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One of the underlings swallowed and said, "Boss, that's a lot of Franklins."

The boss smacked him on the head. "You think I'm blind?" His heart began pounding uncontrollably. He would swear on it—that was a huge sum of money. If they could get their hands on it, they could live it up for quite a while.

But just as he reached for the gun at his waist, he saw the smiling face of that Asian boy. It was like a basin of cold water had been dumped over his head, and some of the reason scattered by the American dollars returned to his brain.

"Boss, what's wrong? If we don't move now, someone else will get it first," his underling said anxiously.

"Jeremy, listen to me. That money isn't ours to touch. Trust me!" The boss shook his head, dragging back the rest of his sanity before speaking with firm resolve.

"Why?"

"My sixth sense!"

His underling froze, then fell silent.

"Boss, I believe you!"

Although unwilling, the underling still took a step back.

Nonsense. Several people who hadn't believed him before now had tombstones covered in moss. If not for the boss's sixth sense, he would have ended up dead in the street several times already. Sometimes, he wondered whether his boss might be a mutant.

Making a living as a street thug was no easy business.

The pay was low, the competition was fierce, and a bullet could take you out at any time.

Hayato had long noticed the greedy looks from those two little thugs. He was just surprised to see them restrain their greed.

But they might not have come looking for Hayato, yet Hayato had set his sights on them.

He watched the two enter a dilapidated three-story building. In the courtyard,