The Tiger About to Fade Is Still a Tiger

Why should anyone else get to take the hard-earned money I worked my ass off to make?

Lake narrowed his eyes and mercilessly unleashed a group taunt at the many assassins in the bar.

The expressions of the assassins throughout the bar changed in unison.

Smack!

A bald man with the codename Baldhead, who looked exactly like his name suggested, slammed the table and rose to his feet. "Black King, you're too arrogant."

The corners of Lake's mouth curled upward. "Is that so? Sorry, that's just the kind of person I am. If you don't like it, shoot me."

"You think I don't dare?"

"Heh."

Lake lowered his head and chuckled.

The next second—

A Glock 17 appeared in Lake's hand, its muzzle aimed at the bald man.

The bald man's expression changed drastically. "Black King, this is The Continental Hotel."

Lake tilted his head. "I know. I also know that I dare to shoot here. Want to bet?"

Baldhead: "..."

The bartender stopped polishing the glass in his hand. He did not report the situation, however, and instead watched with great interest from the side.

The other assassins made no move either. They merely looked at Lake and Baldhead.

A faint smile had remained on Lake's face from beginning to end.

Baldhead's eyes, meanwhile, darted around uneasily.

After a while—

Baldhead snorted, calling him a madman, then got to his feet and walked toward the elevator.

Fine.

He didn't dare to bet.

Although the rule forbidding gunfire inside The Continental Hotel was ironclad, if Lake really fired, Baldhead would die too. No matter how one calculated it, Baldhead would be the one losing out.

So...

Baldhead backed down.

Seeing this, Lake chuckled. He spun the pistol once around his hand before making it disappear.

"Impressive."

"Not as impressive as you."

Lake smiled at Carlos, who was seated across from him. "You're one of the ranked assassins in the killer world. I'm just a nobody, earning my money the hard way. So if someone wants to steal my money, I'll get very angry—so angry that only killing that person's entire family and leaving no survivors will ease the hatred in my heart."

His voice was low, but it was loud enough to carry throughout the entire bar.

Once again, Lake was warning everyone in the bar not to come after his money.

Just then—

A voice came through the bar's loudspeaker.

"The assassin Cross's expulsion order will take effect in one hour. The bounty is one million five hundred thousand dollars. The bounty is open to everyone."

It had begun!

Lake raised an eyebrow and looked at Carlos across from him.

Carlos's expression did not change in the slightest.

He knew this moment would come and had already prepared himself mentally.

The many assassins in the bar began moving restlessly toward the elevator, planning to get outside The Continental Hotel first and find advantageous positions.

The bartender had already stepped out from behind the bar and was preparing to politely invite Carlos to leave. From the moment the expulsion order took effect, all businesses under The Continental Hotel, as well as every service in the assassin world, would be closed to Carlos.

"Cross, first—"

"Wait."

"..."

Carlos raised a hand at the bartender, who had already reached the table, asking him to wait. Then he downed the last glass of whiskey in front of him and looked at Lake. "Can you give me one night?"

Lake said nothing, merely looking at Carlos.

Carlos smiled. "Since I'm leaving, I plan to find a few more people to accompany me. Can you give me one night?"

"I don't mind," Lake said. "But can you hold out that long?"

He had told his girlfriend, Maureen, that he was going out to buy a pack of cigarettes. If he stayed out for another two hours, Lake felt that his girlfriend would probably call emergency services and report that he had vanished while out buying cigarettes.

Then the NYPD would mobilize across the entire city, and that would be troublesome.

After all, it wasn't impossible, considering that Lake had wiped out an entire assassin organization not long ago.

But...

Could Carlos hold out through the night?

"Don't worry!" Carlos stood up and handed Lake a slip of paper. "For him, I'll keep going. It's the only thing I can do."

Lake accepted the slip without looking at it and nodded. "All right. Happy hunting."

Carlos smiled. "Thanks!"

With that, Carlos turned and walked toward the elevator, his stride carefree.

New York was probably about to be swept up in a storm of blood tonight.

That was what Lake thought as he downed the bourbon in front of him. Then, after figuring that Carlos had already left The Continental Hotel, he rose and walked toward the elevator.

The bounty was somewhat lower than the two million dollars he had imagined.

But...

One and a half million dollars was still a lot. It was enough for fifteen prize draws.

A huge profit.

Starlight Tower.

Maureen was sitting at the bar in her pajamas, reading a book while waiting for Lake to return. When he entered, she turned around and frowned slightly. "Did you run all the way to New Jersey to buy cigarettes?"

Lake shrugged. "I ran into a friend on the way and chatted for a while."

Maureen rolled her eyes at Lake, stood up, and came over to help him take off his coat. Her movements paused slightly. "You drank too?"

"I just had a couple of drinks at a bar."

Maureen was speechless. "You're injured, and you're still drinking? Do you really think you're made of iron?"

"That playboy is the one made of iron."

"What?"

"...Nothing!"

Lake laughed awkwardly and wrapped one arm around his girlfriend. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I'll probably be fully recovered in three days."

Maureen looked at Lake helplessly, sighed, and shook her head. "Go take a shower."

Lake smiled. "Yes, ma'am!"

Late at night—

Bare-chested, Lake leaned against the bed. He first glanced at his girlfriend, Maureen, sleeping peacefully beside him, then shifted his gaze to the bedroom's bay window, wanting to see New York beneath the stars through the curtains.

New York was probably going to be especially busy tonight.

Two hours had already passed.

Carlos's final hunt had probably begun as well. Lake wondered how many overconfident assassins would be buried alongside Carlos.

That was what Lake thought.

In Lake's mind, Carlos was even more dangerous than John Wick.

It was simple.

Carlos was a top assassin of the Assistance, possessing the miraculous skill of Gun Fu, while John Wick was just as formidable. But in terms of individual combat power, he was far inferior to Carlos, who could make bullets turn corners.

Of the assassins in the killer world, eighty percent knew nothing but how to spray bullets. They might have a chance if they attacked together, but anyone hoping to take Carlos's bounty alone was undoubtedly volunteering to be served up.

Lake glanced at the phone beside his bed.

He wasn't worried in the slightest that it might ring later. Before Carlos's bounty became active, the corpse-collection teams from The Continental Hotel had probably already begun spreading throughout every corner of New York.

No bodies.

Naturally, there would be no cases. However, the patrol officers were probably going to be sleepless tonight.