A few days had passed since Youri's visit to the hospital, and by all logic, he should still have been bedridden.
Broken ribs didn't heal in days. Bruises didn't vanish overnight. Pain didn't simply disappear.
Yet here he was—standing upright, breathing freely, moving like nothing had happened.
His body had done what it always did.
The fractures in his ribs had fused cleanly, the swelling had vanished, and the deep bruises that once painted his skin purple and black were gone without a trace. By the third morning, the pain had faded to a distant memory. By the fourth, he felt whole again.
By the fifth, he returned to Lux.
The club was already alive when he arrived. Neon lights pulsed through the smoke-filled air, bass vibrating through the floor, the scent of alcohol and sweat thick enough to taste. Lux never slept—it merely shifted moods depending on the hour.
As Youri stepped inside, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well look who decided to show up!"
Gloria stood behind the bar, one elbow resting casually on the counter, eyes locked on him. Her sharp gaze swept him from head to toe, clearly searching for signs of injury.
Youri offered a small grin. "Hi, Gloria."
She raised an eyebrow. "I heard from Leo about what happened."
Youri slid onto a barstool beside her and nodded toward the bartender. "Whiskey."
Gloria frowned immediately. "Since when did you start drinking?"
Youri accepted the glass when it arrived, lifting it slightly as he turned toward her. "Since now."
She stared at him for a moment before letting out a short laugh. "Well I'll be damned. I guess that Boris guy really rattled your brain."
Youri leaned back against the counter, rolling the glass gently between his fingers. "Helped with the pain," he said calmly. "Figured I'd stick with it."
Gloria shook her head, amused. "You do you. Just don't go getting that pretty face of yours smashed in again."
Youri chuckled. "Can't promise that. They pay better then you do."
She snorted and pushed away from the bar. "You're insane."
As Gloria headed toward the podium, the doors to Lux opened again. Leo stepped inside, still wearing his jacket, eyes scanning the room. The moment he spotted Youri at the bar, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He marched over, disbelief written all over his face.
"Bro—what the hell are you doing here?" Leo demanded as he dropped onto the stool beside him. "You should be at home resting!"
Youri didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his shirt.
Leo leaned closer—and froze.
The bruises were gone.
The swelling was gone.
There wasn't even a faint discoloration left behind.
"…How?" Leo muttered. "How the hell did you heal that fast?"
Youri lowered his shirt and smirked. "Just a little gift from good old Dad."
Leo stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. "That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
Leo opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. "Whatever, man. I've got a fight tonight. You coming to watch?"
"Sure," Youri replied easily.
Leo stood. "Good. Watch closely. You might learn something."
Night hit Vegas hard.
Lux filled to the brim—people packed shoulder to shoulder, laughter spilling into arguments, arguments threatening to turn violent. The VIP section buzzed with tension, eyes always watching, always waiting.
Then it happened.
A sharp crack echoed from the far corner.
Youri turned just in time to see Edward—Malkom's right-hand man—standing over a fallen guest, broken champagne glass dripping from his hand. The man lay unconscious, blood pooling beneath his head.
Edward kicked him in the ribs.
Youri didn't hesitate.
He crossed the distance in seconds, grabbing Edward's arm and shoving him back.
Edward staggered, then twisted free and turned, eyes glassy with alcohol. Recognition flickered across his face.
"You," he snarled. "It's you again."
Edward reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife.
Youri's posture shifted instantly.
Edward rushed him, slashing wildly. Youri leaned back, the blade slicing air inches from his chest. Edward lunged again, aiming lower this time.
Youri caught his wrist mid-swing.
Twisted.
There was a sickening crack.
Edward screamed as the knife hit the floor. He stared at his arm in horror. "You broke my arm, you motherf—!"
Youri stepped in and punched him square in the chin.
Edward dropped like dead weight.
The VIP section went silent.
Youri dragged Edward's unconscious body outside. Leo and Peter rushed out moments later, stopping short when they saw Edward sprawled on the pavement.
"Holy shit," Leo muttered. "You knocked him out cold."
Peter crouched slightly, eyes narrowing. "You could've held back."
"He pulled a knife," Youri replied calmly. "It was him or me."
Peter sighed. "I know. Just… be careful. You scared some guests."
Youri nodded. "I'll take them outside next time."
As Youri headed back in, Peter lingered, staring at Edward's unmoving body.
He turned to Leo. "Does a punch from someone who's never fought seriously hit that hard?"
Leo shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Ever since Boris… he's different."
Later, as Lux wound down, Leo called out to him. "You coming to the fight?"
"Yeah," Youri replied. "Wait in the car."
At the bar, Gloria watched him closely. "You really did a number on Edward."
Youri smirked. "He had it coming."
She nodded. "Just remember—eyes are everywhere."
Outside, Leo started the engine and glanced over. "Where did you learn to hit like that?"
Youri smiled. "Remember the last punch Boris gave me?"
Leo blinked. "Yeah?"
"I used that same technique."
Leo stared at him. "You learned it just by getting hit once?"
Youri laughed softly. "Another gift from good old Dad."