Fifteen minutes earlier.
At the entrance of the Iceberg Restaurant.
Well-dressed waiters stood upright by the doors.
Quietly awaiting the elegantly attired guests, as though they were preparing to attend a grand dinner party.
As one of the most upscale establishments in all of Gotham City.
The customers who could dine here.
Without exception, were respectable middle class and upper class members.
In a place where even a glass of water cost dozens of US Dollars.
A low-income worker's monthly salary was probably only enough for a vegetable and fruit salad...
Of course, with installment payments, there was still a chance to eat some meat.
It could be said.
In the area where the Iceberg Restaurant stood.
Along the entire bustling street.
The divide between the poor and the rich was especially stark.
The ground was incomparably smooth, without a single pothole, and there were no checkpoints set up to obstruct the flow of people.
Yet invisibly, it was as though an uncrossable chasm beyond the naked eye existed there.
Many people of shallow means felt as though they had inexplicably become a little shorter even when merely passing through.
Even vehicles—only mid-range and high-end cars dared park nearby, while low-end cars could only hurry past.
Class might not have been marked upon one's forehead.
But it was still plain to see!
Just as one waiter was about to lower his head slightly and secretly stifle a yawn.
In the distance.
Three figures walking this way caught his attention.
His eyes immediately lit up.
There was no need for any further criteria.
From the very first second he saw them.
He had determined that they were major customers.
They absolutely possessed the means to spend without restraint.
Thus.
After exchanging a look with his colleagues.
Once Orsaga had approached within