"Let me go back! Who the hell are you people?!"
The murderer had a black hood over his head and couldn't see a thing, yet he was still full of swagger. This gifted son of heaven, who had never suffered much setback since childhood, sat cross-legged on a chair, chest out and head held high, facing two kidnappers he had never met before.
Irish stared at the tool who had indirectly caused his injury, his fists itching. If they had caught this guy before he entered the Police Station, things would have been much easier. Then he could have used whatever methods he wanted and definitely gotten more useful information out of him.
Irish: "..." Unfortunately, while dodging the falling man who had been kicked at him, his wound had split open. He could only leave the scene in a hurry to avoid being cornered by the police and had no energy to spare for this.
...That bastard Uzo. Sooner or later, he would kill him.
Irish solemnly swore this oath in his heart for who knew how many times.
Then he glanced at his confidant and jerked his chin at the murderer.
Hashimoto Maya immediately understood his boss's meaning. He cleared his throat and obediently served as the questioning tool. "Relax, we're not bad people. We just have a question for you—who did you learn that murder method of using a person to smash another person from?"
The murderer froze. A moment later, he gave an angry, cold laugh. "Why would I need to learn what methods I use from someone else? I came up with that myself, of course!"
The thought that this kidnapper dared question him made the murderer deeply displeased. "Oh, I get it. You think the method was too exquisite to believe it came from