Hunter could tell immediately that the woman calling herself 'Diana' was speaking English with an accent.
This undoubtedly made it harder for him to pinpoint her identity or background.
In the United States, the idea of a "pure" New York accent or a standardized American accent was largely a joke when dealing with the international criminal underworld. The country was a melting pot, and even native-born citizens often picked up inflections from their immigrant parents or diverse neighborhoods.
Therefore, an accent wasn't enough to go on.
His brain worked rapidly. He assumed she represented yet another syndicate trying to recruit him. He had dealt with plenty of them recently.
He decided to be direct. "We're all adults here. No need to beat around the bush."
"What do you want from me, and what can you offer me?"
Hunter's bluntness momentarily stunned the woman on the other end of the line.
After a brief pause, the woman calling herself 'Diana' spoke again. "Mr. Sun, I believe this is a conversation best had in person."
To his surprise, she spoke in flawless Mandarin.
However, despite the perfect grammar, her pronunciation carried a distinct, heavy Cantonese-Hong Kong inflection.
Hunter froze. A wave of genuine interest suddenly washed over him.
Just as he was about to probe further, the woman continued briskly, "I am currently in Chinatown, not far from your hotel. Would you care to join me for morning tea?"
"Alright."
This time, Hunter didn't refuse.
After getting the exact address from her, he decisively left his hotel suite.
Just as the woman had said, his hotel was quite close to New York's Chinatown.
He hailed a cab outside the lobby. With the added incentive of a fifty-dollar tip, the driver, who had been crawling along at a snail's pace, suddenly turned into a Formula 1 racer. He expertly wove through several narrow side streets, bypassing the morning traffic.
In less than ten minutes, Hunter arrived at his destination.
As soon as he stepped into Chinatown, the demographic of the streets shifted dramatically. Asian faces, particularly Chinese, became the majority, and the bustling, chaotic energy of the neighborhood surrounded him.
However, this was still New York. The people crowding the sidewalks weren't just Chinese immigrants; there were plenty of foreigners who lived nearby for cheap rent, alongside throngs of tourists.
Occasionally, aggressive street vendors would dart out, blocking the path of obvious tourists to peddle cheap souvenirs and fake antiques. Hunter noted that many of these aggressive scammers weren't actually Chinese, but rather immigrants from other Asian countries exploiting the area's reputation.
"Crack!"
Without even breaking his stride or looking down, Hunter's hand shot out like a viper. He seized the wrist of a pickpocket who had just slipped two fingers into his jacket pocket and squeezed violently, instantly shattering the thief's metacarpal bones.
"Aaargh!"
Ignoring the agonized scream behind him, Hunter kept walking. He didn't even bother turning his head to see what the thief looked like.
"Southern Yue Teahouse."
Shortly after, Hunter arrived at the designated location.
He looked up at the traditional wooden sign, raised an eyebrow, and stepped through the double doors.
The moment he entered, a waiter rushed over to greet him.
"Welcome, sir! Are you here for morning tea?" the waiter asked in fluent Mandarin, noting Hunter's appearance.
"I'm here to meet someone," Hunter replied in the same language. "A woman named Diana invited me."
As he spoke, his eyes swept the ground floor of the teahouse.
He took in the few patrons scattered among the tables in a fraction of a second.
"Mercenaries? Bodyguards? Assassins?"
Hunter analyzed their posture. Their broad shoulders, the way they sat facing the exits, and the unnatural bulges under their jackets all screamed that these men were highly trained professionals, not ordinary customers.
Sensing his sweeping gaze, some of the men actively avoided eye contact, looking down at their tea.
A few others, however, glared right back.
Hunter noticed one man in particular whose aura was distinctly different.
"Hmm?"
"Why is that guy looking at me with such intense hostility? His killing intent is suffocating. How many people do you have to slaughter to get eyes that dead?"
Hunter heightened his internal guard, but he didn't view these men as genuine threats.
Just a few days ago, he had been ambushed by over forty heavily armed Hicks Consulting mercenaries. He had wiped them all out, taking only a few rounds to his Continental body armor in return.
That battle had forced him to go all out. It was then that he truly realized how terrifying his physical capabilities had become. With all five of his core attributes pushed to more than four times that of an average human male, he was a living weapon.
That realization was the source of his current, unshakeable confidence.
The waiter, on the other hand, appeared to be a genuine civilian. Hunter didn't spot any concealed weapons on him, and his eyes lacked the cold hostility or curiosity of the men sitting at the tables.
Hearing the name 'Diana,' the waiter immediately nodded.
"Ah, yes, sir. Your friend is already waiting upstairs. She's in the 'Autumn' VIP room within the Four Seasons suite. Please, follow me."
"Lead the way."
Following the waiter, Hunter walked up the wooden stairs to the second floor and pushed open the intricately carved door to the 'Autumn' room.
The moment he stepped inside and saw the familiar Eastern face sitting at the table, he froze.
He recovered his composure almost instantly, but his mind was reeling.
"Wait... isn't that Angelababy?!"
"Hold on. She called herself Diana..."
"Don't tell me I've blindly stumbled into the plot of the 2015 'Hitman: Agent 47' movie..."
Sitting elegantly at the tea table was an incredibly young, breathtakingly beautiful Asian woman.
She looked barely in her early twenties. Her face was exquisitely delicate, and she wore a polite, gentle smile. Yet, her eyes were completely devoid of warmth.
When she looked at Hunter, her gaze was heavily analytical, assessing him like a piece of high-value machinery.
She thought she was hiding it well.
She had no idea that Hunter, backed by his enhanced perception and systemic skills, was practically a master of reading micro-expressions and emotional tells.
Seeing Hunter enter, the beautiful woman stood up smoothly.
She offered him a slight nod, then turned to the waiter. "That will be all. Leave us."
Her tone was frigid and commanding, perfectly imitating a high-and-mighty corporate CEO.
The waiter hesitated for a second, then nodded submissively, backing out of the room and closing the door securely behind him.
The woman who called herself 'Diana' waited a few seconds to ensure the waiter was gone.
Then, facing the silent, stoic Hunter, she formally introduced herself. "Hello, Mr. Sun. I am Diana."
"There were things I couldn't say over the phone."
"I have heard quite a lot about your recent... activities."
"That is why I reached out to you today. I would like to formally invite you to join our Syndicate."
"What's in it for me?" Hunter asked flatly.
He truly didn't care about joining another organization.
The Continental Hotel was loose enough. Cole had subtly hinted that Hunter could join a specific assassin guild under the Hotel's umbrella for better perks, but hadn't offered anything concrete enough to tempt him.
Furthermore, the Continental had failed to fully clean up the DoD mess, which had birthed the Hicks Consulting disaster in the first place. This had bred a seed of distrust in Hunter's mind regarding the Hotel's absolute authority.
Going forward, he wasn't going to put all his eggs in the Continental's basket.
So, he didn't care who he worked for, as long as the benefits were substantial.
Diana elegantly poured a cup of hot tea and pushed it across the table toward him.
"You will be assigned a dedicated, personal handler—myself. I will be available to you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."
"We will take exactly zero percent of your contract fees. Furthermore, we will actively source and vet the highest-paying, most exclusive contracts in the world for you, ensuring you have access to limitless wealth."
Looking at Diana's face—which was a dead ringer for the famous actress Angelababy—Hunter let out a dry chuckle.
"There is no such thing as a free lunch in this world."
"I highly doubt your only condition is that I simply 'join' you."
"I appreciate dealing with intelligent men. It saves time."
A slightly more genuine smile cracked Diana's icy facade. Her analytical gaze deepened, now tinged with genuine curiosity.
"Occasionally, our Syndicate encounters... obstacles. Problems that require a very specific, highly lethal touch to remove."
"Additionally, we maintain our own roster of elite bodyguards and mercenaries."
"Their combat skills are vastly inferior to yours. We would require you to periodically act as a sparring partner and tactical instructor for them."
"Naturally, you will be heavily compensated for both of these additional duties."
"What do you say, Mr. Sun?"
Hunter stared into Diana's exquisite, doll-like face. Suddenly, he leaned forward.
"If you are going to be my personal handler... I might consider it."
Diana's perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitched upward. Her polite smile remained, but her eyes dropped several degrees in temperature.
"Agreed."
She didn't hesitate. She immediately pulled a sleek leather folder from her briefcase and placed a contract on the table between them.
"You can read it over. Signing it isn't strictly necessary."
"After all, for people like you and organizations like mine..."
"A piece of paper holds absolutely no binding power."
The corner of Hunter's mouth curled into a dangerous smirk. He picked up the contract and began to read.
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