BOOM!
In the dead of night, a motorcycle tore across the Brooklyn streets like a comet.
Robert was gripping the handlebars tightly, the roar of the engine almost drowning out the howling wind smashing against his face. The motorcycle was pushed close to its maximum speed.
Yet, strangely, it remained perfectly stable.
Looking at it from the outside, no one would ever guess the driver was a complete novice, someone who had never properly handled a motorcycle before tonight.
Behind him, Frank finally adjusted to the terrifying speed and yelled over the wind, "You liar! You can drive! And you're damn good at it!"
The wind was so loud that unless they practically shouted, they could barely hear each other.
"I swear, I really can't!" Robert bellowed back. "Maybe it's my ability!"
And he wasn't lying.
Robert had never ridden a motorcycle before tonight. He couldn't even pass a driver's license test back home—he'd flunked the parking test three times.
But the moment he touched the motorcycle, an overwhelming sense of familiarity took over. His body simply knew what to do. His hands moved instinctively, balancing throttle, brakes, and steering as if it was second nature.
It didn't take a genius to figure it out.
It was his super high school-level talent.
A stuntman.
Not just the immortality. Not just shrugging off bullets.
The true talent of a super high school-level stuntman was pulling off insane, near-impossible maneuvers—perfectly.
Robert suddenly thought of two characters. One was Ghost Rider, a Marvel antihero who rode a flaming motorcycle. The other was Skull from "Katekyo Hitman Reborn," a Rainbow Child and an immortal stunt rider.
Compared to those two... maybe he wasn't too far behind now.
Frank, meanwhile, remained skeptical.
If Robert was a rookie, Frank thought grimly, then he himself must be the Queen of England.
Still, he had no choice but to ride along.
He glanced ahead and his expression sharpened.
A black jeep screeched around the corner ahead, barreling straight toward them!
"They're trying to block us!" Frank barked.
Robert's eyes lit up with excitement.
"Hold on tight!"
Instead of slowing down, Robert twisted the throttle even harder, pushing the bike to its absolute limit.
Frank swore viciously under his breath.
The motorcycle roared forward. Robert leaned his body sharply, dragging the bike into a death-defying drift. The tires screeched against the pavement as the motorcycle tilted dangerously sideways—so low it practically kissed the ground.
They slipped past the charging jeep, missing it by inches.
Frank, sitting in the back, felt the wind of the jeep skim his face.
He barely resisted the urge to throw himself off the bike.
The bike straightened up like nothing had happened. Robert laughed gleefully. "How's my driving?!"
"...Acceptable," Frank growled, his face stiffer than ever. "But too damn flashy."
Then Frank's sharp eyes caught another problem.
"More incoming!"
From both sides of the driveway, more black jeeps emerged—engine lights cutting through the night, gangsters leaning out of the windows, guns raised.
Automatic fire rained toward them.
Bullets pinged off the road, whizzing past their ears.
Robert twisted the bike left and right, weaving crazily like a snake. Somehow, through sheer instinct or mad luck, he dodged the worst of the incoming fire.
Frank, meanwhile, calmly reloaded and returned fire with lethal precision.
One shot smashed through a jeep windshield, sending the car spiraling out of control into a wall with a crash.
"BOOM!"
But even Frank wasn't invincible.
Robert heard the grunt before he saw it.
He glanced back—Frank was clutching his left arm, blood soaking through his sleeve.
"You okay?!" Robert shouted, panic in his voice.
"Focus on the road!" Frank barked.
Ignoring his injury, Frank used his right hand to keep firing.
The problem was... the magazines were running dry.
Another shot—another gangster down.
And then...
Click. Empty.
Frank threw away the useless pistol with a curse.
Robert turned his head, still steering with one hand.
He saw Frank's pale face and calmly asked, "You seem a bit injured."
Frank glared at him. "I said—concentrate—"
His words caught in his throat.
Because Robert—this lunatic—was staring at him, not at the road, one hand lazily on the handlebars, completely ignoring the fact they were still speeding at over 100mph through Brooklyn traffic!
"WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOING!?" Frank finally exploded.
Robert gave him a bright, innocent grin.
"Relax. One hand's enough."
He even pulled out his pistol casually, twirling it once in his hand. "Besides, it's time I show you my skills."
At that moment—
[Unlocked Successfully!]
[Title: Super High School-Level Sharpshooter]
[Description: There's a reason bullets curve. With precise control over the wrist at the moment of firing, the shooter imparts horizontal acceleration, allowing bullets to form an arc. This is the foundation of 'gun-fighting' technique.]
[Skill Gained: Bullet Time.]
A rush of information flooded Robert's brain.
His muscles twitched, adjusting unconsciously.
Robert's smile widened.
The real show was about to begin.
End of Chapter 23.
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