Chapter 52: It's Hilarious, But Guess Why I'm Not Laughing (Please Vote! Please Subscribe)

Bang! Bang! The scar-faced man burst into the bank lobby, raised his arm, and fired two shots, then shouted:
"Everyone, get down and put your hands over your heads!"
For a moment, the hall was plunged into silence, then suddenly erupted in screams and chaos.
"Ah! Robbery! Help!"
"Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!"
It was still early, and with the traffic jam on the road to the bank, only a few customers were inside, the rest were all employees. Trembling, they crouched on the floor.
"Don't shoot! Please, don't kill anyone!" The branch operations manager by the window raised his hands, slowly squatting as he pleaded, "You're here for money, not murder. We'll cooperate fully, just please don't kill anyone."
"Who are you?" The scar-faced man, sensing the authoritative tone, asked.
The operations manager quickly pulled out a business card, tossing it across the floor. "I'm the operations manager of this branch. My word carries weight here. As long as no one gets hurt, I'll cooperate."
"Good! Have them open the vault and load the money into the bags!" The scar-faced man glanced at the business card on the floor, then spoke in a gruff voice.
His three accomplices worked in tandem: one guarded the entrance, another watched the hostages, and the last tossed several bags onto the counter.
Clearly, they were seasoned professionals.
"Alright! Alright!" The operations manager nodded repeatedly, calling out to the pale-faced staff behind the counter, "Quick! Start loading the money! As long as we cooperate, we'll be fine. They'll leave once they've got the cash. Don't do anything foolish, don't risk everyone's lives—just do exactly as they say!"
With management present, none of the staff dared to press the alarm. Under the threat of guns, they opened the vault and stuffed bundle after bundle of large-denomination bills into the bags.
After all, their monthly salary was hardly worth risking their lives.
"Faster! Move!"
"Move, or I'll shoot you!"
"Go bring the truck around." The scar-faced man, surprised by how smoothly things were going, instructed one of his men.
"Yes!" The accomplice guarding the hostages slipped out of the bank, retrieved a small box van that had been parked beside the bank the night before, and pulled it up to the main entrance.
The operations manager was startled—when had they parked that truck there?
He couldn't help but marvel: some jobs truly belong to professionals.
Once the van was parked, the driver got out, opened the cargo hold, hauled the filled bags from inside the bank, and tossed them onto the truck, then brought back several empty bags for the staff to continue loading.
"Boss, the road up ahead seems to have cleared!"
As the twelfth bag was loaded, one of the gang noticed the street outside filling with cars.
"Let's go!" The scar-faced man promptly ordered.
Due to the traffic jam, he had extended the planned time for the heist, and their haul had far exceeded expectations. He dared not push his luck any further, lest they get caught.
The four men, each carrying a bag, dashed out of the bank, jumped in the van, and sped away, vanishing from sight.
"Quick! Call the police!" The operations manager shouted, barely able to keep from laughing with relief.
He was about to call the branch manager with the news—ah, not good news, bad news, yes.
The alarm finally sounded, ringing out.
In truth, there was no need for them to call; as soon as the robbery began, local residents had already phoned the police. But thanks to the traffic jam, the police cars were delayed en route.
The alarm echoed for about three minutes before falling silent.

Two minutes later, the van carrying Noda's five-man startup crew screeched to a halt outside the bank.
Before the staff inside could react, men wearing hoods with only their eyes exposed, wielding rifles and shotguns, rushed in.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Robbery! Everyone, get down!"
Like their predecessors, Noda and his crew fired warning shots into the air, then barked orders for cooperation.
It was practically a standard industry procedure.
Damn! Not again—another group?
The staff, who had just begun to breathe easy after surviving the first heist, were dumbfounded, and with practiced ease, crouched down again, mentally cursing their fate.
The operations manager, who had just dialed the branch manager, was equally stunned, staring blankly at the new gang. The phone dropped from his hand to the floor.
"Hello?"
The branch manager's voice came over the line.
Crash! Noda strode forward and kicked the phone away, then swept his gaze over the room and yelled, "Fill up every bag, or I'll go on a killing spree!"
Two of his men placed pre-prepared bags on the counter, pointing their guns at the staff inside.
"You heard me! Fill them up!"
"Hurry! Fill them all!"
"W-wait!" A staffer behind the counter timidly raised a hand. "There's… there's not enough money, we can't fill the bags."
You arrived too late; all the money was already taken.
Serves you right for not being more punctual.
"What?" Noda was momentarily stunned.
His mind struggled to process the situation.
Just then, he heard police sirens in the distance. The lookout at the door shouted, "Boss! The police! There are loads of them!"
"What? How did they get here so quickly?"
"Damn! What’s going on?"
His three men were shocked and furious.
"Retreat! Get out now!" Noda didn’t have time to think, only to escape.
As he fled the bank, he glanced toward the sirens—dozens of police cars, lights flashing, were roaring toward them, less than a hundred meters away.
So many police cars, clearly prepared for an ambush.
"To the suspects up ahead, immediately—"
"Get in the van first!" Noda shouted, holstered his sidearm, swung his AK to the ready position, and fired at the oncoming police cars.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The barrel shook, sending a stream of bullets like fiery serpents into the police cars, sparks flying as metal was struck.
The first cars swerved wildly to avoid the gunfire, colliding with neighboring vehicles, and those behind crashed into them, unable to brake in time.
The cacophony of crashing metal echoed again and again.
Soon, the cluster of police cars, engines smoking, came to a forced halt in the middle of the road, blocking all passage.
Seeing the way blocked, the officers leapt from their vehicles and returned fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Though their firepower couldn’t match Noda’s,
they had numbers and plenty of guns.
Bullets rained down, riddling the white van until it looked like a battered raft tossed by a stormy sea, ready to capsize at any moment. Noda fired as he retreated, climbing into the van, and the driver hunched low, started the engine, and sped away.
Watching the van disappear into the distance, the Organized Crime Countermeasures chief, Aoi, slammed a fist onto his car’s hood.
"Damn it!"
…………………………
"Damn it!"
Meanwhile, in the van, Noda cursed furiously, tearing off his hood in frustration.
"Boss! Yamamoto… Yamamoto is dead."
A cry came from the back.
Noda turned to look. On the rearmost seat, one of his men slumped against the door, blood trickling down his neck.
He glanced at the shattered glass—clearly killed by a stray police bullet.
"Ah!" The driver roared, pounding the steering wheel, eyes red with rage. "Weren't we supposed to have inside help? How did the police get here so fast? It’s like someone tipped them off! Was this all a sting operation from the start?"
"Find someplace to burn the van." Noda looked at Yamamoto's corpse, forcing himself to swallow his grief and anger, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
After a moment, he was about to call Kobayashi for answers when his phone rang first.
Ring ring~ Ring ring~
Noda answered.
"Hahaha! Noda, congratulations on your successful operation. I'm waiting at the agreed spot," Kobayashi laughed heartily, then added, "By the way, you won't believe it, but my cousin said another gang tried to rob the bank right after you, and they ran straight into the cops who were after you. Isn’t that hilarious? Not even a movie would dare script something like that…"
Listening to Kobayashi's unrestrained laughter, Noda's face twisted, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone, breath growing rapid.
He finally understood what had happened.
"Very funny. But Kobayashi, do you know why I’m not laughing?" Noda replied, word by word.
Kobayashi was taken aback, noticing Noda hadn’t reacted. "Right, Noda, why aren’t you laughing? Isn’t this funny enough?"
He remembered Noda wasn’t exactly hard to amuse.
"Damn it!" Noda was both frustrated and aggrieved, cursing through gritted teeth, eyes red as he shouted, "Because I’m that unlucky guy!"
"Huh?" Kobayashi didn’t get it. "What do you mean, Noda?"
"What do I mean? Just what it sounds like!" Noda was at his wit’s end, yelling hysterically, "We hit a traffic jam and were late! When we got there, the police showed up before we even made a move! I lost a man because of this—do you understand now?"
They had paved the way for someone else’s escape.
They had unwittingly intercepted the police pursuit for another gang.
He only wanted to make a fortune—why was it so hard, so unlucky?
Why! Why, damn it!
"What!" Kobayashi exploded on the other end, asking urgently, "So you didn’t get any money, lost a man, and the previous gang took what should’ve been yours?"
Noda was silent—silence louder than words.
"Damn it! How could this happen!" Kobayashi couldn’t keep his composure, cursing before taking a few deep breaths to calm down. "Let’s meet. We need to talk face to face."