Karate Champion Picked the Wrong Waitress to Impress His Friends — Then the Room Fell Silent
Chapter 4
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"Or what?" Derek challenged. "What are you going to do about it, sweetie? You going to bounce me out of here? You and what army?""I am going to ask you politely, one last time," Harper said. Her stance subtly shifted: her feet moved shoulder-width apart, her weight dropping perfectly into her center of gravity. It was a micro-adjustment, invisible to the untrained eye, but it rooted her to the floor like an oak tree. "Sit down."Derek laughed—a harsh, barking sound. "You need to learn some respect."Without another word, Derek reached out with his massive, calloused hand and tightly grabbed Harper's left wrist. It wasn't a gentle touch: he squeezed hard, his knuckles turning white, attempting to use his sheer physical strength to hurt her, to force her to wince, to make her pull away in fear."Look at this," Derek bragged to his friends, keeping his grip locked on her wrist. "I've got the grip strength of a silverback. Once I lock on, nobody gets away."Brooke giggled. Trent cheered.But the room around them seemed to slow down. Harper looked at the massive hand clamped around her wrist, then looked up into Derek's arrogant eyes. She didn't try to pull her arm backward. She didn't scream. She didn't call for the manager.Instead, Harper exhaled a slow, controlled breath.Mistake, she thought.In a fraction of a second, the quiet, subservient waitress vanished. In her place stood the woman who had spent a decade snapping joints and choking out men twice Derek's size on the competition mats.Before Derek even realized she was moving, Harper rotated her trapped wrist sharply inward against his thumb—the weakest point of any grip. The sudden, immense leverage broke his hold instantly.But she didn't just escape. As Derek's hand was forced open, Harper's right hand shot forward, clamping around the meaty part of his thumb and the blade of his hand. She stepped deeply into his personal space, pivoting her hips with explosive, terrifying speed.Derek felt a sudden, agonizing, wrenching sensation in his right arm. The world spun.Harper applied a flawless standing wrist lock—a kotegaeshi. She twisted his wrist outward and downward while simultaneously dropping her own body weight. The mechanical pressure on Derek's wrist and elbow was absolute and instantly excruciating.Derek shrieked a high-pitched sound that completely betrayed his tough-guy persona. To relieve the agonizing pressure on his joints, Derek's body had no choice but to follow the twist: the massive, 200-pound karate champion folded like a cheap lawn chair. He was forced down, crashing hard onto his knees on the sticky wooden floor, his face hovering just inches from Harper's cheap sneakers.The entire dining room froze. The clinking of glasses stopped; the hum of conversation died instantly. The only sound in the Rusty Anchor Grill was the frantic, panicked breathing of Derek Vandenberg, who was currently kneeling on the floor, completely immobilized by a woman 60 pounds lighter than him.Harper stood over him, perfectly balanced, casually holding his twisted hand pinned tightly against her hip. She hadn't even dropped her notepad.