Fried Chicken Paste Face
"The usual rule—no more than three per person."
After greeting the customers, Finney got to work, and Skye didn't bother asking about what had happened at school earlier. Finney handled the cooking while she took care of collecting money and handing out the food.
The Upper East Side of Manhattan was home to some of the wealthiest people in New York, including the iconic Stark Building Finney had glimpsed earlier. So even though he priced the Sumire Chicken Nugget Rolls at a sky-high ten dollars each, none of the customers batted an eye. In fact, many of them wanted to buy even more.
"Hey, Finney, we've known each other for a while. Can't you hook me up with two extra?"
A man in his thirties, dressed in a sharp suit and polished shoes, smiled as he watched Finney skillfully prepare the chicken rolls.
"Mr. Wright, you're a big boss—you should know better than anyone how important integrity is," Finney said, shrugging helplessly. "And look at how much I've prepped. If I give you more, everyone else in line will demand extras too. If I can't serve everyone, they'll riot and smash up my little shop. Then you'll never get to eat these again."
"Alright, alright—three it is."
Seeing the annoyed stares of the people in line behind him, Wright smiled awkwardly, paid quickly, and stepped aside. He found a seat, unwrapped a roll, took a bite, and his expression immediately turned blissful.
It wasn't until nightfall that Finney finally saw off the last of the customers. He hung the "Open from Time to Time" sign back on the door, returned to the store, and began cleaning up. When he noticed Skye happily counting money, he couldn't help but smile and tease her.
"Don't get too excited. You're only getting a tenth of that."
Skye's grin froze. She turned to him with a pitiful expression, wiping away imaginary tears. "I'm your sister! I've been working so hard for you—can you really bear to give me just a tenth?"
"How about a twentieth?" Finney replied, feigning ignorance.
"Hmph!"
Skye's expression immediately flipped back to normal. She glared at Finney and happily returned to counting the cash. Despite what he said, Finney had always been generous whenever she needed money. So it didn't really matter what percentage she officially earned.
Finney just chuckled, took out the trash, changed clothes, and walked over to her, ready to joke around some more—when two men suddenly walked into the store.
Just as he was about to say they were closed, Finney's eyes narrowed, and a wave of tension surged through him.
"Don't move. Hand over the money."
Skye froze mid-count, staring blankly. It was the first time in her life that someone had pointed a gun at her from such close range. Flustered, she instinctively turned toward Finney, who gave her a calm, reassuring look.
This wasn't something Finney had expected—especially not in the Upper East Side, where gangs rarely caused trouble. The area was tightly controlled, and any thugs who knew the rules usually stayed away. His store wasn't even in a prime location, and its sporadic hours made it a terrible target for any serious competitor.
In the two years since opening, this was the first time someone had tried to rob him.
Finney raised his hands slowly and cautiously shifted his position, saying calmly, "The money's right there. Just don't hurt us."
"You! Pack the money!" one of the robbers barked at Skye, waving his pistol threateningly. Then he turned to Finney, snarling, "And you, stay put! Don't try anything funny!"
Skye's hands trembled as she grabbed a backpack and began stuffing it with cash, all while sneaking nervous glances at Finney, who continued to nod reassuringly.
Finney sized up the two masked men. They looked like street punks—probably not even affiliated with a gang. If they were, they wouldn't be stupid enough to hit a place like this. He figured if he was alone, he could probably take them down with his skills. But Skye was here, and that made things much riskier.
Losing a day's earnings wasn't a big deal to Finney, and he wasn't about to take a bullet just to play hero. But things took a turn for the worse.
One of the robbers, keeping an eye on the door, turned back toward Skye and leered, "Hey, boss, this girl's pretty damn cute!"
Skye went pale. Finney's expression darkened.
"Shut up and grab the money. Let's get out of here!" the other robber snapped. He clearly didn't want to complicate things.
"Yeah, yeah," the leering thug chuckled creepily and walked toward Skye—his intentions obvious.
Finney took a deep breath, eyes focused. These guys could've just stolen some money and left. But now they'd crossed the line. He didn't care about exposure anymore—he wouldn't let anyone harm someone he cared about.
**"Turn around."**
As the thug stepped closer, Finney activated the **Golden Great Technique**, and both robbers were yanked by an invisible force, forcibly turning to face away from Skye.
**Move like the wind.**
In the split second that followed, Finney lunged forward. With some basic martial arts he'd learned online, he disarmed the first robber and knocked him to the floor.
But before he could fully relax, the second robber reached into his jacket.
**He's got a gun too!**
Finney's mind raced. **I can't let him draw it.**
They were only about three meters apart. The first robber was still struggling, and using the Golden Great Technique again might fail if the second guy resisted with enough willpower.
He had to act first.
Almost without thinking, Finney drew his gun—something he kept strictly for emergencies—and fired. At the same time, instinctively, he also summoned his most familiar skill.
**Three piping hot Sumire Chicken Nugget Rolls appeared mid-air—flying straight at the robber's face.**
The shot went off—**Bang!**
To Finney's surprise, he missed. Even at this range, the bullet only tore through the robber's pants, not his leg. But the sudden noise, coupled with a face full of fried chicken, stopped the thug in his tracks.
"Don't move, or I'll shoot again," Finney warned.
The robber froze.
Finney quickly turned back to the first guy on the floor and knocked him out cold with a strike to the stomach. Then he yelled:
"Skye, call the police!"
Everything had happened in seconds. Skye had been frozen in shock, unable to process what just occurred. At Finney's shout, she blinked, then scrambled to grab her phone and dial 911.
"Wait!" one of the robbers suddenly pleaded. "Please, man, don't call the cops! We were wrong!"
Finney had been about to ignore him—but his eyes landed on the three chicken nugget rolls on the floor, still steaming.
"Skye, hold on."
Her thumb paused just before the call connected. She glanced over in confusion, then silently put the phone down.
The two robbers stared at Finney, surprised but relieved.
"Thank you, thank you!"
But Finney wasn't doing it for them. He silently cursed himself for using the chicken nugget roll skill instinctively—especially since the store had surveillance cameras. If the cops showed up and reviewed the footage, things could get... complicated.
Killing them wasn't even a consideration. Too messy. But dealing with the police could be a headache. Maybe it was better to let them go—just this once.