"Yes, yes." The red-haired officer pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket, took out a lighter, and struck it with a crisp snap. Smoke rose, blurring his features behind the haze.
"Every debt has its debtor, and every wrong its perpetrator. If you've been wronged and only kill the prime culprit, we can actually talk things over," he said, his expression weary. "After all, you possess a talent ordinary people don't have."
Ability was, after all, something possessed by only a minority—a miracle born among tens of millions. To put it bluntly, as long as it wasn't a monstrous crime, almost anything could be negotiated.
Chapter 174