I Am Not A Loser, But A Quadrillionaire!

Chapter 7

“Jun,” Sarah purred, placing a delicate hand on her hip, “I almost didn’t recognize you. Did you sneak in through the back door?”

Marcus smirked. “Back door? I doubt even the janitors would let him in.”

A few nearby guests turned to look, drawn by the commotion. Sarah, ever the performer, leaned in closer to Marcus and whispered theatrically—but just loud enough to be heard.

“This is so embarrassing,” she sighed. “Someone like him doesn’t belong here.”

Jun remained utterly expressionless, his gaze cool as he studied them.

They still thought they were in control. They still believed they were untouchable.

He let them bask in their illusion—for now.

“I should be asking you that,” Jun said at last, his voice smooth, unreadable.

Marcus’s smirk twitched slightly. “Asking us what?”

“If you’re so certain you belong here,” Jun mused, tilting his head, “then tell me—how sure are you that your little ‘partnership’ with Group A will actually happen?”

Marcus let out a loud, theatrical laugh, shaking his head like Jun had just said something completely absurd.

“Oh, you mean my deal with Group A?” he said, spreading his arms. “That’s already as good as signed. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to secure a major business deal, would you?”

Sarah clicked her tongue, shaking her head with a pitying look.

“Oh, Marcus, be nice,” she cooed, flashing Jun a condescending smile. “He’s never even been to a corporate event before.”

Marcus took a slow sip of his champagne, then turned back to Jun.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, “who even let you in? I don’t see an invitation.”

Sarah’s eyes glittered with cruelty. “Marcus, you don’t think he actually got an invite, do you?”

Marcus smirked, turning toward the security guards stationed at the entrance.

“Good point.”

He raised a languid hand, gesturing for one of them to come over.

A burly security guard approached immediately, his sharp eyes already dismissing Jun as unworthy.

“This man,” Marcus said, gesturing at Jun like he was some unwanted stray, “isn’t supposed to be here. I’m sure it was a mistake, but we can’t have just anyone wandering around this event.”

The guard nodded curtly, already convinced of Jun’s guilt before even speaking.

“Sir,” he said, his tone gruff and firm, “do you have an invitation?”

Jun’s lips twitched slightly—not a smile, not anger, but something calculating.

“I do,” he said smoothly.

Marcus laughed outright, shaking his head. “Oh? And where is it? Let’s see this ‘invitation’ of yours.”

Sarah feigned excitement, clasping her hands together. “Yes, show us! Maybe he’ll pull out some crumpled flyer from a street vendor.”

A few guests chuckled, feeding off the mockery.

Jun remained unshaken.

“Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me, Marcus?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Afraid?”

Marcus’s cocky grin flickered for just a moment.

“Afraid? Of you?” he scoffed.

Sarah giggled, her voice syrupy sweet. “Please, Jun. You’re not exactly a threat.”

Jun’s eyes gleamed faintly under the chandelier light.

“We’ll see about that.”

Marcus’s annoyance deepened. “Enough wasting time.” He turned back to the guard, nodding toward Jun. “He doesn’t belong here. Throw him out.”

The guard stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Jun’s shoulder.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

“Touch me again,” Jun interrupted, his voice dangerously low, “and you’ll regret it.”

The guard hesitated. Something about the way Jun spoke, the quiet confidence, sent a chill up his spine.

Marcus, noticing the hesitation, laughed mockingly. “Oh wow, is this guy trying to act tough?”

Sarah shook her head, feigning pity. “This is getting embarrassing. Just let them escort you out, Jun. Save yourself the humiliation.”

The guests who had turned their heads out of curiosity now watched intently, their minds already crafting the gossip they'd share later. To them, this was prime entertainment - another wannabe being put in his place.

With a deliberate flick of his wrist, Jun held up a sleek, matte black card, its surface embossed with a golden eagle emblem - the official insignia of Group A. He savored the weight of it in his hand, knowing it represented far more than mere membership.

Marcus and Sarah stared, confused, their certainty wavering for the first time. Sarah's mind raced - something about that card seemed different from the usual VIP passes she'd seen. A nagging doubt began to creep in.

The security guard, his hand still hovering over Jun's shoulder, squinted at the card but clearly didn't recognize it. How could he? Few living people had ever seen one up close.

Jun tilted his head slightly, feeling a cold satisfaction as he watched their confusion.

 "Now tell me," he said evenly, his voice carrying across the hall, "do I have the right to be here?" The ring pulsed gently on his finger, responding to his controlled anger.

A brief silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions. The social hierarchy these people took for granted was about to shatter, and they could feel it in their bones.

Marcus snorted, desperately clinging to his assumed superiority. 

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffed, stepping forward and peering at the card like it was some cheap knockoff. Inside, though, something about that eagle emblem made his stomach clench.

Sarah leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she fought back her growing unease.

 "That's cute, Jun. Did you print that in a back alley?" But even as she spoke, she remembered rumors of a special card that even her family couldn't obtain.

A few guests nearby chuckled, emboldened by Marcus and Sarah's scorn, but their laughter held a nervous edge. They were like sheep following the loudest voice, unaware they were backing the wrong wolf.

The security guard, misunderstanding the situation entirely, frowned deeply. Poor fool, Jun thought. Sometimes the lowest ranked were the most eager to prove their authority.

"Sir," the guard said firmly, "I don't know what game you're playing, but fake VIP cards won't get you into this event." His voice carried the false confidence of someone who thought uniform gave power.

"I suggest you think carefully before making any assumptions," Jun said, his voice low and cold. The warning was clear to anyone wise enough to hear it.

Marcus rolled his eyes, but his heart rate had picked up. Something about Jun's composure felt dangerous. "Oh please, drop the act. Group A wouldn't give someone like you a membership, let alone an exclusive one." Even as he spoke, he wondered why Jun seemed so different from the weakling they'd thrown to the dogs.

Sarah laughed softly, the sound brittle with hidden tension. "You're embarrassing yourself. Just accept it—you don't belong here." But as she spoke, memories of Jun's strange confidence at the herb shop flashed through her mind.

The security guard wasn't listening anymore, too caught up in his own self-importance.

In his eyes, Jun was just a fraud, another pretender to put in his place. He had no idea he was about to become an example.

His face hardened with misplaced authority, and he reached out again—this time, with force. "Enough. You need to leave—now."

But the security guard's hand never made it. Out of nowhere, Jun, who had remained still all this time, finally moved.

With a swift step, he dodged the guard's grasp and—

SMACK!

A sharp, resounding slap echoed as his palm struck the guard’s cheek!