"The gall of this guy..."
For a moment, Akira thought she had misheard. That cowardly dog, the man who'd clung to the rear lines like a leech, now stood before them—chin raised, voice brazen—asking for a protection fee.
Shouldn't he be the one paying us to save his sorry ass? she thought, her brows twitching in disbelief.
If not for their intervention, the man would've been rotting in a nameless ditch by now, picked clean by crows. And yet here he stood, posture puffed with false righteousness.
Her eyes flared—crimson, glowing, and full of fury. Heat radiated from her as she stepped forward.
"Presumptuous! Asking us to pay when you barely did anything! Just how stupid do you think we are…?"
The middle-aged man, Eliot, remained unfazed. His face contorted into an expression of wounded pride and self-righteous indignation.
