"I want to report him!"
Tō Shōryū jabbed a finger at Anshin.
"He used excessive force!"
He glared venomously. Moments ago, he had been cowed by Anshin's crushing grip—but now? Surely the officer wouldn't dare strike him again. The thought rekindled his bravado.
Men like Shōryū never truly feared the police. They hadn't committed serious crimes, nothing they thought could land them long sentences. In their minds, they had little to lose. What they did fear were true underworld killers—those who didn't hesitate to break bones or spill blood.
It was like school bullies who screamed at teachers, knowing no matter how far they pushed, a teacher wouldn't cross certain lines. But in the real world, when every provocation might earn a knife in the ribs, those same bullies suddenly became meek.
…
"Go ahead. Report me."
Anshin's voice was calm, unwavering.
"I haven't even counted your resisting arrest and assaulting an officer. If I really pressed it, you'd be in far deeper trouble."
Shōryū faltered. Was this young cop serious?
Everyone knew most of the time these things were smoothed over. Otherwise, half the market administrators in Jinhai would already be in jail. The system couldn't function if every petty thug was locked away. Usually the goal was education, not eradication.
…
"You two, come here," Rishō cut in, pulling the Tang brothers aside.
"You even know who he is?" He inclined his head subtly toward Anshin.
"I don't care who he is! Brother Rishō, don't cover for him. I'll make sure he's stripped of that uniform sooner or later!" Shōryū sneered, desperate to recover some face.
"He's surnamed An," Rishō whispered. "Safety An."
Shōryū barked out a laugh. "An, huh? What, like 'Safety-Condom'?"
Rishō's eyes narrowed.
"What's the surname of our deputy bureau chief?"
The words hit like a hammer.
The brothers froze.
They turned, looking again at Anshin—standing just a few paces away, calm and unreadable.
The realization sank in.
Oh no.
Shōryū's gut twisted with regret. He had thought this was some green rookie, easy prey. But if he was tied to the deputy chief himself—maybe even family?
To small-time enforcers like them, that level of power was unimaginable. Untouchable.
…
"Ah—ah, ow, ow, ow!"
Shōryū clutched his head, his tone instantly changed. "Brother Rishō, I—I wasn't thinking straight. Said the wrong things. My mistake."
He shuffled awkwardly toward Anshin, bowing over and over, shackles clinking.
"Officer An, I was blind. I see now. I was wrong. Truly. You did the right thing arresting us. For the people, yes. I'll reflect, I'll reform, I'll admit my mistakes—please believe me!"
Anshin simply shook his head. "Get in the car. Reform yourselves. Leave the gangster act behind."
"Yes, yes, you're right. We were wrong. Absolutely wrong," the two chorused, docile as lambs as they climbed aboard.
…
Behind them, Kō Kikkyō stood stunned.
What he had just witnessed was unreal.
Three moves, and the Tang brothers—his lifelong tormentors—were flattened. Shōryū, the so-called unbeaten fighter of Old Factory Street, hadn't lasted a second.
Officer An was unstoppable.
And then, something Rishō said had the brothers groveling in an instant, all swagger gone. They were terrified.
Kikkyō's sharp mind pieced it together. This officer didn't just have skill. He had backing. The kind of background only the powerful could claim.
It all made sense now—how he had dared bend the rules at the station to let Kikkyō's siblings bring dumplings. Ordinary cops wouldn't risk that. Only someone protected by strength and connections could.
Gratitude surged through Kikkyō. He didn't know Anshin's true motive—that it was all about farming experience points. He believed the officer had stood up for him, personally.
For the first time in his life, he felt vindicated. The suffocating weight of years of bullying was gone.
"Officer An, thank you. Please—come to my home for lunch. I'll cook fish, I promise my cooking's good," Kikkyō said earnestly.
"No need," Anshin replied with a small smile. "I've still got to file reports. If anything comes up, call me."
He turned and left. Kikkyō escorted the squad cars to the market's edge, bowing, eyes shining with admiration.
"This world still has good men," he whispered.
Back at his stall, he lifted the canvas and found fifty yuan tucked beneath it.
Anshin hadn't taken his fish for free after all.
…
"Anshin, are you really going to press charges on those two?" Rishō asked as they drove.
In his eyes, Anshin was a stubborn man. A man who couldn't tolerate even a grain of sand in his eye. He'd grown up under Director An's wing, the son of martyrs, never tempered by the compromises of grassroots policing.
That iron inflexibility had cost him friends before. And it might again.