You Three Can Come at Me Together. What Have I Got to Fear?

"Wasn't I good to you?"

"...What do you think?" Bronze Tiger rolled his eyes. "You bastard have told me more jokes about Black people than anyone else in my life."

"Uh..." Richard Dragon's eyelid twitched. Bronze Tiger had the shortest temper of all their fellow disciples. Even while practicing Wing Chun on a wooden dummy, he often got so angry that he shattered it with an elbow strike. How had Roland said something like that to his face without starting a fight?

"Nonsense. I've never discriminated against Bl—Black people," Roland said. "Who would discriminate against the means of production?"

"Fuck!"

"Senior brother, what exactly is going on between you two—" Richard Dragon could no longer make sense of their relationship. How had that not ended in a fight?

"It's fine. That bastard's just like that. Stay here long enough and you'll get used to it," Bronze Tiger said.

"Nonsense. I'm a renowned philanthropist and educator—"

"Save that for the fools with more money than sense."

"Don't ruin my reputation in front of Master Richard, you bastard."

"Hah, when did this little thief become a master?"

"Come on, senior brother. Didn't we agree not to bring that up?" Richard Dragon protested. How had the teasing turned on him?

He had grown up an orphan in the slums of St. Louis, Missouri. His father had died in a plane crash, and there was no trace of his mother. To survive, he had taken up a sideline: theft.

Richard Dragon had a great talent for martial arts. Even without a teacher, he had worked out a few techniques on his own and become a well-known thief.

In Japan, he had tried to steal a priceless jade Buddha statue, only to be stopped by Monk Otomo. Richard Dragon had tried to defeat the short