Chapter 60: What

The enforcer muttered curses about his boss’s entire family as he stood at the deli counter ordering, knowing he’d have to pay for this meal himself.

Kent hadn’t given him any money—this wasn’t the first time, and though he was furious, he swallowed his anger because his monthly salary had never been short.

Sometimes, when faced with injustice, you can’t hold back—because once you retreat one step, you’ll keep retreating forever.

There were no fast-food joints nearby, only bakeries and delis; to find a fast-food place, you had to go to the gas station, a bit farther away.

Empire natives weren’t used to the Federation’s fast food—perhaps because it hadn’t been localized yet; only when second-, third-, or even Nth-generation immigrants—those who proudly boasted “I’m one-sixteenth Empire blood” or “I’m one-thirty-second Empire blood”—became the community’s majority would they come to like it.

But now, these first-generation immigrants, including the younger ones among them, might find Federation fast food interesting, but wouldn’t eat it daily.

Bread and deli meats, however, drew more customers; restaurants were also a decent option, but with so many people, it would cost a fortune.

The enforcer ordered several chopped pork knuckles, a pile of the cheapest bread, a large bag of one-credit fruit salad, and a bundle of chilled beer—that was their lunch.

He pinched a piece and shoved it in his mouth; the fried pork knuckle’s exterior was crisp, and as the skin cracked, fat and juice burst forth, filling his mouth with meaty aroma.

This might be the most enjoyable part of his food run—he’d pick the best cuts, devour them greedily, and leave the rest for them to fight over!

As he passed by a side alley, he noticed three cars parked there and stopped.

This wasn’t the Bay or the Harbor; though cars passed by occasionally, few ever stopped.

In Empire tradition, buying a house weighed heavier than buying a car, so in Empire districts, it was almost unheard of for someone to rent a home while driving a luxury vehicle.

He was curious—why were so many cars parked here? But curiosity was dangerous; once you felt it, you’d inevitably want to know what was happening.

Curious, he lit a cigarette at the alley’s mouth and peered inside; after all, their casino was right next door—he needed to know if anyone else was running illegal operations here.

But one look revealed a problem.

He saw Lans—and Lans saw him. They locked eyes for a few seconds, and the enforcer’s heart lurched—he bolted.

Lans, who had been discussing how to handle Kent, shouted, “Catch him!” and sprinted ahead; the others followed.

The enforcer had never known he could run this fast!

For a moment, he thought if he could maintain this speed, he might win a sprint championship.

But soon, fatigue hit, and his body screamed in protest.

He hadn’t even reached fifty meters before his speed dropped sharply; the food in his hands became a burden—he hurled it behind him, hoping to slow the approaching pursuers.

In contrast, Lans and his group were all in their early twenties, slender and strong; the distance between them had shrunk to mere steps.

After a few more strides, Lans shoved him hard in the back—the enforcer lost his balance and crashed to the ground.

He rolled over, scrambled to his feet, desperate to run again—but it was too late.

Elvin leapt and slammed into him, knocking the enforcer back down.

They tumbled together, surrounded.

The enforcer glared fiercely at the youths, especially Lans—he’d seen big scenes before, and inwardly, he wasn’t afraid. “You’re starting a war, Lans!” He knew Lans’s name—he spat it out correctly.

Lans, breathing hard, lifted his foot and kicked the enforcer’s head, grinding his cheek into the ground. “What the hell were you running for?”

“Huh?”

He pressed down harder, then released, took a deep breath, crouched, and slapped the enforcer’s face. “I like your eyes. Here’s your chance: open the door for us, and I’ll let you go.”

The enforcer said nothing, still staring at Lans with faint contempt—as if to say, “Your threats mean nothing to me.”

Ethan moved to strike, but Lans stopped him.

A few punches wouldn’t change anything—he had confidence. His experience told him these youths wouldn’t kill him, and he knew their names—they’d retaliate.

With that confidence, he felt no fear, no intimidation—he clung to the belief: “The more I suffer today, the more viciously I’ll repay tomorrow.”

So you could beat him, even break his leg—he’d endure it.

That was the difference between gang members and Elnio and the other youths.

Lans pulled out a folding knife. Before the enforcer could speak, Lans stabbed him in the buttock—the blow made the enforcer panic.

He opened his mouth to scream, but Lans punched his cheek—the scream turned into a muffled groan.

“Guess what—I might stab your artery next time?”

He paused, then added, “This is my problem with Kent. If you insist on sticking your nose in, Angel Lake will weep for you.”

Before, if Lans had threatened him with death, he might’ve thought… it was a joke.

Now, he was afraid.

“I…”

Lans pulled back his coat, revealing the gun inside. “After today, there won’t be a Kent in Jingang City. My patience is limited, friend.”

He turned to Mo Lisi. “Go pick up the food he dropped.”

Then he stood, grabbed the enforcer’s arm, pulled him up, and brushed the dust off his clothes himself. “Don’t disappoint me, friend.”

The enforcer stayed silent—but this silence was different from before.

Lans took the food bags from Mo Lisi and held them himself. “I’m coming with you. Don’t try anything.”

He shoved the enforcer forward. “I’ll tell everyone I forced you—you’re innocent.”

The enforcer sighed quietly. “Kent’s brother is a high-ranking officer in the Kamir Gang. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Lans shook his head. “That’s tomorrow’s problem. Today, I’m taking him down—and I won’t say it again.”

With so many witnesses here, if he backed down now, he might as well buy a ticket back to the Empire.

He didn’t want to go back to the Empire.

The enforcer stopped resisting. What do you do when you meet a madman?

He limped ahead, pain fueling his fear—and shifting his emotions.

Some onlookers saw them “making up,” and some youths began gesturing with two fingers to their eyes, then to the crowd—warning witnesses they’d been memorized. The onlookers wisely scattered.

Watching gang conflicts was stupid—you might end up dead as a “witness.”

Minutes later, the enforcer pounded on the door. “Damn it, open up!”

A voice from inside replied, “What’s for lunch today?”

“Fried chicken or pork knuckles?”

He didn’t even look—he opened the door, then froze.

The enforcer’s cheeks were swollen, his clothes dusted despite being brushed, and blood seeped through his waist.

Before he could ask, “What happened?”, a gun was pointed at him.

The guard slowly raised his hands. “Calm down, brother. Nothing can’t be discussed.”

He shot a furious glare at the enforcer, mentally cursing his friend’s entire family.

Soon, he recognized the group—his expression twisted. The events of yesterday were still fresh; he hadn’t forgotten.

Between his own misfortune and his boss’s, he chose his boss’s downfall. “This has nothing to do with me—I didn’t lift a finger yesterday!”

Lans tilted his head, signaling them to go down. The two guards exchanged glances—they didn’t want to go down there one bit.

Once, they’d thought the basement was hidden, safe. Now, why the hell had Kent chosen a basement for his casino?

Why not set it up in the middle of the square?

But the dark muzzle swayed—and their hearts pounded with every swing.

“Walk down slowly. Anyone runs, anyone speaks—I shoot.” Lans’s voice was soft, but it sent chills through them.

They gritted their teeth and stepped inside; the others followed Lans into the basement.

Kent had no idea he had less than ten seconds left before disaster struck—he scratched his feet, chuckling with the guards over lewd jokes.

When he heard heavy footsteps descending, he grinned. “Damn, you’re finally back—I’m starving!”

“Let old man see what you bought me!”

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