Next to the ambulance.
"Stu, you hung up the phone. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye."
Dizzy and lightheaded, Stu looked at the strange man who had suddenly appeared in front of him, his expression turning terrified. He recognized the voice immediately—it was the same man from the earlier phone call.
Shit.
The murderer was him?!
The pizza deliveryman wasn't the culprit at all!
The murderer carried himself with an air of superiority and confidence, clearly pleased with how he had outmaneuvered both Detective William Somerset and the New York police.
The NYPD are all useless idiots. They can't catch me at all. Even if I stood right in front of them, they wouldn't recognize me. How boring.
With people like them, how could New York ever be peaceful?
He chuckled inwardly and sighed. "I do feel sorry for the pizza delivery guy, but I didn't want to miss watching you reunite with your wife."
Earlier, he had forced Stu to confess everything. To protect his wife's life, Stu admitted his infidelity and publicly declared that he was a liar full of deceit.
"You don't need to thank me," the murderer continued calmly. "I just hope the honesty you've finally regained can be maintained. If not, I'll call you again."
With that, he picked up his box and walked away from the police cars as if nothing had happened. He even glanced back at the phone booth, admiring it like a masterpiece.
Shortly afterward, he entered an alley in Manhattan and stepped into another public phone booth, preparing to carry out his next crime. He would tamper with these booths in advance, installing eavesdropping devices to listen in on conversations and select his targets.
That was how Stu had been chosen.
Just then, a deliveryman wearing a hat and mask approached and knocked on the glass door.
"Hello, delivery. Your fish order has arrived—two yellow perch and one trout."
"???"
The murderer opened the door, frowning in confusion. "You've got the wrong place. I didn't order anything."
Yet the scene felt oddly familiar.
Didn't I use a deliveryman to send food to Stu before?
Who delivers takeout to a phone booth?
Wait… why am I even hesitating about whether this is real takeout?
He suddenly sensed something was wrong and quickly reached for his pocket—but it was too late.
A silenced shot fired at close range pierced his heart.
The murderer froze. His body slumped forward, collapsing into Luca's arms, making it look almost like an embrace. Passersby noticed nothing unusual.
Luca calmly helped him into the phone booth and said with a faint smile, "No mistake. This is your takeout. In Italy, fish symbolizes death."
Italy?
The killer's gaze grew unfocused. He couldn't comprehend how someone like him—without a proper social record, without a clear identity—had been targeted by the Mafia.
Luca positioned the body upright inside the booth and casually shoved the receiver into the killer's hand.
"You like making phone calls, don't you? Go on—make as many as you want. I hope you enjoy this way of dying."
"Let them rest in peace."
"Goodbye."
Luca turned and walked away, disappearing calmly into the bustling Manhattan streets.
With his last remaining strength, the murderer opened the takeout box, wanting to see the fish that had supposedly accompanied him to death.
Inside was not fish.
It was an ordinary pizza.
His already shattered heart stopped completely. The murderer died of fury.
__________________________________________________________________________
Ding! You killed the mastermind behind multiple sniper attacks, preventing further deaths.
You upheld the peace of New York.
[Gain Skill Points x15]
[Gained 10 Skill Fragments]
[Visual Acuity +0.2, your uncorrected visual acuity has reached 1.2 (normal standard visual acuity is 1.0)]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 26]
__________________________________________________________________________
"Improved eyesight? Not bad."
Luca blinked and noticed that the details within his field of vision were sharper than before.
I am Luca "Hawkeye" Greco.
The murderer's body was not discovered until about half an hour later. Compared to the sensational phone booth shooting case that reporters had broadcast across the city, this death was silent and inconspicuous—just another mundane tragedy in New York.
After William Somerset and his colleagues returned to the precinct, they were informed that another man had died in a Manhattan phone booth.
This time, however, the identity was unusual.
There were no social security records or official documents. Inside the box next to the deceased, officers found a large number of eavesdropping devices and weapons—identical to those discovered earlier in the Times Square room.
Following the clues, they discovered that the pizza deliveryman who had died in the room had been in contact with this newly deceased man.
Based on the evidence William had previously gathered, he concluded that this man was most likely the true mastermind behind the series of sniper killings.
But who killed him?
That question became an unsolved mystery.
The officers discussed it for a while but were completely baffled.
Just then, Detective David Mills pointed at the television. "Look—isn't that Greco?"
Several officers turned toward the screen. CNN was broadcasting Luca's interview in full—uncut.
First came his blunt complaints, calling Times Square a "crappy" and mocking Manhattan's terrible security.
Then, in an abrupt shift of tone, he launched into a passionate speech about peace, harmony, and unwavering support for the NYPD.
Everyone: "...."
Is this interview real?
Are we sure this isn't some late-night comedy show?
They all wore strained expressions, as if they had just eaten chocolate that tasted suspiciously wrong. Being praised so extravagantly by a Mafia member made their skin crawl.
The stark contrast between Luca's initial rant and his later praise made the whole segment feel like carefully staged satire.
Couldn't those idiot reporters have interviewed someone else?
Why did it have to be him?
Richie Roberts gave a wry smile. "I bet those first complaints were Greco's real thoughts. That 'Crappy Times Square' line is going to stick. It'll turn the landmark politicians worked so hard to polish into a punchline."
"It's not that serious. It was obviously a joke."
"A bad joke," someone muttered. "I guarantee security at Times Square will improve after this. The city will try hard to erase the image of it being a 'crappy.'"
"I think Greco's going to be famous. He's handsome, charismatic—like a Hollywood star. The female reporters were practically glowing."
"But he's Mafia!"
The officers argued among themselves.
Still, it wasn't unheard of for gangsters to become celebrities in the United States. A decade ago, Fortune magazine had published a list of the 50 most powerful gang leaders in America. That issue sold out nationwide. Ironically, many of those figures met unfortunate ends within ten years, making it seem like a real-life Death Note.
Meanwhile, the precinct's phones began ringing nonstop.
Call volume surged so dramatically that operators were overwhelmed. Many callers weren't reporting crimes—they simply wanted information about the "handsome, helpful citizen."
Some women asked for Luca's contact details. Entertainment agencies and talent scouts called as well.
"Call the TV station!" officers snapped. "Stop wasting police resources!"
Inside a bar in Little Italy, patrons watched the interview on television. The dramatic tonal shift had them laughing so hard they nearly fell from their seats.
"Haha! Luca the Dove's name is all over Manhattan!"
"Crappy Times Square! He nailed it!"
"Does anyone really think he meant that praise seriously? That's pure dark humor!"
"He's wasted on the Mafia. He should be making comedies!"
"Times Square has shootings every day. It's not as peaceful as our Little Italy!"
"Fuck Times Squares! Cheers!"
That night, as the interview continued to air, Luca became a sensation across New York. Locals dubbed him the "most handsome and helpful citizen."
In separate interviews, numerous officers truthfully stated that Luca had helped the police locate the suspect more quickly and had played a crucial role in resolving the crisis.
At the time, those officers had no idea what Luca had said during his street interview. They were simply praising him out of professional courtesy.
It wasn't until CNN compiled all the footage together that the final program became unintentionally hilarious, sending viewers into fits of laughter.
No wonder people were calling Times Square Crappy.
Without Luca's help, the police might not have caught the suspect so quickly.
As for Luca's later effusive praise, it now felt thick with irony.
Without comparison, there is no damage.
The program became a ratings hit, outperforming other recent broadcasts and increasing the network's viewership by several percentage points.
Luca gained notoriety within the NYPD as well. More officers learned about his "enthusiastic" Mafia identity.
The nickname "Crappy Times Square" spread rapidly, with countless New Yorkers claiming it was the funniest joke they'd heard in months.
Ironically, Times Square began attracting even larger crowds. Tourists and locals posed for photos while giving the landmark the middle finger, jokingly calling it "Crappy Times Square."
"Mommy, peace~~~"
Click.
Another photo taken, as if mocking the whole situation were something fashionable.
The New York City government strongly condemned the remarks, calling them slander—blatant defamation. Officials expressed concern over the public's "mental state" and urged citizens to remain calm and rational.
At the same time, they quietly increased security around Times Square.
After all, it was important to prove that Times Square was more than just a place for gunfire.
It was also about love.
And peace.
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