Xu Dan stood unharmed.
In his hand gleamed a blade of forged modern steel—two inches wide, its edge razor-sharp.
The speeding bullet struck the blade head-on, only to collapse into a flattened lump of metal, clattering weakly onto the ground.
Bullseye's eyes widened. He stared blankly at the scene before him.
He felt—once again—utterly humiliated.
Dodging a bullet was one thing.But blocking it, with a blade narrower than the width of a palm?What kind of monster could do that?
His greatest pride—his unmatched marksmanship—was being mocked again and again!
"Why?!" Bullseye shouted hoarsely. "Why do you have to humiliate me like this? You might as well just kill me!"
Xu Dan smiled faintly, his gaze tracing along the blade as though admiring a treasured masterpiece.
As a man raised on wuxia legends, he had always held a deep admiration for fine swords and legendary weapons.
But this steel blade, crafted with modern technology, seemed every bit as extraordinary as any sword from those old tales.
He slowly lowered it, pressing the tip against the deformed bullet on the ground.
"If you insist on dying," he said softly, "then I'll grant your wish. It's not as if I'm some villain."
A surge of power coursed through his arm.His mastery of ultimate sword techniques gave him preternatural precision—one of the many gifts of his strange new skills.
With a single sharp motion, he drew the blade upward, carving a clean scar into the pavement.
The lump of metal—once a bullet—was sent flying like a deadly projectile.
Whizz!
The improvised iron shard struck Bullseye squarely in the forehead—right in the middle of the bullseye tattooed there.
"Bullseye," Xu Dan said coldly, his voice dripping with disdain.
It was the last thing Bullseye ever heard—and the cruelest irony imaginable.
All his life, he had prided himself on never missing his mark.Yet in the end, he was killed by his own trademark—his own symbol.
He had imagined countless ways to kill Xu Dan.But in the end, it was Xu Dan who turned his own art against him—and with those same words he had once said so proudly.
Now they sounded like mockery.
He was Bullseye.And yet a game developer, a businessman, had outplayed him.
His eyes stayed open as he fell, full of disbelief.
By the time his body hit the ground, Xu Dan had already vanished from the alley.
Only a faint sword mark remained to show he had ever been there.
Moments later, police sirens wailed as officers rushed in.
"Quick, over here—wait, this guy's already dead!"
"Of course he is. I saw him take three or four bullets myself!"
"Hold on… his forehead—what the…?"
The officers froze.They had expected to find Bullseye dead from blood loss.But not like this.
The scene felt bizarrely empty—anticlimactic even.
Their captain pushed through the crowd, frowning as he looked at the corpse."Who fired the shot that killed him?" he demanded.
No one answered.
The hole in Bullseye's forehead was far too wide for their sidearms.
The captain's eyes narrowed. "This wasn't our work…"
He turned toward the far end of the alley—empty, silent.
"Alright," he said finally. "You two stay here and wait for forensics. The rest of you, move out!"
"Move out?" a few officers muttered in confusion. "But the suspect's already dead—what now?"
The captain's voice hardened."We're going to finish this. We're taking down the true source of New York's rot—Kingpin!
"This is our chance to strike for justice.If anyone wants to back out, do it now. Turn in your badge, and I'll find you a nice desk job later."
The name Kingpin sent a shock through the group.
They had never imagined they'd be part of something so huge.They were ordinary cops, not soldiers.
Taking on Kingpin's empire? That was a job for SWAT, not a handful of street officers.
Fear flickered through the ranks.
The captain glared at them. "Anyone quitting? Speak up now—don't waste my time!"
"No, sir!"
"No, sir!"
The words came out automatically—reflex from academy drills.
And once they realized what they'd said… it was too late to take it back.
The captain didn't care. "Good. Then move!"
Reluctantly, the officers followed, their minds racing with dread—and the quiet thought of what to write in their last letters home.
The sirens blared again as the convoy sped through Clinton District.
The captain pulled out his phone. A name flashed: Interrogator.
"Talk," he said curtly.
"Sir, the suspects we caught—they confessed. It was him. I'm heading to report it to the chief."
The captain's eyes narrowed. "No. Wait half an hour before you tell that old man."
"What? Why?"
"Because," the captain said coldly, "I don't trust him."
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