Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week-Chapter 590 - 588: A Movie-Style Death for You

As the words fell, the air in the hall suddenly became exceptionally heavy.

Even the lights seemed to have weight, and the four surviving leaders, Jimmy sitting on the ground after being shot, and even Diliya were very tense. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Sweat appeared on her cheeks as if smeared with carbon, her small beady eyes widened, trying to apply final pressure.

Her thick fingers slightly curled, and the thumping heartbeat reminded her of the first time she incited Jimmy to murder, back when she was ten years old.

Under her encouragement, Jimmy used the gun he found to kill the man who was perpetually drunk and violent at home. Watching the man die, Diliya felt pleasure and excitement for the first time in her life.

The kind of satisfaction from using her mind to constantly scheme, kill others, and harvest success was so fulfilling.

Therefore, she didn't want to die; she wanted to continue calculating others and keep doing evil.

She tried to avoid the vile result of perishing together.

But those eyes behind the bright red demon mask showed no excitement, fear, decisiveness, or any other emotion—just calmness, like even the explosion of Big Ivan could not make those eyes reveal any surprise.

The overly calm gaze endowed that demon outfit with a kind of divinity.

Diliya immediately understood she couldn't frighten him and suddenly pulled upward.

"No!"

Jimmy screamed, using his hands and feet to try to get away from there.

But Diliya understood that the row of grenades strapped around her waist was capable of producing an explosion they couldn't escape from.

Boom!

The loud noise directly shattered the window, flames and shrapnel scattered everywhere. When the leaders and Jimmy heard the deafening sound, the overwhelming shrapnel landed on them first.

Smoke painted the golden walls a deep black, and nearby sofas were blown apart, revealing the springs inside.

Amid the smoke, colorful diamond-shaped light shields flashed around Aozawa's body, and the shrapnel that landed on the defense barrier shot off at extreme speed, scattering everywhere.

The smoke became thin.

Diliya obtained the slimmest figure of her life.

Large chunks of fat scattered due to the explosion, but the only downside was even her waist was blown away.

Aozawa looked at this scene in front of him, using the element replacement ability to turn into an invisible breeze and rush upstairs.

He entered the nearest room, where a woman was tossing on the bed, tearing at her clothes in a desperate attempt to find some coolness.

Aozawa approached, using marvelous resurgence to extract the drugs from her body.

The current marvelous resurgence could only store one person's illness at a time.

To prevent that woman from dying on the spot, Aozawa used the time-stop ability. A gray filter covered the world.

Aozawa returned downstairs, transferring the side effects of the drugs to Jimmy, who was barely alive.

The boss's life was tougher than others.

Then he went to another room, continuing this cycle.

Nine seconds was just enough to extract bad drugs from six people, and the gray filter faded from view.

Aozawa raised his hand.

Jimmy just let out his last breath, with his pupils losing their light.

Aozawa dissipated like a breeze from the scene; it was time to chase another escaping "protagonist."

...

Having escaped Jimmy's residence, Luola ran all the way towards the commercial street in the North District.

Voices gradually became noisy, and as Luola stepped onto the commercial street, the panicked expression disappeared from his face.

He tucked the gun into his waist, bare-chested; in this image, Caucasians faced no issues.

The impression of the United States' public on Caucasians remained fixated on wealth, believing they wouldn't dare take risks.

Due to his skin color, people around naturally remained very wary.

A gun tucked in the waist of someone of this skin color would generate tension whether seen by blacks or whites.

This was why Luola tried to keep his expression calm; if he showed panic or aggression, he might get shot first.

To ensure he posed no threat, he deliberately crossed his arms, distancing himself from his gun to reduce people's aggression towards him.

This was Los Angeles.

No one knew how many people carried guns, and shootings often occurred for various reasons.

Each roadside altercation could likely escalate into a homicide.

Typically, those in weaker positions would resort to shooting opponents if verbal and physical confrontation failed them.

Regardless of whether the person used to be a friend or relative, in heated arguments, no one cared about the other's identity and just wanted to silence them.

Luola, despite having a gun, didn't presume he could swagger in Los Angeles.

He crossed his arms, observing the streets around him, roadside ladies, neon lights flashing, illuminating the conspicuous store names in the somber night.

Then, a poster with a hot girl on it caught his attention.

It was in front of a nightclub, where two burly men stood. Seeing his gaze and attire, they immediately reached for their guns, showing no camaraderie nor warmth due to the shared skin color.

This was their way of warning Luola not to attempt anything outrageous; at worst, they'd empty their magazines.

Luola smiled slightly, didn't linger here, and continued walking.

Inside an electronics mart, blasting music spilled out onto the street.

As long as passersby looked through the glass wall, they could see all the electronics, either locked inside cabinets or wrapped in thick chains.

Such prison-like store designs had become increasingly common with the growing zero-dollar shopping trend.

The words "the sanctity of private property is inviolable" seem to have lost their power.

The bosses can't take out their "all men are equal" tool to give those who shoplift at zero cost a lesson.

Of course, this applies only to Luola's skin color.

If it's someone with yellow skin, shoplifting one hundred US Dollars could lead to a maximum of fifteen years in prison.

Luola hummed a tune, feeling like his mood was just like the blasting DJ music from the supermarket's speakers; he felt light as a feather.

Jimmy wanted to sell him out, but he never thought about what has kept him afloat until now.

That would be his brains and his shamelessness.

As long as he sells out his teammates quickly, no one can sell him out.

Luola thought of the boss who might already be buried six feet under, and his lips couldn't help but curl up.

Snap.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

Luola said impatiently, "Who?"

Turning around, he saw the stream of people behind him and the crimson demon mask reflecting neon lights.

Luola's pupils shrank abruptly, and terror instantly occupied his face, followed by a sharp pain in his abdomen.

A blade pierced through his body.

"It's me."

Aozawa answered, then pulled out the katana, blood oozing from the wound.

Luola staggered back two steps, desperately clutching his wound to stop the bleeding.

Yet, blood still flowed from his fingertips and the back of his waist.

"Ah, murder!"

Luola shouted loudly, turning to run.

Driven by a will to survive, he overcame the pain from the knife wound, trying to incite panic among the surrounding pedestrians with his cries.

However, the pedestrians along the way remained indifferent, merely steering clear from his path.

Luola looked shocked, having the feeling that the whole town was in cahoots with the demon behind him, hence their calm demeanor.

He turned around, and Aozawa was walking toward him, the tip of the sword dragging on the ground, casually saying, "Bankai, Zanka no Tachi - West: Zanjitsu Gokui."

Before the words had completely settled, Luola already saw surging flames rising from the opponent's feet, rushing upward like a gale infusing the robe from below.

The flamboyant flames enveloped the crimson armor, further coiling around the katana Aozawa held.

Faced with such an unusual scene, the surrounding pedestrians still did not show any signs of panic, simply walking by nonchalantly.

Ignoring Luola's cries for help.

"Demon, demon!"

Luola's voice trembled as he continued to run forward, seeing a police car parked by the roadside in the square ahead, with two noticeably overweight police officers chatting by the armored car door.

Seeing this scene, Luola's eyes brightened, and his frail body surged with strength as he quickened his pace and grabbed one of the fat officers, shouting, "Officer! Someone wants to kill me!"

"Let go!"

The fat officer violently shook off his hand, looking at the bloody handprint on his arm with an angry expression, "Bastard, you've got my hand all dirty. You think detergent is free?!"

Luola's eyes widened in disbelief. Is this really the time to talk about personal hygiene?

He yelled, "I'm being chased! Look, I got stabbed in the abdomen, hurry up and save me!"

The fat officer glanced at Aozawa who was walking over, then back at Luola, frowning, "Don't mess around. If you don't leave, don't blame me for being rude!"

"Stop dilly-dallying with him. If he doesn't leave, I'll shoot him dead!"

The fat officer's colleague quickly pulled out a gun, pressing it against Luola's forehead.

I'm the victim here!

Luola was trembling with anger, knowing the Los Angeles police wouldn't do much but never imagined that they would be so insane as to point a gun at a victim, right?

He cursed inwardly but could only drag his weakened body to continue moving forward.

Outside the plaza's department store, a big screen was playing a Pepsi commercial, with several buildings displaying advertisement signs.

For example, a clothing brand ad, a hospital ad encouraging people to return to being themselves, endorsed by someone with dark skin.

Choosing white skin would easily get labeled as racism.

Luola gasped, scanning the oddly dressed people around, unable to distinguish male from female.

The familiar streets, the familiar crowds, but in Luola's eyes, everything seemed so surreal.

Has Los Angeles turned into a place where murder occurs in broad daylight in the city, and the surroundings aren't even shocked?

Luola felt he couldn't keep up with the latest version trends.

"Anybody, please save me!"

Tears streamed down his face, but his outstretched hands never caught anyone; the surrounding pedestrians all steered clear of him, and avoided the demon gradually approaching from behind.

At this moment, Luola desperately hoped superheroes existed, losing control over his body in the chilling despair as he collapsed onto the ground.

"Running a hundred meters truly has a cinematic vibe."

Aozawa stopped beside him, looking down, casually swinging the katana in the bustling streets.

The head rolled onto the street.