Everything in the world has its own rules, and every person has their weaknesses and ways of thinking.
In the dimly lit bar, a spark of fire flashed, followed by a long breath and the faint smell of tobacco.
"Buddy, this is the target," a man said as he took out a photo from his pocket and placed it on the table, displaying a middle-aged man with a receding hairline.
"Compensation?" The shadow across from him flickered in the light of the fire.
"This much," the man said with a smile as he stretched out his hand.
"Three days," the other hand extended, took the photo from the table, and pocketed it.
Since I was young, my father told me to learn how to observe, and then I could discover many things.
"Mr. Boros! What do you think about the accusations Fields has made against you?" A group of reporters, each holding a microphone, almost shoved them into the mouth of the receding-hair man.
