There is no summer vacation for senior high school students; currently, they are attending extra classes at school. Grace Cooper found her an office at the broadcasting station to study in, so after school she comes here to review, and at night she stays at Grace Cooper's house.

Mary Scott wears two braids and dresses a bit plainly, but her skin is unusually fair and delicate for a country girl, and her features are delicate. When she saw a stranger in the broadcasting room, she immediately lowered her head shyly, her face flushing red all the way to her ears.

Grace Cooper gave a brief introduction, and Mary Scott timidly called out, "Uncle Bolton."

William Bolton thought to himself, I'm not much older than you; you're in the same grade as my sister. But "uncle" it is—after all, Mary Scott is still a student who hasn't entered society yet.

At six in the evening, Grace Cooper invited him to San Nong Restaurant. The head of the broadcasting station, Peter Reed, arrived at six thirty, along with the director of the Limiao Town Hospital and the head of the town post office. Although the dinner was supposedly to welcome William Bolton, no one really paid any attention to this intern reporter. After some insincere pleasantries, the guest of honor, William Bolton, was left completely ignored, with no sense of presence, and no one was interested in getting close to this junior reporter.

Actually, in grassroots organizations, there are always certain rules about hosting dinners. William Bolton was just the pretext; if he didn't show up, the meal couldn't be properly expensed and reimbursed.

William Bolton understood his role as a tool for the evening and didn't feel disappointed. These people looked down on him, but honestly, he didn't care about them either. Once he was full, he had no interest in staying in the smoke-filled private room. He used to be a heavy smoker, but after his life reset, he suddenly lost all interest in cigarettes, and even less in secondhand smoke.

He found an excuse to leave early. Peter Reed made a show of trying to keep him, but actually wanted him gone too—having a reporter around made conversation inconvenient.

When William Bolton came out, he saw it was already dark. He took out his phone to check the time: nine o'clock at night. His clothes reeked of secondhand smoke, so he'd have to take another shower when he got back.

As he walked toward the broadcasting station, he saw Mary Scott being stopped on the roadside by three young men from the town, who were pestering her to be their girlfriend. These guys were all local hooligans from Limiao Town, idle and up to no good, always targeting the high school girls in town. Many pretty girls had been harassed by them. The police station had given them warnings and education, but they never changed their ways. Since they hadn't done anything seriously illegal, the police couldn't really do much.

Mary Scott normally wouldn't be out this late, but she had left her study materials at school and went back to get them. On her way back, she ran into these thugs.

The three of them had clearly been drinking, and the alcohol gave them courage. One of them, with a big dragon tattoo on his arm, was called George Parker. He was a well-known rich kid in town; his family owned an agricultural supply company dealing in pesticides and fertilizers. Because he had money, he always had a bunch of freeloaders hanging around him, swaggering everywhere. No one on this street dared mess with him.

Mary Scott tried to walk around them, but the three deliberately blocked her way. Mary Scott grew anxious: "If you keep this up, I'm calling the police."

"Go ahead, call them, haha. Mary Scott, I like you. Stop going to school—it's so hard. Be with me, and I'll buy you whatever clothes or makeup you want. You can eat and drink well, isn't that great?" As George Parker spoke, he reached out and grabbed Mary Scott's arm. Mary Scott struggled desperately.

A flash went off with a click—it was William Bolton taking a photo with his phone. To be honest, his phone's camera was terrible; at night, you couldn't even make out faces, and you couldn't even tell the gender of the people in the photo.

But the flash did succeed in drawing the attention of the group.

The three young men all looked at William Bolton. They didn't recognize him; the town wasn't big, and they knew most of the regulars. George Parker pointed at him and cursed, "What the hell are you taking pictures for? Looking for trouble?"

William Bolton ignored him, raised his phone, and took another shot of George Parker's big face. The flash stung George Parker's eyes and made him furious. He charged at William Bolton, raising his tattooed arm and swinging a punch at his face.

William Bolton grabbed his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and then kicked him hard in the butt.

George Parker shot forward like a jet, crashing headfirst into the flowerbed by the road, his butt sticking up like a potted plant.

The other two rushed at him as well. William Bolton put away his phone, swung at both of them, and knocked them to the ground. For small fry like this, there was no need to waste reputation points on redeeming any items.

Covered in mud, George Parker crawled out of the flowerbed, grabbed a brick, and charged at William Bolton, shouting, "You son of a—"

William Bolton smashed the red brick in his hand with a single punch. George Parker was stunned—was this guy's fist really that hard?

William Bolton raised his right hand and—smack!—gave George Parker a hard slap across the face, sending him staggering.

Smack!

He followed up with another crisp, resounding slap.

George Parker stumbled back a step, wanting to fight back, but after drinking, his body was too sluggish.