The streetlights cast a wet, dim yellow glow on the ground after the rain.
Damian, wearing a dark gray fitted trench coat, carried a small black suitcase in his left hand and a folded black long-handled umbrella in his right, and walked out of the community with calm steps.
He stood by the roadside, slightly raising his hand to flag down a taxi.
However, at that moment—
"Don't move!"
A deliberately lowered voice barked from behind, and from the accent, it could be vaguely determined that it belonged to a Black man.
Damian paused for a moment, then slowly turned around. Two Black men wearing masks emerged from the shadows of the alley—one tall, one short—both aiming guns directly at his chest.
"Hand over all your money and valuables! Take it slow, and don't try anything funny!"
The tall robber had a hoarse voice, his eyes darting around nervously, his finger resting on the trigger of his pistol.
Damian's gaze swept between the two men, his expression calmer than that of someone being robbed.
He nodded slightly, his tone even bordering on polite, and said:
"Okay, please don't shoot."
Hearing this, the taller robber nudged his companion with his elbow and said smugly,
"See? I told you Asians are easy to rob! The Japanese guy I held up last time was even more submissive—he not only handed over all his valuables but actually bowed and thanked me as he left!"
However, the thinner robber remained vigilant, his eyes locked on Damian, his gun unwavering, as he snapped,
"Get into the alley! Now!"
Damian didn't resist and followed them into the dimly lit alley.
The alley reeked of garbage and damp mold; its walls were covered in messy graffiti, and the occasional hiss of a stray cat echoed in the distance.
The skinny robber pressed the gun against Damian's back and hissed,
"Put the suitcase down! Take out your wallet, your phone—everything of value!"
Damian looked down at the suitcase in his hand. Suddenly, his wrist twitched—
Clatter.
He tossed it a few steps away into the corner, where it landed with a soft thud.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
The short robber instantly flew into a rage, the muzzle of his gun nearly jabbing Damian's nose.
Damian immediately raised his hands and said earnestly,
"Sorry—you were shouting just now, and it startled me. My hand slipped."
He gestured toward his empty right hand and the umbrella in his left, continuing,
"I only have this umbrella on me—no weapons. You can go pick it up without worry. The suitcase contains gifts I'm giving to friends. They're not too expensive, but probably worth two or three thousand dollars."
The two robbers exchanged a glance, clearly surprised by his cooperation.
The thinner robber squinted, his gun still trained on Damian, and turned to his taller accomplice:
"Go get the suitcase. I'll watch him."
The tall robber nodded, tucked his pistol into his waistband, and strode toward the corner.
Damian's gaze passed over the robber's shoulder and landed on his short accomplice, who was bending down to retrieve the suitcase. A barely perceptible coldness flickered in his eyes.
Just as the short robber bent to pick it up, Damian suddenly feigned alarm, jerked his head toward the alley entrance, and shouted:
"Officer! These two men are robbers!"
The robbers froze—instinctively whipping their heads around.
In an instant, Damian moved.
The long-handled black umbrella in his hand shot forward like a blade, striking the short robber's gun-wrist with a sharp snap.
"Ah—!"
The robber cried out in pain as his pistol clattered to the ground, then bounced off the wall with a metallic clang.
Without pausing, Damian flicked the tip of his umbrella upward, striking the opponent's chin hard.
"Thump!"
The shorter robber staggered back in pain, but Damian stepped forward and struck the back of his knee with the umbrella.
With a sharp "crack," the robber screamed and dropped to his knees.
Before he could rise to retaliate, Damian punched him at the base of the neck. After a muffled thud, the robber collapsed onto the ground and didn't move again.
Just as Damian turned to deal with the tall robber, he heard a muffled groan.
He turned his head and saw the tall robber already subdued by a middle-aged white man who had appeared out of nowhere.
The robber's pistol had been snatched away, and the man executed a textbook over-the-shoulder throw, slamming the robber hard onto the wet pavement with a loud thud.
The man clapped his hands, flashed Damian a friendly smile, and casually held up the police badge clipped to his belt:
"Don't worry—NYPD."
With that, he bent down, handcuffed both groaning robbers, then pulled out his walkie-talkie to call for backup.
Only then did Damian let out a sigh of relief. He stepped forward and said sincerely:
"Thank you so much, Officer. May I ask your name? I'll write a thank-you note to the NYPD tomorrow!"
The officer grinned broadly and waved his hands. "You're welcome! Fighting crime's our duty. Call me George. You handled yourself pretty well—have you trained before?"
He straightened up, eyeing Damian with genuine interest.
"Just a few moves from my elders," Damian replied casually, bending to retrieve his box. "I only ever thought of them as a way to stay healthy. I wouldn't say I've really 'practiced.'"
George nodded approvingly at the young man's modesty. "Humility's a rare thing these days—especially in the U.S., and especially among young people."
He hesitated, then added, "Ever thought about becoming a cop? I know a few people in the NYPD who could write you a recommendation. You could apply to the academy after high school."
Damian smiled politely. "Thank you for the kind offer. I'll consider it."
Soon after, a patrol car pulled up. Two officers stepped out, saluted George, then loaded the groaning suspects into the back and drove off.
The two stood by the curb for a while longer.
George noticed Damian glancing repeatedly at his watch and tactfully wrapped up the conversation.
"In a hurry?"
"I have a party to attend."
George looked around, shook his head, and said, "Good luck hailing a cab out here at night. Where's the party?"
After a brief pause, Damian gave him the address—the neighborhood where Gwen Stacy lived.
To his surprise, George's eyes lit up. "No way! That's my building too! I'm off shift—hop in. I'll give you a ride."
"Um… wouldn't that be inappropriate?"
George
waved a hand. "Nah. We're headed the same way anyway."
After a moment's thought, Damian nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
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