"This officer is amazing…"
"One shot and the suspect was down, then that charge and punch—too slick!"
"He must have trained at Shaolin Temple or something!"
"What's his name?"
"He's barely twenty. Since when did Jinhai have such a fierce cop?"
"Thank heaven he was here today. Otherwise Old Li's little girl would be gone. On New Year's Eve, no less…"
The crowd boiled with chatter.
Even Rishō, Anshin's old partner, was dumbfounded.
"Anshin, when did you learn that trick?"
"Back at the academy, your shooting was worse than mine!"
He had seen it all: the perfect shot to the suspect's arm that spared the hostage, and then that lightning-fast punch. Every move was straight out of a textbook.
It looked simple, but in such a crisis, almost no one could pull it off. In reality, officers firing a whole magazine were lucky if a bullet or two landed. But Anshin had aimed for an arm—and hit it.
"Just luck," Anshin said modestly.
"Luck? You trying to get yourself killed?"
Director An came over to take charge. The fugitive had been knocked out cold by a blow to the temple, his balance destroyed. He was already carried off under guard. The crowd had been partially dispersed, the hostage's family calmed.
Director An turned on Anshin with a frown.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? I told you to draw him out, not throw your life away!"
He glared, his tone sharp.
Director An had once been comrades-in-arms with Anshin's father, who had died in the line of duty years ago. The details had never been disclosed. Since then, young Anshin had been raised under Director An's roof. To him, the man was both leader and half a father.
Despite his fierce bald appearance, his care was genuine.
"Director, the situation was critical," Anshin explained with a smile. "The suspect had no intention of leaving. I had no choice."
Still shaken, Director An pressed harder. "Do you realize if your bullet had been off by an inch what would've happened? If the hostage had been hurt—or worse—could you shoulder that? You'd lose your badge, your life would be ruined. How would I ever face your father?"
"Protecting yourself is your greatest contribution to the force."
His words were stern, but the concern behind them was clear.
Anshin understood. He had only acted because of his Divine-level shooting and because he had closed the distance to guarantee success. Without absolute certainty, he would never have done it.
"Director, it's fine. The suspect's down, and Anshin deserves credit," Rishō cut in to ease the tension. He exchanged a glance with their teammates, who quickly chimed in to defend Anshin.
"Enough. Don't cover for him," Director An said. "Yes, he earned merit, but mistakes are mistakes. You acted without orders. Write a detailed report. I'll submit it truthfully. Whether it's commendation or criticism depends on the higher-ups."
In the bureau, every bullet fired had to be accounted for. Though he scolded, Director An was already planning to secure a commendation for Anshin.
"Yes, sir!" Anshin saluted.
The officers began to return to the station.
At the market gate, the rescued girl's father dropped to his knees before Anshin, pressing fresh vegetables into his hands with tears streaming down his face.
"Officer An, please take these! Without you, if my daughter had been harmed, what meaning would our lives have?"
"On New Year's Eve, you saved us. You're our family's benefactor!"
"Anytime you come to Old Factory Street, my stall's produce is yours. Whatever you want, I'll send it!"
But Anshin refused every time.
"Please, don't. Stand up. This is just my duty."
The grateful crowd surrounded him, applauding.
Though his actions had broken protocol, the outcome earned him the people's admiration.
Among them, Kō Kikkyō watched with envy.
"So glorious… When will I ever be like that?"
He rubbed the fish scales clinging to his hands and smelled the lingering stench.
"Never in this life. Too bad I didn't step forward to greet Officer An. With this stink, he'd only look down on me. Better to just sell fish…"
He sighed to himself.
"This year's top priority is keeping my stall's prime spot. I'll have to beg Tō Shōryū… and bleed money to buy him a TV."
What troubled him most now was Tō Shōryū, who was redrawing stall placements in the market. Kikkyō's fish stall was at the prime entrance. If he lost that, business would fall apart. But he had younger siblings still in school—how would he provide for them?
And Shōryū's demand? A plasma television.
In the year 2000, most homes still had bulky box-shaped color TVs. A plasma set was cutting-edge, rare, and costly—over twenty thousand yuan.
Back then, housing in Beijing cost only three or four thousand per square meter. In Jinhai it was even lower. Twenty thousand could buy a home.
But him, Kō Kikkyō—how could he possibly afford it?