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Soon, Hayato had an extra stack of cash in his hand—dimes, fifty-cent coins, with the largest bill being a twenty-dollar note.

The three of them combined had less than fifty dollars to their names, and the money was crumpled and greasy.

Broke. Asses.

Considering Hayato was a penniless, utterly broke man himself, he reluctantly decided to "rob the rich to help the poor."

The three black guys hung their heads dejectedly.

Kevin was more broad-minded—or, in the traditional sense, just a little slow. He stared with wide, inquisitive eyes and asked, "Sir, are you a mutant?"

Hayato: ??? He had no idea what that meant.

Mutant meant "a genetically altered human," but it wasn't on China's college entrance exam syllabus. Hayato had absolutely no impression of the word, so he still felt as though there was a barrier separating him from the world he was in.

That barrier was soon pierced.

Hayato suddenly turned his head, stared upward, and widened his eyes.

A strand of web descended, and a strange man slid down upside down. "Hey, guys, I heard someone saying they had a gun from pretty far away. Oh, oh, the gun is in this gentleman's hand. I don't know whether this gentleman is the owner of this gun or whether he has a legal permit to carry it. Uh... although I'm not a police officer and don't have the authority to ask that, please believe me, I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. This is merely a friendly inquiry, so could this gentleman... Sorry, sorry, your eyes—I understand now. I misunderstood you. Damn it, I'm such an idiot. You have to forgive me. Today has really been a tough day. First, I