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Chapter 1 Helping Those in Injustice
"We have arrived at the final stop, Sakura Road. Please exit through the rear door."
As the station announcements remained unchanged, the vibrant street scene before my eyes gradually came to a standstill.
The bus stop was packed with people. At six o'clock in the morning, the fog had not yet lifted, and the bustling city was wrapped in a soft white veil, exuding the smell of soy milk and fried dough sticks and the hurried collision of people.
Shen Moyu always disliked crowds, so he put on his headphones in frustration and followed the crowd into the innermost alley, which was teeming with people.
The alleyway wasn't large, but it was bustling with activity. Because it was very close to No. 8 Middle School, most of the people coming and going were high school students around Shen Moyu's age.
Signboards of all sizes advertised a wide variety of snacks and groceries, and every shop was thriving.
He pulled his hat down and turned into a noodle shop. As he pushed open the door, a wave of heat mixed with the noisy atmosphere inside rushed towards Shen Moyu.
"Oh, Mo Yu is here? And so early."
The proprietress, dressed in her unchanging bright red dress, stood beside the dilapidated dining table, holding freshly chopped beef from that morning, and smiled at Shen Moyu.
The familiar aroma of noodles wafts through the air; this is the special blend of spices used in this beef noodle shop, and also the reason for its thriving business.
Shen Moyu politely returned the smile and said in his newly matured boyish voice, "Good morning, Auntie."
The proprietress patted him on the shoulder with satisfaction and straightened his work clothes amidst the swirling smoke: "Go on."
Shen Moyu was choked by the smoke rings exhaled by a boy next to her. She frowned slightly, cleared her throat, nodded, and went into the back kitchen.
Almost everyone who meets him says he arrived early, and he agrees with that.
Due to family circumstances, he had to work part-time to support himself from a young age, which meant he had to work harder than others.
He had worked at this shop for a long time, and the owner appreciated him. Even though he could only come on Saturdays and Sundays because of school, the owner was still willing to pay him more.
He'd been doing it for almost two years, and he'd long since gotten used to it.
I've gotten used to the environment here, the proprietress's red dress, doing my homework in my spare time under the dim yellow light of the noodle shop, the occasional disturbances caused by the local thugs, and the smoky, pungent smell of alcohol.
But this was the best job he could find.
He carried four neatly arranged bowls of noodles to table number three: "Four bowls of beef noodles, three bottles of cola, enjoy."
He glanced at the blond guy sitting on the far side and immediately recognized him.
He was indeed a regular customer, but also one that the entire street didn't welcome.
Every time they come here, they're either picking and choosing or trying to dine and dash. There are quite a few of these hooligans on this street. After all, it's next to the infamous No. 8 Middle School, so there are bound to be a lot of these kinds of people visiting every day.
The blond-haired man looked him up and down: "What, it's you again?"
He brought along several brothers who were dressed similarly to him.
The woman leaning against him was prob
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