Dai Yuying left after arranging Wang Fan's assignment.

Wang Fan was stationed at the front lobby as a security guard—literally a gatekeeper, or as he jokingly thought, a "watchdog."

There were two guards on duty: the newbie, Wang Fan, and another guy named Zhang Tiezhu.

Zhang Tiezhu looked to be in his thirties, his face broad and rugged, his skin dark enough that strangers might mistake him for a refugee from some war-torn African nation.

"Heh heh, bro, you must have some serious connections to get personally assigned by Goddess Dai," Zhang Tiezhu grinned, his two front teeth gleaming as he sidled over. "You better look out for your little brother here!"

"You’re overthinking it," Wang Fan quickly clarified. "I don’t have any connections. Dai and I are just friends."

Damn it, if word got out that he had "backing," he’d be dead meat in no time.

And even if he died, that would be fine—but if Dai Yuying got dragged into this because of him, that would be unforgivable.

Wang Fan resolved to stay honest, low-key, and out of trouble.

"Friends? Sounds like more than just friends to me, bro. You’re one lucky bastard," Zhang Tiezhu pressed, grinning like an idiot.

Wang Fan was tempted to shove his underwear in the man’s mouth to shut him up—but decided against it. Taking off your pants in broad daylight? Too uncivilized.

Ignoring the fool, Wang Fan began wandering the lobby, his gaze drifting toward the two front desk girls.

Silverland Group didn’t skimp on employee quality—not even their receptionists. The girls were gorgeous, dressed in black vests over white shirts, their figures—well, the desks blocked the view below the waist, but the rest was very distracting.

"Hey, newbie, come here," a voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Wang Fan turned and hurried over. "Team leader, you needed me?"

This was Zhen Fanjian, the team leader Dai Yuying had introduced him to earlier. If Wang Fan wanted to keep this job, he could not offend this man.

"Follow me. I need to go over the company rules with you," Zhen Fanjian said arrogantly, striding into the security office.

Wang Fan nodded and trailed behind.

Zhang Tiezhu’s eyes narrowed with unease and quietly followed as well.

The security office was surprisingly spacious—bigger than most meeting rooms, with couches for breaks and even fitness equipment for training.

"New guy, what’s your name again?" Zhen Fanjian asked, rubbing his knuckles as he paced.

"Wang Fan," Wang Fan replied, frowning. Something’s off.

"Oh, Wang Fan," Zhen Fanjian sneered. "Let me ask you—what’s your relationship with Manager Dai?"

"Just friends," Wang Fan answered.

"Is that so?" Zhen Fanjian raised an eyebrow. This answer wasn’t going to cut it. He’d been ordered to pry—and Wang Fan was being too cooperative.

"Yes," Wang Fan repeated firmly.

"Good. Very good." Zhen Fanjian’s smile vanished. If the bastard wouldn’t play along, he’d have to force the issue.

"Now, let me explain our security protocols. Rule one: physical fitness and quick reflexes are essential. Let’s put that to the test."

As he spoke, Zhen Fanjian cracked his knuckles, his neck and shoulders popping with every movement. The other guards watched with sympathy—poor Wang Fan didn’t stand a chance.

Zhen Fanjian was ex-special forces. He could take on five average thugs at once without breaking a sweat.

This was going to be brutal.

Only Zhang Tiezhu didn’t look amused. Instead, he stepped forward. "Team leader, Xiao Wang just got here. Why don’t you let me handle the test?"

His words were polite, but his intent was clear: Let me take the hit for him.

"Who asked you, you idiot?!" Zhen Fanjian barked, slamming a fist into Zhang Tiezhu’s gut.

Zhang Tiezhu crumpled to the ground, blood spraying from his mouth.

Wang Fan’s eyes narrowed. Thanks for the help, dumbass—but now you’re the one getting wrecked.

"You—what did you say your name was again?" Zhen Fanjian sneered, ignoring the fallen Zhang Tiezhu and turning to Wang Fan.

"Wang Fan," Wang Fan replied coldly. Calling him "that guy" after he’d already given his name? Pure disrespect.

"Perfect." Zhen Fanjian grinned, lunging forward with a brutal combination—a chokehold and a knee to the gut.

Wang Fan sidestepped effortlessly, ducking behind him and yanking his arms backward. Before Zhen Fanjian could react, Wang Fan drove a knee into his lower back.

CRUNCH!

Zhen Fanjian screamed, collapsing to the floor like a punctured tire. Wang Fan followed up with an elbow strike to the back of his head, ensuring he stayed down.

Simple. Efficient. Brutal.

The room fell silent.

The other guards stared in shock, their minds struggling to process what had just happened.

"Hey, ‘Team Leader Whatever-your-name-is,’" Wang Fan said casually, dusting off his hands. "Guess your ‘elite’ training didn’t stick."

His voice was light, almost mocking—as if he’d just swatted a fly.