud. No morals."

"I hate them because they're desperate. They don't care if they die. They're dangerous in packs."

Fenrir said.

Zerg leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Should we leave now?"

"No. Let them come. I want to see how bold they've become.

Fenrir said.

A short while later, the waitress returned and placed food in front of them—meat stew, fresh bread, and cold drinks. She scurried away without another word.

Zerg picked up a spoon and began eating.

"If they're going to fight us, they should at least let us finish lunch first."

Fenrir took a sip of the drink, eyes fixed on the street.

"They'll wait until we step out. That's when they'll make their move."

The restaurant grew quieter. People whispered at their tables. A few customers left in a hurry.

___

The restaurant manager hurried to the back room, his heart pounding with a strange mix of fear and excitement.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he locked it and pulled out his phone with trembling hands.

His fingers flew over the screen as he dialed the emergency tower hotline. The moment the call connected, he stepped into the farthest corner of the room and whispered urgently.

"Hello? This is Marthis. I run the Blue Fork restaurant near the central plaza of the 11th floor. Two wanted criminals just walked in. Yes—those two. The escapees from the 10th floor. I swear it's them."

The voice on the other end responded quickly, crisp and formal.

"Confirmed. Authorities will be dispatched to your location immediately. Do not let them leave the premises."

Marthis blinked.

"What? H-How am I supposed to stop them? I'm just a restaurant owner! They're dangerous!"

"We're aware of the risk. But if you want your reward, you must keep them there. Stall them. Delay them. Do whatever it takes. We only need five to ten minutes."

The voice replied, still calm and cold.

Marthis gripped the phone tighter, his mouth going dry.

"You want me to—stall them? What if they find out? They'll kill me!"

There was a pause on the line, then the reply came—flat and final.

"Then don't let them find out. Use your head. If you want the gold and the recognition, this is your moment. Over and out."

The call cut before Marthis could say another word.

He stood there for a second, staring at his phone, bile rising in his throat.

"Idiots. They think I can just keep two monsters sitting at a table for ten minutes?""

He muttered.

Still, the temptation was too great. Gold. Fame.

His face printed on billboards, being praised for helping capture two fugitives of the highest order.

He'd be known across several floors. The kind of status he could only dream about until now.

Marthis shoved his phone into his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Okay. Okay, think."

He unlocked the back room and reentered the main kitchen. A few servers looked up, confused by his nervous expression, but he waved them off.

"Bring them more food. Say it's on the house. Tell them it's a special courtesy. Make them feel welcome. Make them stay."

One of the waiters blinked.

"But they already finished their—"

"Then bring dessert! Just do it."

Marthis snapped.

He watched from the kitchen entrance as the young server nervously approached the table with a platter of sweet dumplings and cold fruit syrup.

Fenrir merely raised an eyebrow as the tray was placed between them.

"Compliments of the house, sirs."

The server stammered.

Zerg looked amused.

"Didn't ask for this."

"It's free. Special for travelers."

The server squeaked.

Fenrir said nothing, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't like surprises. But the food was untouched, clearly unpoisoned, and they didn't seem to be in a hurry.

Zerg shrugged.

"Might as well enjoy it. Free's free."

Marthis watched every second like a hawk, biting his thumbnail as he glanced at the clock. One minute down. Just a little longer.

He moved toward the front window and peeked through the curtains. No sign of authorities yet.

He cursed under his breath and rushed back into the kitchen.

"More tea! Get them tea. Fancy kind. Tell them it's imported. Just don't let them leave."

The staff stared at him as if he'd lost his mind, but they obeyed.

A minute later, another tray made its way to the table. Zerg chuckled as he reached for a cup.

"I think they like us,"

He joked.