Nikke, something’s seriously wrong with this evacuation point! Chapter 101 101: It’s Not Over Yet, Lieutenant

"Dad, those Misters are really good-looking," the little girl whispered, hiding behind the noodle stall's owner beside the steaming pot.e

"My little princess… just don't provoke them, okay?" the owner frowned, helpless.

People like Charon–even dressed plainly–had a presence that didn't belong here. There was a light in his eyes. And the young man sitting opposite him was even more terrifying: a spotless suit in a place like this, untouched by gri, unharrassed by gangs… the owner couldn't even imagine what kind of person he was.

Bottom line: neither of them were people a small stall owner could afford to offend. Especially not after seeing their faint, knowing smiles as they talked. He didn't dare even approach within three ters, afraid he might overhear sothing he shouldn't–and disappear for it.

"Okay… got it, Dad."

The girl nodded obediently, still too young to understand the deeper currents. She only knew that, in her eyes, both n carried a strangely attractive aura.

She carried a bowl of noodles toward another table.

It should've been routine.

But for so reason, she glanced toward Charon.

"Eek!"

In that split second, she bumped into a custor just standing up from another table.

Hot noodles spilled everywhere.

The owner's face turned deathly pale instantly.

Because the man sitting there was a local gangster with a notoriously violent temper.

"Hey, you little brat–watch where the hell you're going!!" The thug grabbed her by the collar and lifted her up. "You wanna get sold off, huh?!"

"W-waaah…" The girl burst into tears.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry–she's just a kid, she doesn't know any better! Please, I'll let you and your n eat for free in the future, just let her go…" The owner dropped to his knees on the spot.

He knew it clearly:

Offend Charon or Oswald–maybe you just lose your job.

Offend this thug–and you and your daughter might not survive the day.

"What, you looking down on ?! Think I can't pay?! This is brand-new leather I just got! I could sell you and still not cover it!" the thug snarled. "Pay up! Or this place is done today!"

The surrounding custors all lowered their heads, silent.

This kind of chaos was normal in the lower district.

A single distraction, a single glance too long or too short–could be enough to trigger disaster.

Charon and Oswald both stopped talking.

Their eyes shifted to the thug.

Charon was about to stand–

–but Oswald's gaze flicked backward, turning instantly cold.

Charon paused.

He retracted his movent.

He wanted to see what this official would do.

If the response was unsatisfactory… he would handle it himself.

"According to Article 7, Section 3 of the Central Governnt Public Order Regulation," Oswald said calmly, "acts of provocation, disturbance of business operations, and destruction of public facilities are classified as obstruction of public order."

"Mind your own damn business! Who the hell do you think–"

The thug turned, ready to curse–

–but froze.

Because the man in front of him wasn't normal.

"Newly acquired leather goods, huh?" Oswald placed a black credential booklet on the table without opening it.

"I now have reason to suspect the clothing you are wearing is obtained through illegal channels," he said evenly. "You are under suspicion of smuggling military-grade materials."

"You have two options."

He produced a pair of handcuffs–and a banknote.

"One. Keep shouting. In three minutes, you will be politely escorted into a vehicle and taken for an anti-smuggling investigation. You may explain everything in the interrogation room. If you can still speak by then."

"Two. Take this money as a cleaning fee for the damage you caused, and disappear from my sight."

"And the char siu noodles are excellent. I'll co again next ti."

The thug's expression changed repeatedly. Then he lowered his head.

So people can be bullied, but others will kill you if you even look at them. People who can't even see this clearly don't deserve to live in this world.

Oswald walked up to the thug, flicked his finger, and the banknote floated into the thug's arms as if it were trash.

The thug grabbed it, not daring to say another word, and fled into the rain.

Without glancing at the retreating figure again,Oswald turned to Charon.

"Apologies. It seems the interruption is over." His tone remained polite. "But this place is not suitable for conversation. As compensation, let's move sowhere more appropriate. My treat."

Charon observed him with mild interest.

That was textbook execution.

Efficient, controlled, and–most importantly–he had protected the stall at the sa ti.

That alone slightly changed Charon's evaluation of him.

He didn't look back at the owner or the girl, who were already expressing gratitude.

He simply nodded, picked up his umbrella, and stepped into the rain.

Facing Oswald directly.

"This is exactly why order is necessary," Oswald said as rain fell around them. "Without order, the weak are preyed upon simply because they are weak. To ensure survival for the majority, we must enforce order–even if it requires sacrifices."

"Officer Ron. I don't know where the item is, but you are now suspected of illegal transfer of military contraband. Co with ."

He paused slightly.

"Given your connection to Major Andersen, I will not use handcuffs."

In the rain behind him, figures were already forming.

Encirclent.

His n–military police.

The ssage was clear.

Co willingly, and you are escorted.

Resist, and you are dragged.

Charon smiled.

"Thanks for the char siu noodles, Oswald," he said. "But I'm not really the type who likes being led around by the nose."

His foot moved.

The table flipped up, blocking Oswald's view.

At the sa instant–smoke grenade.

Smoke flooded the stall.

Chaos erupted. Civilians fled. Military police moved in.

But Oswald didn't panic.

He already knew.

Ron was gone.

There was a drainage exit under the stall.

He stepped into the rain, walking toward his command vehicle.

"Seal all drainage exits. Three-man teams. No engagent. Report all traces imdiately."

He looked into the rain and murmured:

"It's not over yet, Lieutenant."