It was around 8:20 PM, and once again, a new "guest" arrived at the small tavern in the coastal town, a rare event.
At the door of a well-decorated private room, two large, tough-looking bodyguards in black suits, clearly not to be messed with, loudly questioned the man.
"Are you alone?"
The man in a well-fitted white suit, blue tie, and sunglasses calmly put down his briefcase, took off his white gloves, and slowly spread his arms out before answering.
"Of course. I'm the type who always keeps my word."
"If you're asking why, it's because I'm a true businessman."
After speaking, he gave a subtle nod to the man in a trench coat sitting at the main seat inside the private room. Though the tavern owner had some doubts, he eventually nodded in agreement.
After a thorough search, the tavern owner lit a cigarette and glanced at his subordinates. Only then did the bodyguards allow the man to enter the room. With his greasy, puffy face twisted into a merchant's smug smile, he said:
"Well, you really are quite considerate, Mr. Smith."
"Shall we get to the point now? What do you think?"
Just as the man, Smith, sat down, he calmly spoke with no expression.
"Please don't smoke in front of me. Second-hand smoke contains more harmful substances than first-hand smoke."
"The amount of dimethylnitrosamine, a carcinogen, is 680 to 823 micrograms in second-hand smoke, compared to 5.3 to 43 micrograms in first-hand smoke."
"As for quinoline, second-hand smoke has eleven times the amount of first-hand smoke, about 18,000 micrograms."
"Which means, the people around those smoking are at a higher risk. So, Mr. Tavern Owner, do you still want to continue harming my health?"
The tavern owner, somewhat surprised, listened to Smith's lengthy explanation, which he thought was unnecessary. He exchanged glances with the bodyguards and, not caring about the stranger's boldness, laughed mockingly.
"Then just stop breathing."
Seeing the tavern's attitude, the man with the blonde hair casually picked up his briefcase.
"Let's forget about this deal."
He adjusted his glasses, and it looked like he was about to leave the tavern.
The tavern owner stopped and called out.
"Wait."
"It was my mistake."
He then aggressively put out the cigarette in the ashtray, and the smoke and fire quickly disappeared. Looking back at Smith, the tavern owner raised his finger and, with a half-commanding tone, said:
"Sit down."
Smith didn't react harshly. He simply smiled faintly, walked to the main table, but instead of sitting, he placed his briefcase on the table.
Naturally, the briefcase was opened, revealing a significant amount of money inside.
The tavern owner raised an eyebrow in suspicion as Smith said cryptically:
"This is just the deposit."
"Once we confirm the authenticity of that thing, we'll pay you double what's in this case."
The tavern owner whistled, hesitated for a moment, and then asked:
"What will you do with it once you get it?"
Smith, still wearing sunglasses, raised three fingers and replied seriously:
"Let's set a small goal first. Start by eliminating about 3,000 people from competing companies."
When the tavern owner heard this shocking statement, even though he was a secondary manager in the [Enemy] faction's information exchange, he couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine. He unconsciously swallowed and wondered if he had misheard one or two of the zeros.
The difference between thirty, three hundred, and three thousand was huge.
It was said that in the era ruled by All For One, a malicious group of thirty would have been enough to shake the world. But since the golden age began with professional heroes protecting the world, even a malicious group of over thirty could send shockwaves across the world.
One part explained the power of the Guardians of Order, while the other showed just how difficult it is to act freely in this era, at this point in time.
Especially recently, the forces of darkness had just started to realize that the once-strong symbol of peace was weakening. As they were about to make their move, another professional hero appeared and publicly crushed OFA, building a new wave of terror with the blood of the former "Dark Emperor."
Smith's words made the people in charge uneasy.
Thankfully, the blonde man quickly added.
"I was joking."
This eased the tension among the leaders and their subordinates. While they understood what the object was, they had no idea what it could really do.
But if it really was a weapon capable of wiping out over 3,000 people, the person talking to Smith would probably be replaced by a special manager or even the boss behind the scenes.
However, the leaders were confused. If the object really had that much power, why hadn't there been any news from the exchange group? And why was its security level only classified as A?
While the tavern owner was deep in thought, Smith, the blonde man, placed his hands behind his back and continued speaking.
"We'll resell it."
As soon as he said this, the black-suited SP next to the leader couldn't hold back. He lunged forward, ready to grab Smith by the collar.
But the leader was quicker. He grabbed his subordinate, placed his hands under his chin, and asked seriously.
"Is it really worth that much extra money?"
Smith answered matter-of-factly.
"Of course it is."
The leader in the trench coat smiled confidently and waved his hand.
"Alright, then the deal is off."
Smith looked confused.
"Why?"
Just then, the sound of a gun being cocked came from behind him.
"The boss said it's over, so it's over."
The SPs standing next to the leader had changed into strange, threatening postures.
Smith remained unfazed and shook his head.
"Things had to go this way."
He looked as if he was about to reach for his briefcase, but the SP standing by the table quickly closed it.
Seeing this, the leader smiled proudly, lighting another cigarette.
"Now you can leave."
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and arrogantly blew the smoke at Smith.
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