I Somehow Became The Almighty Creator, l can create anything: Be Ware
Chapter 59

Chapter 59: Chapter 59

A/N: I have made a little clarification about the change in his abilities so for those who might want to know more, please re-read Chapter 47.

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The city lights of Hong Kong shimmered in the distance as Watts descended silently into a quiet clearing on the outskirts.

He decided not to attract attention and landed a few kilometers away from the city.

He powered down El Max, the sleek armor retracting into some kind of liquid metal that dissolved into him.

It left him in a simple jacket and dark jeans, his casual appearance at odds with the immense power he carried.

A few kilometers later, after hailing a taxi, he found himself cruising into the vibrant chaos of the city.

The street leading to his destination was a kaleidoscope of neon reflections in murky puddles.

Vendors shouted in Cantonese, their voices melding with the buzz of scooters and the occasional laughter spilling from dimly lit doorways.

The bar he sought was tucked into a narrow side street, neon signs casting colorful reflections on the rain-slick pavement.

The building pulsed with bass-heavy music, and laughter spilled out into the humid night air. The flickering pink sign above the entrance read Lucky Rabbit in bold cursive.

Watts stepped out of the taxi and approached the door. A bouncer, muscular and imposing, gave him a quick once-over before nodding.

The door swung open, and Watts was immediately greeted by the intoxicating blend of music, chatter, and a faint haze of cigarette smoke.

Inside, the bar was alive with energy. Pink and purple lights bathed the room, reflecting off polished metal poles where scantily clad dancers twirled and flipped with practiced grace.

Patrons crowded the tables and booths, some laughing over drinks, others entwined in drunken embraces.

The bar counter stretched along one side of the room, its surface cluttered with empty glasses, napkins, and a few forgotten tips.

Watts strolled in, his steps slow and deliberate, scanning the room as he moved. The warmth of the room was a sharp contrast to the cold, sterile facility he’d left hours ago, and yet his focus remained unshaken.

A few glances followed him, curiosity flaring at the sight of a newcomer, but most returned to their own revelry.

Watts’ eyes flicked to every corner of the room, cataloging every exit, every shadowed alcove.

He moved slowly surveying the bar to the last detail, and then slowly made his way to the counter.

At the counter, the bartender—a stocky man with a shaved head and a thick gold chain—was pouring shots for a group of laughing patrons.

Watts waited patiently until the man glanced his way, then slid onto a stool.

"Whiskey," Watts said, his voice calm and even.

The bartender nodded and poured him a glass without a word. Watts took it, sipping slowly as his eyes moved around the room.

He caught snippets of conversations—a couple arguing in rapid Cantonese, a group of businessmen toasting deals, a woman in a sequined dress leaning close to whisper in her companion’s ear.

It was a symphony of life, chaos, and human indulgence.

After a few moments of slow drinking, Watts leaned toward the bartender.

His tone was casual, but there was an edge of purpose to his words. "I’d like to meet Ms. Lau Lau."

The bartender froze, his hand tightening slightly around the bottle he had been holding.

His eyes flickered to Watts, then to the rest of the room, his expression shifting to one of wary suspicion.

Around them, laughter dimmed, as if the name itself was a specter that drained the room of levity.

A nearby man who had been laughing loudly a moment ago suddenly went quiet, his gaze darting toward the counter.

Watts met the bartender’s gaze, unflinching. He noticed the subtle shift in the air, the way tension seemed to ripple outward like a stone dropped in water.

"Ms. Lau Lau?" the bartender asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "Who’s asking?"

Watts remained calm, taking another sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down.

"Someone with business," he said simply, his tone giving nothing away. "No trouble, just business."

The bartender didn’t respond immediately. His eyes searched Watts’ face, as if trying to read his intent.

Around them, the subtle unease lingered, but Watts stayed composed, his gaze drifting casually to the people closest to him.

They were watching, trying to mask their curiosity behind glasses of liquor or whispered words.

Finally, the bartender grunted, his suspicion still evident but tempered by some unspoken understanding.

He stepped away, leaving Watts alone with his drink and his thoughts, the room’s pink glow casting long shadows around him.

The bartender returned after a few tense moments, his expression as begrudging as ever.

In his hand was a small, crumpled paper slip. He slid it across the counter toward Watts without a word.

The faint hum of the bar seemed to quieten as Watts picked up the slip, unfolding it to reveal a single number scrawled hastily in black ink.

Watts glanced at the bartender, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What’s this?" he asked.

The bartender didn’t answer verbally, merely nodding toward the back of the bar, his jaw tightening.

It wasn’t an invitation—it was a command. Watts gave a small, acknowledging nod, downed the rest of his whiskey, and slid off the stool.

He moved deliberately, weaving through the crowd, his eyes scanning for potential threats even as the thumping bass of the music and the pink lights swirled around him.

Reaching the back of the bar, Watts encountered two women standing guard near an unmarked door.

At first glance, they seemed like regular strippers—clad in provocative outfits, their bodies poised against the wall with a sultry confidence.

But Watts’ trained eye picked up the details others would miss: their stance, the tension in their shoulders, and the way their sharp gazes flickered over him, assessing, calculating.

One of them stepped forward, her hand brushing against her hip in what seemed a casual gesture but positioned her near a concealed weapon.

"This area’s off-limits," she said, her voice honeyed but firm.

Watts didn’t flinch. He held up the paper slip, letting her see the number. The woman leaned closer, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined it.

After a pause, she exchanged a glance with her partner and stepped aside, opening the door for him.

"You’re expected," she said flatly.

One of the women accompanied him down a narrow corridor. Her movements were fluid, almost silent, and Watts stayed alert, noting every door they passed, every faint noise in the background.

At the end of the hallway, she stopped in front of another door and opened it, gesturing for him to enter.

Watts stepped inside and found himself in a dimly lit room that exuded sophistication.

The walls were adorned with intricate patterns and muted golden accents, and the furniture was a blend of old-world elegance and modern design.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, a faint smoky trail curling upward from a burner on a low table.

Across the room, a petite woman emerged from an adjoining doorway, still drying her hair with a small white towel.

Her damp, dark hair clung to her face, framing striking features that held an effortless beauty. She was dressed only in the towel, which hung loosely around her slender frame.

Her movements were casual, but her sharp eyes betrayed a keen intelligence.

It was obvious she had just finished taking a bath. But even after she knew she had guests, she didn’t seem bothered.

Just continuing to dry her damp hair.

"Anitta," Watts said, his tone calm but deliberate.

She looked up, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to cautious interest.

"You know, it’s not every day someone drops that name," Anitta said, her voice honeyed but laced with an undercurrent of steel.

She gave him a look, the damp ends of her hair brushing her collarbone. "You better have something worth my time."

Everybody around here cslled her Ms. Lau Lau, just a few people knew her real name.

Watts however, responded with a code phrase—a string of words he had ’stole’ from the fragmented memories he had inherited from Number 1 of the Council.

Apparently, he usually had business with her, smuggling things in and out of the hidden cities.

The moment the words left his lips, Anitta’s demeanor shifted. Her eyes narrowed for a brief second, then softened with understanding.

"Number 1 sent you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

Watts nodded once, his expression unreadable.

Anitta’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned to the woman who had escorted him.

With a slight tilt of her head, she dismissed her, and the woman left without a word, closing the door behind her.

Anitta moved toward a desk at the other side of the room, her towel still loosely wrapped around her.

Anitta moved with a grace that belied her power, her petite frame commanding the room effortlessly.

The towel might have been an afterthought, but her eyes, sharp as a blade, revealed a predator’s instinct.

She gestured for Watts to sit opposite her, lowering herself into a chair with the same casual confidence she had displayed earlier.

"So," she said, leaning back slightly, her dark eyes locking onto his, "what can I help you with?"