Xuan Zhe slammed his palm onto the table, and the negotiations fell apart.
He had still been talking things through nicely, but Miyamoto Sansei not only refused to appreciate it, he struck first.
Did even negotiations need fists to clear the way these days? Was he sick in the head?
Fine. Whatever.
Brain-dead or not, since the attack was already coming, he couldn't blame him for showing no mercy.
He had to show the other man what it meant to mess with the wrong person.
And the result?
Failure.
He dodged it with ease. How hard could it be?
He could try again.
It was never going to work anyway.
Whoosh!
Here it came again.
Another miss.
One more time.
Xuan Zhe simply crooked a finger at him.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Then they could keep going.
Every attack met with another failure.
If this kept up, he would keep losing forever.
Anyone normal would have given up by now.
Not Miyamoto Sansei.
He figured everyone had an ace up their sleeve.
Of course he had one too.
He could unleash it at any moment. As long as his opponent kept courting death like this, revealing that trump card would bring him to his knees.
But the question was, would his opponent be scared?
What a joke.
Those eyes stared at him with nothing but disdain, without the slightest trace of respect.
Do whatever you want, then.
It looked like the negotiations were probably a lost cause.
No.
Either don't negotiate at all, or, once you've started, see it through.
"I suggest you keep a lower profile," Miyamoto Sansei said, suppressing his anger. "Offending this many people won't do you any good."
"I've got the strength. What am I afraid of?" Xuan Zhe raised an eyebrow. "You came making all this fuss