Gatsby: "Then Do You Know Who I Am?"

The morning light spilled across the earth. Inside his home, Charlie had just slicked back his hair with pomade and adjusted his suit before stepping outside. But the moment he opened the door, he saw Gatsby standing right there, beaming at him. "Good morning, sir!" "Who are you?" Staring at Gatsby in confusion, Charlie instantly furrowed his brow. Before he could finish, however, the men behind Gatsby had already raised their Thompson submachine guns, leveling them straight at him. "What do you think you're doing? I'm a special investigator sent from New York—" Staring in shock at Gatsby, Charlie panicked immediately. Did this man have no fear of the law? "Then do you know who I am?" Tilting his head, Gatsby inquired with an air of modest politeness. Hearing Gatsby's words, Charlie froze for a moment. How on earth was he supposed to know who this guy was? "Take care of him." Gatsby jabbed a finger forward and stepped back behind the two gunmen. Rat-tat, rat-tat-tat! The roaring chatter of Thompson submachine guns erupted. Charlie's body was instantly shredded with bullets, and he collapsed into a pool of blood, his face frozen in utter disbelief. He still had a wonderful life ahead of him and a brilliant future—how could he possibly fall here? Yet as Charlie twitched and gasped like a fish dying of thirst, Gatsby cocked his head. "He... appears to still be breathing." At their boss's words, the gunmen aimed at Charlie and pulled the triggers once more. Gazing upon the gory scene, Gatsby stepped back. "Utterly savage!" By the time Gatsby made his way down, however, the old sheriff had already been waiting for a long time. Looking at him with a wide smile, Gatsby raised an eyebrow. "You file the report, and I'll find someone to sign off on it. Understood?" "Understood, Mr. Gatsby!" Hearing Gatsby's words, the old sheriff nodded without hesitation. After all, this was New Jersey, not Africa across the ocean! Just how ruthless Gatsby of Brooklyn would be depended entirely on whether he wrote that "report" today! Seeing how sensible the old sheriff was, Gatsby produced a thick envelope and shoved it into his hands. "Do a good job, and I won't mistreat anyone." "Of course, Mr. Gatsby! Loud and clear!" Hearing Gatsby's promise, the old sheriff quickly broke into a grin. Returning to the Bondurant home, Gatsby strolled in wearing a bright smile and opened his arms wide. "All right, boys, that poor bastard Charlie has officially died in the line of duty! Though we won't know the exact circumstances of his heroic demise until a few days from now!" Staring in shock at Gatsby, Howard stood frozen in place. "What? What are you talking about?" "I'm saying the guy is gone. Gone for good!" Speaking with utter calm, Gatsby pulled out a chair, sat down, broke off a piece of bread from the table, and popped it into his mouth. "Damn, this stuff tastes just as terrible as ever!" As though recalling an unpleasant memory, Gatsby set the remaining bread back on the table without throwing it away. He, too, had endured bitter poverty in his early days, so cherishing food mattered deeply to him. Even if it no longer suited his palate, he wouldn't casually toss it in the trash. "Died in the line of duty?" Staring uncomprehendingly at Gatsby, Jack's eyes widened with doubt. "Well, you know how it is. Official business can be dangerous—mauled by a bear, shot in the back..." Speaking casually, Gatsby arched an eyebrow. "Isn't it that simple?" "Good God, Gatsby, how could you possibly smooth over something like this?" Staring in disbelief, Howard felt the whole thing was surreal. "Me smooth it over? You've got to be kidding. I couldn't pull off something like that. But my boss can!" Flashing a brilliant grin, Gatsby sounded as though he were merely discussing the morning weather, calm and matter-of-fact. After all, to the Bondurants, having never witnessed true lawlessness, it was impossible to fathom just how terrifying such power could be. "You actually have a boss behind you?" Howard asked in stunned disbelief. "How else did you think a penniless lieutenant like me could ever make it this far?" Gatsby gave a knowing wink, picked up a glass of milk from the table, took a sip, and narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. "Now this is good!" Brooklyn, New York. Looking up at the Silverstone Building piercing the clouds, along with the crest resembling the Sword in the Stone, Howard and Forrest were struck dumb. Jack took off his hat, his face filled with awe alongside his companion Pete. In their world, a skyscraper like this wasn't somewhere people like them could ever set foot in. A few minutes later, after riding the elevator, the group arrived at the top floor. Taking in the plush carpets and lavish, gilded decor, Jack instinctively took half a step back, hesitating to even step inside. Just then, Gatsby smiled. "Come on in. The gentleman is very hospitable!" In front of a massive miniature landscape display, Liu Ren and A Chao were leaning forward, inspecting it closely. As the group walked in, A Chao turned his head and said, "Gatsby's back." "Wait till I finish counting!" Liu Ren waved a hand dismissively, his brow furrowed. "What is the boss doing?" Gatsby asked curiously, watching Liu Ren standing before the giant bonsai basin. "He suspects his fish can shapeshift. He's counting them right now," A Chao replied to Gatsby, the corner of his mouth twitching. How on earth could fish shapeshift? The staff simply changed the water every three days and swapped in new fish every seven! Only Liu Ren was under the impression that his fish had never been replaced! "Incredible! These little critters can actually change! Fuck, if I submitted this for a Nobel Prize, it'd blow the whole world away!" The moment Liu Ren blurted this out in excitement, everyone in the room stared at him in awkward silence. "Aha, new friends!" Breaking into a smile, Liu Ren stepped forward and offered fine cigars to them. "Have a taste—Cuban Havanas! I had young maidens specially pick them from the plantations for me!" Looking at the Havana cigars, which were impossible to get through legal channels and could only be smuggled in, Howard and Forrest were stunned. On the black market, the markup on a single cigar like this was staggering—worth at least an ordinary laborer's weekly wage! Sitting down casually, Liu Ren smiled. "I know you run your own distillery, but your operation is far too small. I can help you scale up production, and you won't even have to worry about any trouble." Hearing this, Howard frowned. "Sir, how would the profits be split?" "How about fifty-fifty? I'm very fond of fairness." Liu Ren explained to Howard without any intention of taking the lion's share. After all, they were Gatsby's old comrades-in-arms, and he certainly wasn't hurting for money. "Who gets the fifty?" Forrest asked, genuinely baffled. Watching Forrest in silence, Liu Ren couldn't help pressing a hand to his forehead. He finally understood why Venom was considered the man's meekest role—if he could ask a question like that right to his face, didn't that prove everything? "Damn it, Forrest, if you can't do math, keep your mouth shut!" Staring speechlessly at Forrest, Gatsby felt utterly exhausted. This simpleton really was only suited for charging across a battlefield! After all, someone whose brains were forged of solid iron never feared where a bomb might drop—because he couldn't calculate the blast radius anyway! "You get fifty!" Liu Ren said, pointing at Forrest while still clutching his forehead. Unable to stifle a smirk, A Chao watched on. This was the first time he'd ever seen anyone give Liu Ren such a headache. It was simply too amusing.