"Fuck!"
Harry swore under his breath, his body moving nimbly as he slid under the booth, the bullet grazing his unruly hair by a hair's breadth.
Harry huddled beneath the seat, staring at Conti.
The bar had clearly descended into chaos; the two gunshots, fired in such rapid succession, had not only enraged the bar owner but also angered the killers and mercenaries resting there.
These people, who lived on the edge of danger, were not easygoing, and they immediately grabbed their weapons and started fighting the pursuing killers.
"Great chance!"
Conti's spirits lifted. What had been his purpose in painstakingly making his way to the Hoffnung bar?
Wasn't it to have these skilled individuals in the bar help buy him some time?
He emerged from the corner, but before leaving, he hesitated, looking back at Harry, who remained calmly in place.
Conti chose to trust his instincts, and besides, considering Harry was just a child, his fate would be sealed if he stayed in this hail of bullets.
And Conti, coincidentally, was a member of the mafia who still retained a shred of conscience.
So Conti reached out and pulled Harry out from under the seat.
"They're fighting, let's go!"
Caught off guard, Harry was abruptly yanked by a strong arm from his narrow but safe hiding spot, stumbling as Conti dragged him along as they ran.
When he was grabbed, Harry instinctively reached into his pocket, intending to pull a weapon from his shrunken suitcase.
Then he forcibly stopped himself, allowing Conti to pull him along as they ran.
Harry was utterly bewildered.
When the shooting started in the bar, he had placed charms on himself and around the seat.
This Mr. Lucky… how had he remembered me in terms of awareness?
And what was this guy thinking? Dragging someone along while fleeing? Didn't he find it cumbersome?
Conti didn't know what he was thinking either; his mind was solely focused on escape, completely unaware he had brought along a burden.
Forced into a sprint, Harry was pulled along by Conti with one hand, while struggling to pull tissues from his pocket with the other to spit blood.
They ran wildly through dim, narrow alleys, the wind whipping their black hair, bullets trailing gunpowder smoke occasionally landing at their heels, leaving small scorch marks, accompanied by the rapid, chaotic sound of footsteps.
The pursuers hadn't given up.
And they were closing in.
This speed… was unnaturally fast.
Both of them noticed the oddity.
While being practically flown along, Harry still managed to glance back at the situation behind them.
Figures were visible in the nearest spots, with more killers relentlessly pursuing from further back.
In Harry's field of vision, he could see several clusters of surging, flowing magical energy that were both distinct yet similar.
Harry's eyes widened in shock.
What the hell? Why were wizards involved in this pursuit?
No wonder they were running so fast. They were cheating with magic!
Conti's lungs felt like they were being pierced, his legs had gone numb, yet they still moved out of habit.
He gritted his teeth; even as his gums began to bleed, he kept his head down and ran as if he couldn't feel the pain, seemingly dedicated to the principle of "as long as you run fast enough, disaster will always be one step behind."
He had even forgotten he was dragging someone along.
Harry subtly manipulated his magic, once again forcibly altering the trajectory of an incoming bullet, making it perform an emergency landing at their heels.
He spat out another mouthful of blood.
Harry thought: Screw 'disaster always being one step behind'; it's only because I'm here carrying the weight behind you.
It's fine, isn't this just trading luck for luck?
What's a little bad luck?
As long as I'm not dead, it's not a big problem.
The issue now was that he had only witnessed how unlucky he could get, and hadn't seen any of the value this Mr. Lucky could bring him.
Even though he trusted his own work, still…
Harry spat blood expressionlessly: Fuck, never using that damned pocket watch again.
Conti pulled Harry into a dead end, a hidden alley tucked among buildings, its end blocked by a solid red brick wall.
Gritting his teeth, Conti prepared to use his hands to climb over, but was jerked back by the weight he was holding.
Alarm bells rang in his mind; confused, he turned to look behind him.
He saw Harry, who was spitting blood and rolling his eyes.
Conti's brain, whipped by the wind during their run, hadn't fully cleared, and a question blurted out: "How did you get here?"
Harry caught his breath, looked at the man with a smile, and gestured towards his arm.
Conti saw his own hand gripping the boy tightly.
He looked like he wanted to be embarrassed, but the approaching killers left him no time for embarrassment.
But in that moment of hesitation, the pursuing killers had appeared at the alley's entrance.
The wizards at the front jumped off their brooms, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods, dark magic aura clinging to them; standing there, they were the epitome of coldness, giving off an extremely ominous feeling.
Conti had lost a lot of blood; he had only managed to run on adrenaline, and now being able to stand upright and face them was likely his final burst of strength.
He was already starting to sway.
Although there was a sleeve between them, Harry was very perceptive and could feel Conti's body temperature dropping significantly.
The pursuing killers had real weapons, the wizards brandished their little wooden sticks at the front; when both sides met, the atmosphere was tense.
Both sides were filled with disdain and vigilance.
Disdain for the wizards' outdated, shabby attire and their comical gesturing with sticks, vigilance for the unknown magical power the wizards possessed that they lacked.
Disdain for the non-magical, primitive Muggles and their filthy bloodlines, vigilance for the firearms in their hands that emitted fire and smoke, which they did not fully understand.
But both sides could confirm that their target was Conti Esposito, who now appeared completely defenseless.
Thus, there wasn't much conflict of interest between them.
A wizard raised his wand towards Conti, its tip glowing green.
The killers also raised their guns, aiming to put Conti down in the dark alley, letting him die silently.
Conti leaned against the wall, his body sliding down weakly, yet he still sneered: "I never expected that to deal with me, he'd even drag you dark creatures out of the shadows."
"Muggle," the wizard sneered, his companions behind him laughing in discordant tones, laced with mockery.
With that single word, they expressed their contempt.
Conti didn't spare any attention for the group holding firearms; his blue eyes were fixed intently on the wizards.
Beneath that lake-like blue, great waves of ambition and unwillingness surged.
It seemed no one noticed the other person present.
Harry tilted his head, observing these people. Or perhaps they simply didn't care?
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