After days of torrential rain, the weather in Manchester City gradually turned cold.
On such an autumn day, the British people on the streets added a trench coat to their thin summer shirts, just like the man who pushed open the door and walked into the coffee shop at this moment.
The man was dressed in ordinary clothes, a black trench coat with a pair of denim trousers. He was in his early thirties and looked ordinary. If he were to be placed on the street, he would be quickly drowned out and not attract more attention.
But if someone paid attention or approached him, they would directly and immediately feel something different.
Perhaps it could be said to be a kind of aura.
A kind of cold aura that kept strangers away.
Just like the indifferent expression on the man's face, people couldn't help but shiver just by looking at him. They would subconsciously stay away from him, and their scalps would involuntarily go numb with fear and vigilance. It was as if this man's body contained some kind of extremely dangerous and terrifying cold aura.
So even if it was just a simple action of pushing the door open, after the man walked into the coffee shop, it seemed that the temperature of the entire coffee shop had quietly dropped several degrees.
Even the customers sitting in the seats by the door suddenly shivered and subconsciously pulled up their collars —
This weather …
It's really cold.
The man who walked into the coffee shop glanced around coldly and quickly fell in the direction of the booth not far away by the window. His eyes flashed slightly, and he stepped toward the booth again.
At this time, Number Five also saw the figure of his old friend who he had not seen for many years under Number One's reminder:
"He really hasn't changed at all …"
Number Five sighed softly.
Number One shrugged, "He still has the same dead face that never changes for ten thousand years. He's almost as good as Number Two."
But these words could not be easily heard by others. When the man walked to the booth, Number One had already stood up naturally and calmly and was ready to greet him with a warm smile on his face.
"Hi, my old friend, long time no see —"
He originally planned to give Number One an affectionate hug, but before he finished speaking, he saw that the man had walked straight past Number One, completely ignoring the former's enthusiastic greeting. This made Number One's hands that had just reached out stop awkwardly in mid-air.
"Ahem … I say, you don't have to be so cold to an old friend, do you?"
Number One helplessly retracted his hand and looked at the man who had walked to the seat opposite the booth and sat down.
Bullet glanced coldly at Number One.
"I'm not your friend."
His tone was blunt and direct, without the slightest intention of giving him face.
But then his gaze fell on Number Five, and his expression softened a little. He nodded slightly at Number Five in greeting.
"Long time no see."
Number Five was all smiles. "Well, it's been a few years. It's a pleasure to see you again in Manchester City."
Bullet's gaze swept past Number Five's left hand, which was on the table. He seemed to have noticed something and his eyes narrowed.
"Engaged?"
Number Five was slightly startled, but immediately reacted. He smiled and raised his left hand to show off the diamond ring on his middle finger. "Yes, it's been a long time."
Bullet glanced at Number One, who was beside Number Five.
"With him?"
Number Five smiled and nodded.
"Congratulations." Bullet nodded and then shook his head. "It's a pity."
His tone was still cold, but in the last three words, one could clearly discern the sincere regret and pity in it.
Number One, who was next to him, could not help but twitch the corner of his mouth. "Hey, that's enough. Your fiancé is next to you, okay? Give him some face."
However, there was no doubt that such a protest was ignored by Bullet again.
When all three were seated again.
The topic finally returned.
Bullet finally looked up at Number One for the first time.
"Where's the stuff?"
Without further pleasantries, he went straight to the point.
Although the North American legend's expression and tone were still indifferent as if there were no emotional fluctuations, one could still feel the urgency that he was trying to suppress.
Number One laughed.
"Don't worry, I've brought it."
As he said, he turned his gaze to his fiancée next to him. "Xiao Wu?"
Number Five smiled and replied, took out a mini laptop from his small handbag, and then took out a small portable hard drive. He plugged it in with a data cable and handed it to his fiancé.
Number One took the laptop and hard drive. His fingers moved quickly and flexibly on the touch screen. Soon, he opened a video file and entered the playback interface. Then he turned the laptop screen to Bullet.
"Come on."
"The first recording, why don't you take a look first?"
In fact, Bullet didn't need to wait for No.1 to finish his sentence. He had already pulled the laptop screen closer to him, and his eyes were fixed on the playing image on the screen.
Number One and Number Five looked at each other in tacit understanding. They did not say anything and waited patiently.
The video was about 20 minutes long.
It was a random player ranked match. Through the spectator system, the videographer deliberately focused 90% of the camera's view on the blue team's bottom lane ADC, Draven's first-person perspective.
Bullet began to watch the video.
One minute passed.
Three minutes passed.
In the video, the blue team's ADC, Draven, forcefully initiated the attack at the bottom lane. With the cooperation of his support teammate, Hammerstone, he completed a HP kill.
It was a clean and efficient kill without the slightest bit of sloppiness.
In front of the computer screen, Bullet's expression remained indifferent. There was not even the slightest flicker in his eyes.
Five minutes passed.
Draven killed twice at the bottom lane again.
Bullet still did not react at all.
Seven minutes passed.
In the video, the purple team's midlaner roamed around the bottom lane. Coupled with the top lane's teleport, they instantly formed a pincer attack on the five players at the bottom lane.
The blue team's ADC, Draven, suddenly unleashed a burst of hand speed in the desperate situation.
He dodged two critical and fatal crowd-control skills in succession.
With a backhand throw of an E, he interrupted the opponent's jungler advance.
With the cooperation of Hammerstone, he forcefully counter-killed the purple team's brittle ADC, Explorer.
Then, he killed the support Nami.
Then, he killed the top lane.
With a Blink, he forcefully chased down the jungler with four kills.
In the end, when his teammate, Hammerstone, died, he threw a Cold Spinning Flying Axe, killing the opposing midlaner.
The female system voice prompted, "Penta-Kill (Penta-Kill)," and Bullet, who was sitting in front of the computer screen, finally responded with a "Hmm."
His sitting posture in front of the booth was still straight and did not change at all.
However, the gaze in his eyes had become slightly sharper.
Ten minutes passed.
Fifteen minutes passed.
More than twenty minutes passed quietly just like that. When the video ended, it ended with the blue team's victory and Draven's total of sixteen kills. The video player window popped up and returned to the desktop.
Sitting across from him, No. 1 raised his eyebrows and looked at Bullet with an inquiring gaze.
The expression on Bullet's face did not change.
"What about the rest?"
No. 1 laughed.
"There's a lot."
"If you're not tired, take your time and watch."
*****
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