The noisy bar, restless hormones.

The men and women on the crowded dance floor twisted their bodies, sweating profusely to attract the opposite sex's attention.

Deep in passion, they tore away relentlessly.

In the thick of love, they left a mess on the ground.

A figure wearing a black tracksuit and a black cap meandered through the crowd, the hat brim pulled low and the dim bar lights obscuring the face, or else the indulgent youths would have screamed and scattered.

This person was none other than Mitsuo Mutou, whose warrants filled the city and who featured on the evening news.

He made his way through the crowded throng to a spot near the bar, scanned briefly, and locked eyes with a tattooed youth, then walked over.

Seeing him approach, two underling-looking men beside the tattooed youth stood up guardedly to block him.

This caught the tattooed youth's attention.

"I'm buying a gun," Mitsuo Mutou said, head down.

The tattooed youth put down his drink, gestured to the two underlings with a wave, and jerked his chin at Mitsuo Mutou, "You think this is buying cabbage? Who told you I've got guns for sale?"

"No? I'll find someone else," Mitsuo Mutou replied, and turned to walk towards another person.

He had no idea who actually had guns for sale.

But from the experience of buying guns from a blond punk, he knew guns were easy to come by, so he randomly approached someone who looked like they were from the Black Society.

If not this one, ask the next.

Someone would have a gun for sale.

Watching Mitsuo Mutou turn away, the tattooed youth was taken aback, then suddenly realized this kid was just a brash youngster, planning to go around asking one by one. He hurriedly called him back, "Hey, come back."

"What is it?" Mitsuo Mutou turned to ask.

"How many do you want?" the tattooed youth whispered.

He did have guns to sell; he was just wary to expose this fact to a new buyer like Mitsuo Mutou. But it became obvious that Mitsuo wasn't a police undercover, so naturally, the business deal had to be made.

There was no reason not to make money that had been offered, and since the stock was up, it wasn't easy to sell guns.

Plus, this tenderfoot obviously didn't know the current market rates and could be sold at a high price—a good opportunity to gouge.

"Only one, but I need extra magazines and bullets, four full magazines, a hundred rounds," Mitsuo Mutou said, ever so low with his head still bowed.

"I can provide the goods," the tattooed youth said, then asked, "But do you have the money?"

Mitsuo Mutou pulled open one side of his jacket, revealing the money he had used to buy a gun from the blond punk.

This money was only enough for one gun, of course not enough for so many magazines and bullets, but him showing this money proved he had it.

Plus, a gun seller isn't afraid of getting stiffed on the bill.

"Prepare the goods as he requested," the tattooed youth instructed an underling. After the underling left, he continued to Mitsuo Mutou, "Your items will be delivered within twenty minutes. You don't have enough money now, you'll need at least twice more. You have twenty minutes to get the money. In twenty minutes, we'll meet in the private room 1102 across the bar. Don't miss out."

An experienced hustler knows these kinds of transactions shouldn't happen in the public eye but also can't happen in places too remote—what if the buyer turns on you after receiving the gun and tries a double-cross?

Even though the other person looked green, one had to be cautious; such novices were the hardest to figure out.

A restaurant was just right—it was crowded, and even the fiercest wouldn't dare kill in such a place, plus the private room guaranteed secrecy for the transaction.

He wasn't curious about the face under the other's cap either. Since the other didn't want to be seen, there was no need to insist on looking.

"Okay," Mitsuo Mutou briefly spat out, and then left without looking back.

Watching him go, an underling spoke up, "Boss, that kid doesn't seem like the good sort."

"Shit talk, can a good guy even buy guns?" the tattooed youth glared at him, then downed his drink in one gulp and smirked, "It's better to have more bad guys around—helps us live better lives."

Twenty minutes passed in a blink, and Mitsuo Mutou walked into the agreed-upon private room, pushing open the door to find the tattooed youth and two others already waiting inside.

There was also a small package on the table.

"The merchandise is here, where's the money?" the tattooed youth shook off some cigarette ash, pulled the package's zipper with one hand, revealing a gun, magazines, and a pile of shiny bullets—it smelled of gun oil.

All imported from the United States, top-quality stuff.

Mitsuo Mutou reached straight for the gun in the package.

The tattooed youth's underling moved to stop him.

It was against the rules of the trade.

But the tattooed youth stopped them, cool and fearless. He wasn't afraid of a double-cross, having chosen this location for the deal.

Mitsuo Mutou successfully got the gun, checked the magazine—it was full—reloaded, chambered a round, and then aimed the gun straight at the smoking tattooed youth.

"Friend, you shouldn't point a gun at people—it's a bit disrespectful," the tattooed youth didn't show fear, only displeasure as he frowned.

"Bang!"

His neck was pierced by a bullet, and he instantly froze, instinctively covering his neck with his hand as blood seeped between his fingers. He stared at Mitsuo Mutou with a mix of terror and confusion before slowly collapsing backward onto the floor.

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