The Realm of Cutting Iron

Mike did not have the taxi stop directly in front of the supermarket. Instead, he got out at the corner of the block. He wanted to give Skye a surprise. Of course, whether it would end up being a pleasant surprise or a fright was hard to say.

Like a husband coming home early from a business trip and running into Old Wang from next door, who was supposedly there to fix the pipes. Or a girl planning a birthday surprise for her boyfriend, only to find her best friend working out at his place.

No way, no way!

Skye was a good girl.

Men, after all, were allowed to set fires while everyone else was forbidden from lighting lamps. I can be a scumbag, but you can't fool around—the universal double standard.

As Mike's thoughts ran wild, a warning suddenly rose in his heart for no reason at all. His sixth sense screamed madly, and every hair on his body stood on end.

As his physical abilities grew stronger and the experience he gained during Possession became richer, Mike's sixth sense for danger had become sharper and sharper, showing signs of evolving toward Spider-Sense.

Yet this was the first time he had felt such an intense premonition of danger.

Mike did not hesitate for even a microsecond. He lunged forward and activated the Possession Card he had just dismissed. While he was still in midair, black Armament Haki had already covered every vital part of his body.

Before he hit the ground, an enormous force slammed into his chest. Only then did Mike hear the thunderous report.

"A heavy sniper rifle."

For some reason, Mike felt as though time had slowed and stretched out, leaving him enough room to think.

Bang!

Mike, who had been following a parabolic arc through the air, suddenly dropped straight down. He crashed into the ground, bounced up, and flopped like a torn sack. At that moment, intense pain rooted itself in his chest like a long thorn.

The pain briefly robbed Mike of his ability to think.

His nerves seemed paralyzed.

He could not move even a finger.

Then the agony erupted fiercely from one point and spread through all four limbs and every bone in his body. Only then did Mike regain some clarity.

"I'm injured."

"Not only did he predict my movements, he accurately hit me while I was moving. What an incredible marksman."

While Mike's thoughts wandered, the distant shooter was also stunned.

The instant the bullet left the barrel, he knew the shot had landed, just as it always did. Yet there was no expected spray of blood and flesh.

"Bulletproof vest?"

The shooter guessed, then sneered. "A bulletproof vest can't stop my bullets."

Usually, getting hit meant the body exploded on the spot, flesh bursting everywhere.

Even military-grade body armor would be useless. His organs should have been mashed to pulp.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but through the scope, the target seemed to twitch.

He looked again.

He had not seen wrong!

The target actually wobbled into a half-sitting position like a zombie.

Blech!

Mike spat out a large mouthful of clotted blood.

"A few broken ribs."

"There's an odd sound when my lungs contract."

"Irregular heartbeat."

"My kidneys are doing great. Those absolutely have to be fine..."

Mike let out a breath and clenched his fist. "It won't affect my fighting."

He stood up, his gaze fierce as a tiger's.

"Use card: Nichirin Sword."

Armament Haki covered the blade. Mike held the sword in a reverse grip, its tip hanging toward the ground.

He pushed Observation Haki to its limit.

"Found you."

He had originally only known the general direction, but now Mike Lock-On to a window in the tallest building five hundred meters away.

"He didn't die? A superhuman?" The shooter was shocked, but his hands did not falter in the slightest as he calmly reloaded. "This time, I'll shoot you in the head and see if you die, you damn monster!"

Mike did not take the opportunity to hide.

Their gazes crossed through the night air.

At that moment, Mike entered a profoundly mysterious state.

The advantage of Possession Cards was that the user could use every technique of the person on the card without needing to train. The disadvantage was that if the person on the card did not know a technique, neither could the user. Even for a ninja like Zabuza Momochi, who excelled at Water Release, even the simplest C-Rank Water Release technique could not be used or learned by the user if he had never learned it.

As a result, combat could sometimes feel rigid.

The system had never specifically explained this. It was knowledge Mike had accumulated through use.

Wounded, Mike became focused.

Focused...

The surroundings were quiet, yet his own body seemed to be making tremendous noise.

Everything... the buildings, streets, landscaped trees, vehicles, even the air—Mike could sense a living presence within them.

Wasn't this the state of mind Zoro had attained when he comprehended the swordsmanship of cutting iron?

Why had it surfaced in Mike's mind at this moment?

He was possessing Zoro from two years after the Summit War. Wasn't cutting iron supposed to be easy for him?

Perhaps...

"Stones have the breath of stones,"

"Trees have the breath of trees,"

"The earth has the breath of the earth..."

"So this is the unique aspect of Zoro's Observation Haki."

Unlike Fujitora's Observation Haki, whose range was vast enough to precisely detect meteors in space, or Katakuri's, which used Observation Haki to foresee the future... Zoro's Observation Haki glimpsed a unique world. Perhaps one day, he might even see the lines of death in things and truly achieve "nothing that cannot be cut."

Now—

Mike felt that he had gained a deeper understanding of Zoro's Possession Card.

It sounded like a long time, but only an instant had passed. The shooter had already reloaded and pulled the trigger.

The bullet left the barrel at more than twice the speed of sound!

Mike swung his sword in a reverse grip, unleashing a crescent-shaped slash. It was not any of Zoro's techniques, merely an ordinary flying slash.

The slash did not collide head-on with the bullet. Instead, it briefly brushed against the bullet's side.

Yet that fleeting contact gave the hyperfast bullet a deflecting force.

Whoosh!

The bullet that should have struck Mike squarely between the brows veered off course, grazing past his temple and scattering his hair.

Mike waved toward the distant shooter, signaling for him to try again.

But the shooter's eyes widened, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Monster. A monster, just as I thought!"

The shooter was extremely decisive. He turned on the gas stove, tossed several bullets into the microwave, cranked the heat to maximum, then rappelled down the rope he had arranged in advance. A motorcycle was waiting below.

His retreat was swift and orderly.

Mike ran in the shooter's direction until he heard an explosion and saw flames burst from the room where the shooter had been.

He stopped.

He could not catch up.

There was probably no chance of finding any useful clues in that room either. Or rather, even if he found something, it might have been deliberately left behind by the shooter.

"A marksman this skilled definitely isn't some nobody. Either he's a famous freelance assassin, or he belongs to a powerful organization."

Mike was unfamiliar with the assassin world, but someone else knew it well. He thought of Fat Jerry, who had not appeared for a long time.

"Fat Jerry, make me a list of famous shooters currently in New York, especially ones skilled with sniper rifles. Include outsiders too."

"Sure. Business need?"

"No, personal grudge. Just over ten seconds ago, an expert took two shots at me. Cough, cough..."

"You're hurt? Is it serious?" Fat Jerry's anxious voice came through the phone. "I mean, do you have a bank account? Should you tell me the password?"

"Get lost!!!"

"You sound full of energy, not like someone about to die. Fine, give me a few minutes." Fat Jerry hung up. His face, so fat his eyes were nearly invisible, was filled with rage. "They actually dared to mess with my brother! I'll dig three feet into the ground if I have to, but I'll find you!"