North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 220 155 Have you ever seen American Iaido?1

"Sofia, who are they?"

Dean coughed weakly twice, asking with confusion.

Sofia was the head nurse of this VIP ward.

"Detective Dean, these two are your colleagues. We've already confird their identities. If there are any problems, your colleagues, as well as we, will be here imdiately!"

The head nurse gazed at Dean, her eyes soft and inviting, hoping Dean would catch her unspoken hint and offer so kind of response.

Due to her rich nursing experience, she was the first nurse to understand Dean's true nature. She was very eager to communicate with him about this.

However, Dean politely kept his distance from this woman, who was about the sa age as his own mother.

He smiled and said, "Thank you, Sofia. Your thoughtfulness is as sweet as the bananas you gave . I'll call you if I need anything. Could you close the door for us now?"

The head nurse left with a look of unfulfilled longing. At her age, she craved sothing more tangible, more fulfilling to fill the void—not hollow sweet talk, unless that 'silver tongue' referred to a verb rather than a noun...

The door closed, and the man of the pair stepped forward to introduce himself amiably, "Detective Dean, I'm sorry to disturb your rest. I am Agent Detrov from the Internal Affairs Departnt. I have so questions I'd like to ask you. Is that convenient?"

"Of course, no problem," Dean said, his gaze shifting to the woman beside Detrov. She was rather ordinary-looking but possessed a quite impressive deanor. "And this lady, won't you introduce yourself?"

He felt a scrutinizing gaze from her.

The woman smiled without speaking.

Detrov stepped in to explain, "Her identity is sowhat special, and she won't be part of our conversation. If it's alright, I'd like to begin the questioning as soon as possible."

"Sure!"

Dean nodded.

Detrov took out a recording pen, confird it was working properly, and began the inquiry. "Detective Dean, what did you see when you faced the attack in the XX community?"

"I don't know how to describe it; I was stunned at the ti.

"Most people don't get the privilege of a gang of thugs suddenly pulling out weapons and opening fire on them.

"I was no exception.

"In fact, if it weren't for the special all-terrain vehicle my girlfriend gave , you'd only be seeing my photo at a morial service for fallen officers."

Dean didn't directly answer Detrov's question. Instead, he firmly categorized the group of 'little short legs' as thugs, not eleven or twelve-year-old children.

From this brief exchange, Detrov already sensed how difficult Dean would be to handle.

His brow furrowed slightly as he continued, "Do you enjoy target practice?"

"No, I prefer the puzzle-solving aspect of cases. I hate violence!" Dean said, a helpless expression on his face. "If it weren't for self-defense, I really wouldn't like using guns."

Detrov was montarily speechless.

This was the 'Butcher' detective. In just over three months on the job, his kill record already exceeded twenty people, yet here he was, innocently claiming to dislike violence... Do I look like a fool?

Detrov knew Dean was telling bald-faced lies, and Dean knew he was lying too.

But within the confines of the rules, Detrov had no coback.

He suppressed the irritation in his heart and looked directly into Dean's eyes. "Detective Dean, I expect you to answer my questions directly!"

Dean coughed a couple of tis, feigning weakness, an innocent expression appearing on his handso, masculine face. "But these are my sincere thoughts, Agent Detrov. Are you suggesting I say sothing else?"

Detrov's expression flickered. "Don't misunderstand. My reminder was purely a matter of duty. Third question, Detective Dean, how are you feeling right now?"

Dean sighed. "Feelings?

"Anger, I suppose.

"A group with ulterior motives exploited those children, turning them into ruthless, unblinking killers. They destroyed not only the children's lives but also the families of countless innocent victims.

"I am furious at the utter depravity of those pulling the strings."

Sensing the emotional tremor in Dean's voice, a flicker of triumph lit Detrov's eyes. He quickly pressed on, "Then do you have any regrets about opening fire during the attack?"

Heh, you sly fox, I've caught you now!

This question was a clear trap.

If Dean said yes, well then, you clearly need psychological counseling!

If Dean said no, then you slaughtered all those 'little carrots' without a shred of remorse?

I'd have grounds to suspect you have an antisocial personality disorder. You need psychological counseling!

Either way, it was a pitfall.

It all depended on which way this young Detective Dean would jump.

It wasn't that Detrov personally held a grudge against Dean. He admitted he was indeed envious of Dean's achievent in becoming a detective at such a young age. But more importantly, it was his duty to identify and remove problematic officers. This was how he earned his rits. Their roles inherently made them adversaries.

Dean sensed Detrov's malice.

He smiled faintly and said without a mont's hesitation,

"No regrets!

"Because my duty is to solve cases, uphold the justice of the law, ensure that the deceased do not die unjustly, and protect the safety of our citizens!

"Facing a group of inhumane, ard thugs!

"If I didn't even dare to fire my gun, then first, I would be failing the badge I wear. Second, I'd be betraying the taxpayers' trust. Third, I'd be letting down my mother who worked so hard to raise , and my loving family. And fourth, I'd be dishonoring the mory of my father, who died in the line of duty!

"In that mont, I had no right to regret, nor will I ever regret having opened fire!"

Detrov sucked in a sharp breath.

Dedication, devotion to duty, filial piety, loyalty...