The First Heir by Master Yu Who Smokes

“Wait, Philip, hold on. Why the rush? It’s not always that we get to meet old classmates. Let’s talk for a little longer.” Wesley ran after him. Philip’s eyebrows furrowed further, his expression darkening. There was little he and Wesley Warren had in common. Philip would very much rather not deal with old classmates like him anymore. They had changed—changed into people of greater statuses. Philip shook his head and said coldly, “Back then, you were but a piece of trash to me, Wesley Warren. Though I did not expect that you’d still be a piece of trash now.” Wesley froze. “What did you say?”

He did not expect a sentence like that to come out from the mouth of a good-for-nothing like Philip Clarke. He called him a piece of trash? Who was the real piece of trash here? “You think that now you’re the manager of Arc de Triumph, you’re at the top of the world? So cool now, are you? So you’re showing it off to rub it in my face? What’s wrong with us delivery boys?

Clarke you dumb f*cker, are you kidding me?” Wesley laughed, his expression potent with means to mock. “I, the manager of Arc de Triumph, earn a monthly salary of 40 thousand! You’re just a

you have that’s better than me in terms of familial background, status, and contacts? How am I

were f*cking great during university. You even had yourself a bunch of juniors falling at your feet. Why’re you delivering food now? I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause you suck! You are all pieces of trash in my eyes! So what if I think I’m better than you all?” Wesley seemed proud of himself. Not only had Wesley offended Philip with what

are you, some kind of god? Think you’re on the top of the world?” “F*ck this! I hate people like you, I’m gonna f*ck you up! Absolutely disgusting!” Instantly, the lobby began to riot. Many had resorted to violence. They were letting their fists do the talking. Right then, tens of bodyguards rushed to the scene. With Wesley protected behind them, the bodyguards stood off against Philip’s mob of people. “F*ck! They have the f*cking galls to hit me! What are you doing? Get this group of busybodies out!” Wesley roared as he straightened his suit and touched the spot on his face where he had been punched. The group of bodyguards had Philip’s mob of people surrounded in an instant. Merely surrounded and nothing more. There were too many people, after all. Over 60 of them. All of them stood on Philip’s side as they glared at Wesley. “Very well, Philip Clarke. Can’t get you to leave on your own, huh? Fine. If you don’t want to leave on your own, then don’t blame me for not being polite!” Wesley glared ominously at Philip. With that, Wesley pulled out his cell and called security. “I’ve got work for you. Get here!” Elated was an understatement to how he felt at the moment for he could pretty much already see the scene of Philip Clarke being shamefully thrown out of the hotel. Trying to look cool in front of me with a gang of delivery boys? F*ck

that Manager Warren. These are our hotel’s VIP clients!” The head of security was stunned. Although he had no idea what was going on, it was evident to him that Wesley was picking on Philip’s group of people. “What do you mean you can’t? They’re merely a bunch of delivery boys, how can they be our hotel’s VIP clients?” Wesley sneered, a mocking expression painting his face. He then slapped the head of security, pointed his finger