The young man with a Mohawk hairstyle became famous at a young age. As a member of the top team in Asia, ranked even among the top five globally, his confidence was sky-high. He naturally believed himself to be the center of the world, deserving of everyone's attention.
"Ahem, who are you people?" The Mohawk straightened his back, casually flicking at his uniform's hem as though it wasn't intentional. Apart from his protective clothing, he wore a uniform that was rather dashing, albeit with an air of superiority in his words that was frankly annoying. "State your abilities, then go rest in the corner. When it's your turn to fight, someone will notify you. If you wander aimlessly and disrupt the plan, don't blame me for being merciless."
The Mohawk didn't bother seeking Tang Zheng and his group's opinion. He acted entirely as he pleased, as if he were a military policeman and the Warhammer team were Jewish prisoners locked in a concentration camp.