The elevator doors opened, and a figure walked out. His rugged Gelian features sported somewhat messy stubble, and even a cheap suit worn on his frame carried a certain air of class.
His posture was straight and tall, his inverted-triangle build with broad shoulders and narrow waist giving off a dangerous sense of explosive power.
Yet a trace of irreverence in his brows and eyes ruined this face, stripping away all steadiness and making him seem instead like a novice putting on a profound act.
He himself didn't appear to notice. The moment he stepped out of the elevator, he casually tossed his identity card aside, took a deep breath of the district air reeking of engine oil, mold, sweat, and other odors, and after a few turns walked into an alley.
Hard on his heels, several figures loitering near the elevator chased after him, only...
"Where'd he go?"
Gazing at the empty alley before them, disappointment surfaced on their faces, but they didn't take it to heart—the district never lacked prey. Compared to the time that might be wasted chasing him down, going back to lie in wait was the correct...
*Crack!*
A discordant crisp sound suddenly rang out by their ears. Before the leader could even react, he had already lost consciousness.
Having instantly dealt with four scavengers, the man skillfully began collecting his spoils. Except, those who came out to prey on greenhorns were naturally far from wealthy.
"Better than nothing." Tossing the chip in his hand, the man spat in disdain and turned to vanish into the depths of the alleyway...
...
The blocks of Saint Lotan were a mixed bag of all kinds. Aside from hospitals and shops, it had everything. The big shots had their pleasure spots, and the rats had their entertainment venues too.
Yellow Flag Bar wasn't large, wasn't luxurious, and wasn't cheap, but it was a time-honored name in the district. Aside from the high-quality tea artist ladies on the second floor, the core competitiveness that allowed it to endure naturally...
*Bam!*
The antique metal bar door was shoved open roughly. A new face swaggered into the tavern, ignoring the looks from other patrons. The man walked straight to the bar, pulled out the chip he'd taken from a scavenger earlier, and slapped it on the counter. Though he tried his best to act like an old hand, in the eyes of these old foxes, he remained adorably green.
"Where's Paul?"
"That's me." The bartender behind the counter calmly eyed this unfamiliar face, yet the man showed no awkwardness at all, plopping down onto a barstool and saying,
"Heard you've got work here?"
"Another rookie with his brain fried from watching black braindances! But seriously, kid, your face is truly a piece of work. Where'd you get it done? Paul's doesn't set you up with rich ladies... If you're looking for that kind of work, there are still..."
The voice, tinged with alcohol, was cut off before finishing, because the hazy drunkenness had already been awakened by the cold pressed against his chin.
Paul's motion of wiping the glass paused slightly. Guns were as common in the district as piss stains on street corners, but people who could draw one faster than he could perceive were a rare breed.
"If you want to take jobs from me, don't start trouble in the shop."
The man cast a playful glance at the drunk, his gun spinning once in his hand before vanishing without a trace. "Your shop, your rules."
"Interesting." Paul fished a folded menu from under the counter. "Pick one yourself. Everything I can offer is on there."
The man opened the menu, raising an eyebrow:
"Just this?"
"If you want the big jobs, prove you've got the chops first." Paul's tone was flat. The man deliberated for a moment, then pointed at the one with the highest pay and said,
"I'll take this one. Got any cheap rooms?"
Paul instantly understood. *Another one relying on some skill, thinking he can earn big right off the bat,* he thought. *Judging by his looks, he probably even snapped his identity card.* He waved his hand and said,
"Gladys! Take him to see the room! And fill him in on the rules while you're at it!"
"Coming!" A scantily-clad server evaded a patron's wandering hand and came over, gesturing for the man to follow. But just as the two were about to reach the back door, they suddenly heard Paul's voice—
"Kid, forgot to ask—what's your name?"
"Joker. John Joker (John·Joker)."
...
"This dump?" Looking at the dwelling before him, a look of disgust appeared on John's face. The nauseating stench mixing sweat odor, foot odor, and urine smell nearly staggered him.
The room before him wasn't even small—a full ten square meters—but it had been divided into six compartments by thin boards, each barely enough to lie down in, and there was no toilet to speak of. It was worse than the capsule apartments in the Trash District—though that broken place was like a coffin, at least you didn't have to smell other people's foot odor!
"The cheapest place in the district is a thousand a month, or fifty a day even for daily rent. If you've got the money, be my guest." Though Gladys was clearly a beauty, she had no reaction to the environment here at all, merely stating the facts coldly. However, considering this was someone whose name the boss had asked for, she added,
"It's just a place to crash anyway. You can switch after you get paid."
"..." Hearing that fifty—a sum enough for a month at a capsule hotel in the Trash District—John visibly stiffened. Before he could speak, a mocking voice came from the other side of the thin board—
"Heh, another piece of trash that crawled up from the Trash District. If it's too expensive, crawl back to your trash heap!"
Gladys heard the voice from next door and said coldly,
"This place rents starting at six people full. If he doesn't rent, you'll have to find another person before tonight, or the remaining compartment gets split between you and the other four."
Once the words fell, that voice instantly went quiet. Gladys continued,
"Within all public housing in the district, residents cannot engage in brawling, theft, or any other illegal activities. The specifics can be found online. Of course, if you insist, that's your business, but consider the possibility of never being able to take jobs in the relevant areas again. If you want to work here, you follow the rules here."
"Only residents can't?" Regarding Gladys's warning, John's focus was on another aspect. Gladys didn't seem surprised by this question and nodded,
"That's right. Just don't take contracts within your own residence. But residents can't strike first—self-defense is allowed."
"Got it!" John nodded to show he understood, but noticed Gladys showed no sign of leaving and couldn't help asking,
"Something else?"
"Rent. Ten points a day."
"..."
John reached for a chip, then suddenly realized this amount wasn't worth loading onto a chip by itself. He could only pull out his terminal and make a wired transfer.
"If you're still staying tomorrow, remember to come pay yourself." Gladys dropped these cold words and turned to leave. John glanced at the sleeping space of less than two square meters and simply turned and walked out of the room—
"It's just a thousand points. Watch me earn it in minutes!"
Who can understand what it feels like to get OTK'd by this thing playing cards? And to run into several of them on top of that. Upon checking, sure enough, someone used this thing on TV... Just who the hell invented this miserable kite deck?!!!! Especially this Super Polymerization...
Right now, my mind is full of—Yubel: Judai, all that has happened in the past, do you truly not remember?
Fuck!