Racial discrimination? I'll make you pay the price and break your defense!

The fish farm owner tilted his head and looked at Eddie with a trace of provocation in his eyes."So, you're their boss?"

Eddie immediately understood what was going on. He had introduced himself when first contacting this fish farm. Now the owner, seeing he was Asian, probably thought he was an easy target and tried to scam him with substandard fry.

In that moment, Eddie felt the ugly side of human nature. Back in China, he had often read about Chinese people being bullied abroad. At the time, it all felt distant. But now that it was happening to him, it hit differently—deeply humiliating.

Too much. Just too much.If he didn't show this bastard why the cherry blossoms bloom red, the guy would probably think he was some weakling from a martial arts movie.

Shark and Nelson both instinctively stepped forward, but Eddie held them back. He looked straight at the owner and said, calmly:"Yeah. I'm the boss. What about it?"

The fish farm owner shrugged. "Nothing much. I just wanted to ask… are you still buying the fry?"

"I'm afraid not," Eddie replied. "Looks like we won't be doing business today."

As soon as he said that, the surrounding fishermen and workers began shouting and shoving aggressively. Shark and Nelson clenched their fists. A brawl was seconds away.

The owner raised his hand to silence his men, then said, "That's how business goes. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. But listen, buddy—based on our earlier talk, I assumed you'd be buying the fry. So I went ahead and made all the preparations. The fish are ready for pickup."

He pointed at his men, then at a nearby docked transport boat."These guys? Hired just for your order. That boat? Rented specifically for you. So I think it's only fair that you cover their wages and the rental cost. What do you say?"

Eddie smiled. "Sounds a bit like extortion, doesn't it?"

Shark snarled, "Boss, why bother talking to these sons of bitches? Let's show them what a G'bye Town fist feels like!"

A burly man from the other side shouted at Shark, "Shut your damn mouth, you hillbilly! Say one more word and I'll smash your teeth in!"

Nelson took off his shirt, revealing his lean, muscular frame, and got ready to throw down.

But Eddie didn't rush. The fish farm owner had gone too far, and he intended to teach the man a lesson—a deep, unforgettable one. Let him learn that Chinese people weren't to be trifled with.

Still smiling, Eddie said, "Let's make a deal. You must have real Atlantic cod fry here somewhere, right?"

"Of course I do," the bald owner said smugly, pointing toward a nearby isolated pen."That's the best batch of Atlantic cod fry in all of St. John's."

"Great," Eddie replied, spreading his hands. "Then why not sell me those? I'll take them off your hands. Problem solved."

The bald owner, thinking Eddie had caved, spat on the ground and sneered,"Dream on, you yellow-skinned monkey. Dream on. I'd rather dump those fish into the sea than sell them to parasites like you."

Birds of a feather flock together. The people he brought were probably all racists. Hearing that, they cheered and jeered in unison. The scene turned chaotic.

But now that Eddie had the location, he quietly dispatched his Poseidon consciousness straight into the water pen containing the fry.

Just as he thought, the isolated pool was full of lively, snow-white baby cod. Around the pen was a massive net barrier, like a wall enclosing the fry.

These fish nets worked by anchoring weights on the bottom and floats on the top. The tension between the two kept the net standing upright in the water.

Eddie's Poseidon awareness quickly loosened several of the bottom anchors. Without the weights, the floats pulled the net upward, and it slowly rose to the surface.

His divine sense swirled through the enclosure. As soon as the fry sensed its presence, they got excited—swimming after it like 107 Liangshan heroes chasing their chief Song Jiang.

Eddie seized the moment. His Poseidon consciousness zipped through the now-loose section of netting, and the entire school of cod fry surged out behind him like cannonballs—roaring forward in a silvery tidal wave!

Sunlight glittered off the water as the densely packed fish swam toward the surface. Their tiny, silvery-white scales sparkled like lanterns.

Back on land, the bald owner was still scheming how to bleed Eddie dry. In his eyes, Eddie was just another weak Chinese guy—maybe rich, but still easy prey. A fat sheep, ripe for slaughter.

Then, a scream shattered his thoughts:"Oh my God! Trick! The fry—they're escaping!"

"Quick, close the net! Hurry!"

"What the hell's going on? Trick, what do we do?!"

The bald man turned, dazed, as he stared at the glittering waves."What… what's happening?"

A worker ran up, yelling, "The net's broken! The fry are escaping!"

"Damn it!" The owner finally realized. He shoved the worker aside and roared,"What are you standing around for? Go seal the net! Get them back!"

But it was far too late.

Led by Poseidon's will, the cod fry poured into the open ocean. From above, it looked like a silver sea serpent was gliding beneath the waves.

Eddie turned to Shark and grinned."Looks like God heard his prayer. He said he'd rather dump the fry into the sea than sell them to me. Well—wish granted."

Shark burst out laughing. "God's everywhere, but I'd never pray for something like that."

Everyone was too busy trying to save the fry to care about Eddie and his team. They hopped in the truck and prepared to leave.

Two sailors tried to block them, but Nelson knocked both down with quick side kicks. The convoy sped off.

After leaving the farm, Shark contacted Bigfoot Reyek Hadrosen, the owner of Viking Fishing Gear, and asked him to help find a reputable fry supplier—St. John's was Reyek's turf.

Reyek took them to a hatchery called Bountiful Fisheries. A mustached, middle-aged white man greeted them and confidently assured them his fry were top quality.

As always, Shark went into the water and scooped up several nets' worth for inspection. As he showed them to Eddie, he explained:

"Healthy cod are slightly long and laterally compressed, with large heads and mouths. The upper jaw extends past the lower one, and the body tapers to the tail. Look—these fry are solid. Definitely real Atlantic cod."

"We'll dissect two of them. See this smooth flesh? No parasites. That means clean seawater."

"Of course, they might've just drugged the water, so next we check the eyes—need to be bright. Now the intestines—give this a sniff, Boss. Fry raised on chemicals have a pungent smell. Normal cod should only smell fishy."

Eddie walked the facility, picking up knowledge along the way. But most of his focus was on his Poseidon consciousness—it was time to lead his new fry home.

Once everything checked out, Eddie paid a 200,000 CAD deposit and bought two million fry at a total price of 400,000 CAD.