Ambrose's brows knitted, eyes flitting from Han and then to the lackeys he had following him. There were three of them—faces he recognised as the men who joined Han to beat up the past Ambrose before he transmigrated.
His jaw turned to stone. "I don't even want to know what the hell this is about," he blurted. "Fuck off and leave me alone. Those aren't hard words for you to understand, are they?"
The faces of the guys around Han flickered with genuine surprise.
They'd heard about the C-Rank Guide changing since the night they taught him a lesson. But seeing it first-hand was a whole other thing.
"Why are you pressed?" Han didn't listen, backing off the wall he was leaning against.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, those dark orbs scanning Ambrose from head to toes. He finally noticed the Hunter uniform, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"Heading somewhere? Didn't you just return from Vatican City?"
