Fried Chicken Face Smear

"Same rule as always—three per person, max."

After giving the usual heads-up, Feeney started business. Skye, for her part, set aside her earlier questions about what had happened on campus. Feeney handled the cooking, while she was in charge of taking payments and handing out ingredients.

The Upper East Side of Manhattan was basically where New York's wealthiest lived. The Stark Tower Feeney had checked out earlier was in this district too.

So even though he was selling Sumire's Fried Chicken Rolls at a sky-high price of ten US dollars each, buyers didn't even blink. Plenty of them wanted to grab more than the limit.

"Hey, Feeney, we've known each other this long—throw in an extra couple, yeah?"

A man in his thirties, dressed sharp in a suit, grinned and tried to cozy up to Feeney as he worked the fry station with practiced ease.

"Mr. Wright, you're a big boss yourself, so you know all about keeping your word."

Feeney shrugged with a helpless look, then added, "And look, there's only so much stock. If I make an exception for you, everyone else in line will want one too. In the end, a lot of folks would miss out. If they get mad enough to trash my little shop, you won't be eating these anymore."

"Alright, alright. Three it is."

Feeling the glares from the people behind him, the man called Wright gave an awkward laugh, paid up quickly, and stepped aside. He found a spot to sit, took a bite of the fragrant fried chicken roll, and wore an expression of pure bliss. Anyone watching might've wondered if Feeney was really selling fried chicken rolls or something else entirely.

It wasn't until the sky had gone completely dark that Feeney finally sent off the last customer.

After hanging the "Irregular Hours" sign back on the door, he returned to the shop to clean up. Spotting Skye still cheerfully counting cash, he couldn't help but tease her: "Don't get too excited. You only get a tenth of that."

Skye's smile froze instantly. When she turned around, her face had shifted into a pitiful, wronged look, complete with fake tears. She whined sweetly, "I'm your sister! I've worked so hard for you—how can you bear to give me just a tenth?!"

"How about a twentieth?"

Feeney played dumb.

"Hmph!"

Her expression snapped back to normal. She shot him a glare, then went back to happily counting the money.

Even though Feeney always said she only got a tenth, whenever she needed cash, he never hesitated to hand it over. So this money might as well have been all hers anyway.

Feeney just smiled at that. After tossing the trash and changing clothes, he walked over to Skye, ready to mess with her a bit more.

Just then, two people walked into the shop. Feeney turned to say they were closed, but his eyes narrowed and his heart tightened.

"Don't move. Hand over the money."

Skye, still counting, stared blankly at the scene. In all these years, she'd never been this close to a gun before. Panic flickered through her, and she quickly looked at Feeney. He gave her a reassuring glance.

Feeney did not expect this. This was the Upper East Side—a gathering place for the rich and business elites. The gang factions here were tangled and complex, and the small-time thugs usually knew the rules. They didn't cause trouble in this area.

A real assassin wouldn't bother with a tiny shop like this either. Besides, his location wasn't great, his hours were irregular, and he wasn't competing with anyone.

So in two years, this was the first time he'd faced a robbery here—or rather, a disturbance.

Feeney raised his hands, not making any sudden moves. He edged sideways carefully while addressing the two masked robbers: "The money's all here. Please don't hurt us."

"You—pack the cash up for me." One robber barked at Skye, then aimed his gun at Feeney and snarled, "You stay put. Don't try anything funny."

Seeing Feeney nod and give her a comforting look, Skye's hands trembled slightly as she found a backpack and started stuffing money into it.

"Hurry it up!"

The other robber urged impatiently.

Feeney watched them, frowning as he thought it over. If it were just him, he could probably take them down with his abilities. But with Skye here, he didn't want to take that risk.

He could tell these two were just street punks. They might not even be in a gang—otherwise, they wouldn't think of pulling a robbery here. That was breaking the rules.

Losing a day's earnings wasn't a big deal to Feeney. And even with a gun pointed at him, he wasn't a hundred percent sure he could disarm them.

But things rarely go as planned.

The robber keeping watch by the door, for some reason, turned back to size up Skye and made a sleazy comment: "Big Brother, this chick's pretty hot!"

Skye's face went pale with fear, and Feeney's frown deepened.

"Shut up. Grab the money and let's go!"

The robber holding the gun on Feeney clearly didn't want trouble. He snapped at his partner, ordering him to wrap it up.

"Heh, got it!"

The guy let out a weird laugh and headed toward Skye, clearly up to no good.

Feeney took a deep breath, his focus sharpening. If they'd just robbed him and left, he'd have let it slide. But they had to go and push it. He didn't want to expose himself, but he couldn't accept his relatives getting hurt either.

Eight years—he hadn't just been improving his fried chicken rolls every day.

"Now, look behind you."

As the man was about to pass by Yiran, the Golden Great Deduction Technique activated. The two robbers were forced by that power to turn their heads.

Fast as the wind.

The moment they turned, Feeney lunged at the one holding the gun.

Using some basic fighting moves he'd picked up online, he snatched the gun away and knocked the man to the ground.

But before he could relax, he glanced at the other robber and saw his hand instinctively reaching toward his waist.

"He's got a gun too!"

The thought flashed through Feeney's mind. Then came—

"Can't let him pull out the gun."

At that moment, the distance between them was about three meters. The robber beside him was on the ground but not yet fully subdued. If he used the 'Golden Great Deduction Technique' to stop the other from reaching for his gun, it might face strong resistance from his willpower and could even fail.

If he fired first, at this close range—even though it was his first time—the chance of hitting was very high.

In a split second, Feeney made a decision. To ensure safety, as he pulled the trigger, he unconsciously used his most familiar skill.

Three steaming Sumire's Fried Chicken Rolls appeared instantly, slapping onto the face of the robber who was about to draw his gun.

In his desperation, 'Sumire's Fried Chicken Roll' had actually broken through, allowing him to summon three at once—truly a cause for celebration.

"Bang!"

The gunshot rang out. To Feeney's surprise, he missed even at this close range. He had aimed at the other's thigh, but the bullet grazed past his pants.

Still, the gunshot startled the robber in front of him. After the Sumire's Fried Chicken Rolls fell to the ground, he didn't dare reach for his gun again.

"Don't move. Move an inch, and I'll shoot directly."

Seeing this, Feeney immediately threatened. Perhaps because of the earlier shot, the robber was a bit frightened and stood still obediently.

Then, Feeney quickly checked the robber who had been on the ground. He kicked him in the stomach first to keep him down, then shouted at Skye:

"Skye, call the police!"

It all happened so fast. The two robbers were subdued in the blink of an eye. Skye stared dumbly at the scene, still processing what had just occurred.

Only after Feeney's call did she snap out of it, pulling out her phone to dial the police.

"Big Brother, Big Brother, we were wrong. Don't call the police."

Hearing that Feeney intended to call the police, the robbers panicked and immediately begged for mercy. Feeney, who had planned to ignore them, paused when he saw the fried chicken rolls on the ground.

"Skye, wait a moment."

Skye, who had already keyed in the number and was about to dial, froze. But after glancing at Feeney, who was frowning in thought, she obediently put the phone down.

Seeing that Feeney had actually agreed, both robbers were a bit surprised, but quickly put on grateful expressions: "Thank you, thank you!"

Feeney, however, deeply regretted using Sumire's Fried Chicken Rolls to slap their faces on impulse. If the police came and wanted to check the store's surveillance footage, it would be troublesome.

As for silencing them, Feeney never even considered it—that would be more trouble than just handing them over to the Police Station.

Hope someone will support me!