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Japan time, January 1, 6:5 am.

Murakami grabbed Miyamoto and pointed to a 24-hour Japanese ramen shop.

"We don't have much time, and we don't have any clues yet." Miyamoto was very anxious.

Murakami patted Miyamoto on the back and said, "Let's have breakfast first. I am an old man. If I don't eat, I will have no energy throughout the day."

Elderly?

Miyamoto looked at Murakami's long gray hair and the strong facial features under the long hair with some doubts.Age has become very vague for Murakami. Between the ages of twenty and fifty, it seems that any one can be said.

Ramen, Japanese steamed eggs, and a bunch of side dishes, that's all for breakfast.

Miyamoto purred and finished the noodles in a few mouthfuls, then sat there and waited a little impatiently.Murakami was not affected by him, and remained calm, quietly enjoying his plain breakfast.

At five o'clock in the morning in Tokyo, the winter sun has not yet risen, but ordinary people living in this bustling city have been forced to leave their warm beds and walk hurriedly on the road.

"I know you are in a hurry. This is related to our lives, but being impatient now will not help us save time." Murakami took a final sip of soup, clasped his hands together, and whispered "Thank you for the hospitality."

He picked up the two tea cups on the table, put in cheap tea bags, poured hot water, and handed one cup to Miyamoto.

Miyamoto looked at the tea and saw Murakami's calm but stubborn expression, so he reluctantly accepted it.

"Before I met you, I thought you were a legend." Miyamoto said.

Murakami asked "What now?"

"Just like me, they are idiots who are sent to the door and threatened."

Miyamoto rubbed the tea cup, and the warm touch did not make his heart feel warm for a moment.

His father is still waiting for money to treat his illness, but he is caught in the struggle between super villains and heroes. He is not a participant, but a threatened and manipulated puppet.

Maybe he only has less than seven hours left to live...

Dry!

Miyamoto stopped thinking pessimistically, it didn't make any sense to him.He put down the tea cup and wiped his face vigorously with his heated palms, trying to make himself more energetic.

"So, do you have any clues or a direction to pursue?"

Facing Miyamoto's suppressed anger and despair, Murakami nodded slowly.

Squeak——

Miyamoto stood up suddenly, his chair rubbing against the ground, making an unpleasant sound, which attracted the attention of the clerk and customers.

"Where is it! Let's go there now!"

Murakami waved to him and told him to sit down and calm down.

"Ever since I was chosen as an outcast and left to deal with Mr. Z, I have been isolated and unable to receive any information, let alone participate in the organization's decision-making.

But I have been in the Hand for hundreds of years, and this organization is imprinted with my shadow and stained with my flavor, which no one can get rid of.Payne is just an outsider, almost a stranger to this world, and his only source of information is Mrs. Gao. "

Murakami's tone was steady and he analyzed word for word, "I have been thinking about it all morning. Based on my understanding of Mrs. Gao, she will never completely surrender to Payne. She is just using him. From the past to the present, her only The purpose is to live. And to live, you need keel."

"Dragon bone again?"

Miyamoto thought about the part at Stark Industrial Research Laboratory, "You said they might be in New York?"

"The location is right, but it's not the place you imagined."

Murakami seemed to have seen through Miyamoto's thoughts, "The dragon bone you stole is very precious to ordinary people, but it is no longer enough for us old guys. In New York, there is a whole piece, Enough for her to live another 400 years, or even more."

"Apart from New York? Is that the only remaining keel in the world?" Miyamoto asked.

"Of course not. There is another place that is closer and has more keels, but..." Murakami suddenly laughed. "She doesn't have the guts."

Murakami drank tea slowly, with a rare trace of nostalgia in his weather-beaten eyes.

that place