Chapter 51 - The Bet

"How dare you!""There’s nothing I don’t dare to do."

The Deerman glanced around and saw a white-haired little girl slowly walk to the front of his car, blocking the path forward.

Judging purely from her aura, Mr. Hao determined that the little girl was very strong, stronger than most of his subordinates, with at least the strength of a Two Tier Cleaner.

He held a high position, managing a powerful gang in Nest City, and was usually not afraid of the likes of Cleaners.

To him, Low Tier Cleaners were just slightly stronger individual thugs in the city, posing no threat when faced with a well-armed gang.

Encountering assassination attempts by Cleaners was not a first for him, but never had a Cleaner dared to walk right up to him in such a grand manner, at such a close distance!

As long as he gave the order, the Lion Group surrounding him could easily tear these two apart.

But at such a close range, if these two wanted to do something irrational, he couldn’t ensure his own safety.

Tsk... and right at this moment!

None of his subordinates were by his side. Even if they rushed over now, it would take some time.

"You madman!" Mr. Hao muttered in a low voice.

Xu Xiaoyou showed no reaction to this, merely wrapping a roll of bandages slowly around her hand without any expression, one circle after another.

Once the bandage was thick around her hand, Xu Xiaoyou took a step forward.

Seeing the girl’s actions, Mr. Hao silently moved away from the car window.

Noticing Deerman’s reaction, Xu Xiaoyou smiled slightly, did nothing irrational, just bent down, breathed lightly on the car window, then used her bandaged hand to wipe away the fog on the glass to make it clear.

Mr. Hao gave the girl a deep look.

"I’m not a madman, I’m a gambler."

"The biggest difference between a gambler and a madman is whether one can remain rational and win when going all in."

"I don’t want this to turn too ugly, Mr. Hao."

"Why don’t we talk things over, shall we?"

"Anya, start the two-minute timer now."

The ambiguous words pushed the Deerman’s vigilance to its peak.

Time started slipping away, second by second.

Not long ago, on the other side.

A few members of the Lion Group cornered a boy in an alley, the leading Lion panting heavily.

"What’s up with this little brat, running so damn fast!"

"Don’t come near! I’m not going with you, I need to go back and find my mom!"

Just as the boy was about to run, a pair of strong hands suddenly grabbed him.

Upon seeing the scarred face, the boy was frightened. The Lion before him looked like a fierce beast, a scar between the brows seemed to hide storms, eyes sharp like blades.

The scar-faced man raised his hand, and the boy, frightened, covered his face.

In the end, it was just a warm, rough large hand that patted his head, accompanied by a deep voice that didn’t match his appearance:

"Go back, your dad has been waiting for you for a long time."

"He’s not my dad at all! Why didn’t he show up when mom was struggling, why didn’t he show up when I was sick!?"

"He only showed up now! Mom’s gone, and he only shows up..."

"Only after it’s too late for everything, he appears."

"Why doesn’t he just die!!"

The scar-faced man didn’t know what to say, and just silently listened to the boy cry and shout at him, venting his fists on him over and over, releasing all his emotions.

He could understand the child’s current emotions, a tragic and incomplete childhood.

The surrounding Lions shrugged, looking at one another without saying anything.

Finally, the boy, as if having enough, wiped away his tears, no longer throwing a tantrum, with red, swollen eyes: "We need to hold a funeral for mom."

"We need the biggest funeral, so everyone in the slum knows."

The scar-faced man gave a nod.

"He has to be there, otherwise, I absolutely won’t go with you. Even if you take me away by force, I’ll secretly slip away."

The surrounding Lions couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

"What are you laughing at! What are you laughing at!" The boy felt a hit to his pride, raising his voice.

The scar-faced man saw the boy’s stubbornness, as if seeing the shadow of his father in him.

So young, yet knowing how to use his own chips to negotiate.

Just like the boss.

Thinking this, he finally agreed to the boy’s request.

Just as the farce ended and the Lions planned to wrap things up, countless shadows suddenly emerged from both ends of the alley.

"Hmm?" The scar-faced man noticed something was wrong.

The people looked like local street punks, sporting Mohawks, with graffiti painted faces, wearing bizarre outfits with chain-like embellishments.

Faintly, the roar from motorcycle engines grew louder and more gang members gathered around. They parked their heavily modified bikes at the alley entrance, blocking it.

The stooped Lion almost burst into laughter, seeing these punks with sticks daring to cause trouble, he put his hands in his pockets:

"Damn, how dare you come looking for trouble with us! Do you know who we are!?"

"We’re the f**king Lion Group..."

Before Manji could finish shouting, a brick smashed on his forehead, blood splattering instantly.

Clutching his head, he retreated with a howl, anger etched on his face.

Did this group of punks really have the guts to attack them?

Did they really not know who they were?

The leading punk rested a crowbar on his shoulder, chewing gum, picking his nose with disdain:

"Lion Group? What the hell is that supposed to be, never heard of it, are you all that mighty?"

"I only know someone gave me a few hundred credits to come and beat the hell out of you guys."

"Brothers! Charge, beat them senseless for me!" he shouted. "Let them know how tough we are!"

The black mass launched an assault from both ends towards the center, interspersed with excited cheers and shouts.

"A few hundred credits? That’s gotta be a joke!"

"These punk kids really are..."

A Lion cracked his neck, a series of cracks, sunk into a battle stance before sending a punk flying with a punch and kicking another approaching him away.

A metal rod struck the back of his head with a dull thud.

The dizzy sensation made him click his tongue, baring his teeth as he shook his head, turning back with a deafening roar.

The punks were frightened by the lion’s roar but, emboldened by their numbers, soon gathered their courage to charge once more.

Clearly, in terms of physique and close combat skills, these young punks were no match for the Lions. But the punks were many in number, plus their youthful bravado led to chaotic scenes.

In the melee, the scar-faced man protected the boy behind him, lifting a punk with one hand and hurling him into the crowd, knocking down a slew immediately.

He scanned the surroundings, feeling an increasing sense of foreboding.

Why would someone choose this time to send these wet-behind-the-ears kids against them?

Knowing that these kids could never pose a threat.

Did they aim to keep them tied up here?

Suddenly, a sense of alarm struck his heart.

No!

The boss is in danger!