"Boss, are you sure those spandex-wearing freaks from the comics are worth leaving a warm couch to freeze our asses off outside?"
Jessica Jones kicked open the rusty iron door in the clinic's back alley, still clutching her unfinished can of cheap beer. The door slammed against the brick wall with a teeth-jarring thud, startling two stray cats beside the trash cans.
Yang Ming strode into the night.
He wasn't wearing his trademark white coat. Instead, he had changed into a jet-black, high-collared trench coat. Its hem snapped in the night breeze.
He raised his head and glanced overhead.
For once, Hell's Kitchen had no rain that night. An enormous full moon hung among lead-gray clouds, its pallid light spilling over the potholed asphalt and illuminating neon reflections in the puddles.
The air was cool, and occasional breezes swept up discarded newspapers from the ground.
"A big full moon and a cool breeze." Yang Ming adjusted the Gold-Rimmed Glasses on his nose, a cold glint flashing behind the lenses. "Jessica, it's perfect weather for killing."
"Ugh, there you go with the creepy bullshit." Jessica tipped her head back and drained the last of her beer, casually crushed the can into a metal disc, and tossed it into a nearby puddle. "So, which ones are mine?"
Yang Ming didn't answer immediately.
In his mind, Observation Haki had spread like an immense, invisible net, enveloping every corner within a hundred meters. Within that domain, even a cockroach's heartbeat couldn't escape his perception.
"Twenty." Yang Ming's voice was flat, as though he were reading off a menu. "They're deliberately suppressing their breathing to four breaths a minute. The intervals between their heartbeats are twice as long as an ordinary person's. Their muscles are tense, primed to explode into action."
Yang Ming tilted his