Cat

Over the past few days, the world in the shadows had not undergone any earth-shattering changes because of Kingpin and Owl's deaths. Perhaps something should have changed; at least, Leon thought so.

But he had apparently underestimated S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control over the forces of darkness and overestimated Kingpin and Owl. After resting for just one day, Leon had gone back out under the excuse of testing his equipment and skills to cause trouble again. Yet the streets were nowhere near as chaotic as he had imagined.

Still, it was not as though he had gained nothing.

Wild Style Bar.

Jason felt that business had been particularly difficult lately. A few days ago, he had heard rumors that the leaders of the two biggest local groups had both been taken out, and one of their headquarters had even been stormed by a single person!

How could that be possible? It was nothing more than a lie invented by ignorant drunks trying to show off how "well-informed" they were.

As both bartender and owner of a bar, he had heard far too much of this kind of nonsense.

Last year, he had even heard someone claim that the ashes of ghosts smashed apart by some flaming skull-headed figure wielding chains could cure erectile dysfunction. The man had made it sound so convincing, as if he himself were that chain!

What utter stupidity! He had the nerve to ask for a hundred dollars a bottle for that grayish water!

Jason had bought two bottles for only eighty dollars.

That was called wisdom!

But then again, all those assorted rumors had little to do with him. He was just an ordinary citizen running an ordinary little bar in a bad location. He did not care about any of that; he only cared about business.

Business had been bad lately. That was the real headache.

Since it was a small bar, it naturally did not have any fine liquor, nor did it offer any exciting entertainment. Its main clientele was actually those mediocre hoodlums who drifted around aimlessly.

These days, those guys all seemed to have run into trouble, as if they had made an appointment. Two today, two tomorrow, all with injuries on their faces—bruises, swelling, black eyes. Anyone who did not know better might have thought some prizefighting tournament had come to the neighborhood.

After arriving at the bar, they behaved even more strangely. They looked at one another, pointed at the injuries on their own faces, then pointed wildly at their faces again before nodding in mutual understanding and clinking glasses.

There was no verbal communication whatsoever.

The biggest taboo in this line of work was prying into a customer's privacy. Curiosity could easily bring trouble. But Jason was truly far too curious about this!

What the hell was going on?

Ding!

The swinging double doors in the style of an old Western saloon were pushed open, and the little bell hanging above them alerted Jason that his first customer of the day had arrived.

The newcomer wore a hat. Seeing the empty bar, he froze for a moment, shook his head, and turned to leave.

"Joey!" Jason called out to him. He was a regular customer, though he had not come by for several days.

"Come have a drink with me."

The stingy bar owner poured two glasses of watered-down tequila.

The man named Joey did not refuse. He sat down at the empty bar counter.

The two raised their glasses and took a sip, and the owner began complaining.

"Damn business! Where did all those drunks who make money every day just to drink go?"

Joey muttered something in response, then took another big gulp.

The bar owner had wanted to pry some useful information out of his customer, so how could he let Joey brush him off so easily? Banking on Joey being an old regular, he kept pestering him from the side.

"Maybe they were all scared shitless and didn't dare leave their homes!"

Unable to endure the owner's nonstop chatter, Joey repeated what he had muttered earlier.

Middle-aged men with loose tongues were terrifying. Even more terrifying was a middle-aged man with a loose tongue who had been drinking.

"Or maybe they went to the hospital, or prison, or something. Who cares? Isn't that normal?"

Normal?

What was normal about that? Did they arrange to go together? What, buy one get the second half off?

The owner had not gotten the valuable information he wanted, so he began probing again with what he considered clever conversational tactics, leaving Joey thoroughly annoyed.

Perhaps he could not bear to waste the alcohol, or perhaps the owner had genuinely annoyed him.

Joey drained his glass in one gulp, picked it up, and waved it at the owner.

The devil would spit on your soul! You freeloading drunk!

Jason refilled his drink, this time with a large glass of beer.

By the time Jason returned, Joey had taken off his hat and placed it on the bar.

Looking at the bruise on Joey's face, Jason pretended to be surprised. "What happened to you...?"

In truth, he had noticed it the moment Joey came in. Joey did not usually wear hats.

Besides, all the customers these past few days seemed to be wearing hats!

The owner's awkward acting amounted to nothing more than opening his mouth wide and staring. Joey could not be bothered to expose him. Free drinks were all that mattered.

Pointing at the bruise on his face, Joey said, "This is what you're curious about, right? I'm guessing you've seen quite a few injuries like this these past few days."

"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm!"

The owner nodded like a pecking chicken.

After downing half a glass of beer first, Joey finally began telling him.

"Recently, a... lunatic has appeared on a few streets around here."

A lunatic? So what? The owner was curious, but wisely did not interrupt.

Joey rubbed the injury on his face and continued, "This lunatic always appears in the middle of the night. He wears strange clothes and a strange mask. The only skin exposed on his entire body is on his hands."

Hearing that, the owner also took a sip of his drink and thought, That must be one huge mask...

"That lunatic attacks everyone. Usually, he punches them in the face. If the first punch doesn't knock them out, they get a second one."

"So that's where the injuries on your faces came from?"

The owner was speechless. You were thugs! Could you not fight back?

As though he had guessed the owner's question, Joey said directly, "It's not like no one fought back, but that lunatic isn't afraid at all. And after some people fought back, got knocked unconscious, and woke up, they found themselves surrounded by several identically dressed lunatics. Those lunatics actually played rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to beat them first!"

"What happened next? What happened next!"

Something that exciting... Ahem! Something that pitiful had actually happened!

"Later, that guy was sent to Saike Hospital for treatment."

Saike Hospital? Was that not a hospital specifically for treating mental patients?

"Huh? He got beaten up all night? They beat him stupid?!"

Giving the owner a look as though he were a mental patient, Joey said, "Of course not. It was because he went around telling everyone that he had been beaten up by a Joker flying through the sky on balloons. He also said that Joker kept a talking cat, and that cat beat him up too! And there was some huge wasp that practiced Jeet Kune Do or something, and its punches hurt like hell..."

The owner lit a cigarette. "Then he really should go to Saike Hospital."

After saying that, he curiously asked Joey, "So were you beaten up by that lunatic too?"

Joey lit a cigarette as well and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Through the haze, he answered in a drifting tone.

"No."

"I was beaten up by that talking cat."

The bar owner, Jason, fell silent.

A moment later, he took Joey's glass away and poured him another drink.

The owner thought, I can't sell fake liquor anymore.

Please add this to your favorites, everyone.