Chapter 1: Punching Petty Thugs, Stepping on the Sewer

James Grant walked along the neon-lit street, humming the new version of “Eighteen Touches,” thinking about his next move, when he suddenly felt a hand silently slip into his pocket.

Damn it! Someone actually dares to target me.

Turning around, he saw a well-dressed man in a suit standing right behind him.

These days, even thieves care about their image. James Grant couldn’t help but sigh.

With a bizarre smile on his face, Young Master Grant asked, “Did you get it?”

The thief clearly hadn’t expected to be caught so quickly. After all, he’d trained for ten years, able to grab slippery marbles from boiling oil, and his two-fingered Zen technique was well regarded in the trade. How could he be exposed so easily?

“Not yet!” The thief showed no sign of embarrassment, slowly withdrawing his hand from James Grant’s pocket, and even smoothed out the wrinkles on James Grant’s clothes as he did so, smiling as if greeting an old friend he hadn’t seen in years.

James Grant curled his lip, and with lightning speed, grabbed the thief’s retreating hand, twisted it back, and a crisp crack sounded from the hand.

“Ow…” Cold sweat broke out on the thief’s forehead as he cried out in pain. The grotesquely twisted wrist made it clear the hand was broken.

Passersby on the street were startled by the scene and quickly gathered around to watch.

“Kid! You dare steal from me? Tired of living, huh?” James Grant still gripped the already broken hand, a sinister smile on his face as he looked at the thief’s twisted expression.

So he was a thief—realization dawned on the onlookers.

“Which eye of yours saw me stealing?” The thief, relying on his fresh clothes and decent looks, still tried to talk tough.

“Still talking back after I caught you!” James Grant laughed instead of getting angry, finding it a bit funny. He raised his foot and kicked the thief right in the knee.

“Ah!” Another cry of pain. The sensitive nerves in the knee sent a sharp pain through the thief, and his legs buckled, making him kneel on the ground.

James Grant was twenty centimeters taller than the thief. Now, holding the thief’s wrist, he half-lifted him off the ground, the pain burning through the thief like fire.

A look of utter desperation flashed in the thief’s eyes. Gritting his teeth, he roared, “Get him! Take him out for me!”

Suddenly, four people burst out from the crowd, each wielding a gleaming dagger, attacking James Grant from four directions.

The onlookers all took several steps back—real knife fights were not something they could handle.

James Grant was a bit stunned. He really hadn’t expected things to have gotten this bad—thieves on the street not only failed at stealing, but even dared to attack.

After a brief hesitation, James Grant kicked the thief in the stomach, sending him tumbling. Using the momentum, Young Master Grant lifted the thief and, with a beautiful over-the-shoulder throw, hurled the thief’s body hard at his companions.

Several cries of pain rang out as the thief crashed into two of his companions, knocking them to the ground.

A chill ran down James Grant’s back. He shifted slightly to the left, and a gleaming dagger flashed past his cheek.

James Grant was thoroughly enraged.

Judging by the dagger’s trajectory, the thief’s companion had clearly aimed for the back of his head. If he hadn’t dodged, his skull would have been split open.

With his left elbow, he struck backward, the powerful impact making the attacker grunt. James Grant freed his right hand, grabbed the attacker’s hair, and kicked back hard, knocking him to the ground.

James Grant’s series of moves dazzled the eye, yet were extremely simple. After taking down this man, the other accomplices had already gotten up, their faces fierce as they charged at James Grant.

Young Master Grant wasn’t made of steel. Facing gleaming daggers, his scalp tingled. Fortunately, he’d trained a bit as a child. If they were unarmed, James Grant could easily take them down one by one, but with daggers, it wasn’t so easy.

He hadn’t yet reached the level of disarming a blade barehanded.

Glancing left and right, James Grant didn’t hesitate—he turned and ran.

Only an idiot would fight you guys!

Vaulting over the roadside fence, James Grant jumped onto the street. Looking back, he saw the thief’s companions hadn’t chased after him. Instead, they wore gloating smiles.

Following one man’s gaze, James Grant saw a bus heading straight for him.