Ma Zhaodi had not been lying. Everyone knew how pre-exam revision worked: you started memorizing a semester's worth of material a few days before the exam, took the exam after finishing, and forgot everything once it was over. Although this guide was a little thick and nobody had marked the key points, he could still memorize most of it.
To be safe, he spent one Asset Point in the car to record the contents on the system's record board. He could look them up whenever he needed them.
The supervisor casually asked him a few questions. After confirming that he had not lied, he took him straight to the changing room, brought out a waiter's suit in his size, and told him to put it on.
To be fair, this was Ma Zhaodi's first time wearing a suit.
"Emm, not bad. Not bad."
The supervisor sized up Ma Zhaodi, who was dressed in a crisp suit, tall and well-proportioned, with a dignified face and handsome features. Overall, there was no problem—aside from the lingering chill and slyness between his brows, along with a hint of ferocious wildness.
"But you're working the day shift, not the nightclub. That face of yours still looks a little too fierce."
Hearing this, Ma Zhaodi relaxed the corners of his mouth and tried to smile. His aura immediately became even more peculiar, like a beast restrained inside a suit, grinning viciously at its prey. If he changed into a suitable Italian suit, most people would probably mistake him for a high-ranking underworld boss.
"Have you ever considered joining a gang? I think your face would suit that line of work."
The supervisor complained as he turned to leave. A moment later, he returned with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses with plain lenses in his hand.
"Put these on, but you'd better not drop them on a customer or into the food while you're working."
Ma Zhaodi took the glasses and put them on. The glasses' touch of scholarly refinement immediately diluted the chill and wildness in his face.
"You look much better now."
The supervisor then took him through the procedures for greeting guests, taking orders, serving food, and clearing tables several times. Ma Zhaodi's expressions and movements basically met the standards, with few lapses in etiquette, and he answered every question accurately. Or rather, most of his mistakes were covered up by his face and composed demeanor.
"Not bad, not bad. You learn quickly. Since that's the case, you can officially start work at ten."
Ma Zhaodi watched the supervisor disappear with a yawn, guessing that he had gone back to catch up on sleep. The night shift had probably been rather busy; otherwise, he would not have stayed up until now.
He had already eaten breakfast and did not want anything else, so he simply took off his glasses, went to a newsstand on the street, and bought a newspaper to see whether anything major had happened in Gotham.
"Two robbery-murder cases. Tsk, Gotham has no shortage of lunatics; a gang of street racers was crushed by a road-raging driver in a dump truck. Unlucky, but I can't bring myself to sympathize; several pharmaceutical company employees were bizarrely frozen into ice sculptures. Obviously Mr. Freeze's work; several members of the Maroni gang had every bone in their bodies broken and were sent to the hospital, while the evidence of their crimes was handed over to the Gotham Police Department. That's what happens when you get involved in this line of work."
Wait. Their entire bodies' bones were broken?
Ma Zhaodi immediately flipped back to that page and carefully examined the miserable condition of the gang members.
Their limb bones had been broken, their ribs fractured, and they were suspected of being the perpetrators of the two robbery-murder cases.
Good work, he thought silently. A psychopath, but at least he's a psychopath who does good deeds.
The Maroni family was half a vassal of the Falcone family, while the Falcone family was still Gotham's number-one criminal organization. No wonder the supervisor had stayed up all night. Quite a few important figures must have come here to meet yesterday.
But what did any of this have to do with an ordinary restaurant waiter like me?
He shrugged and continued reading the newspaper. The rest was nothing more than a dozen thugs who had their jaws smashed and were sent to the hospital, along with several drug dealers who had been tied up and dumped at the entrance of the Gotham Police Department. Leaving aside the major incidents with significant effects that would never make the papers—
Yesterday had been a fairly peaceful day in Gotham.
"Hm?"
Just as Ma Zhaodi closed the newspaper, he suddenly noticed several colleagues who had also changed into suits standing behind him, staring at the news above. There seemed to be a hint of schadenfreude between their brows.
"Hello?"
"Hello, my name is Santos, Claude Santos."
"Lloyd Rick."
"I'm Brigid Castro."
"Hello, hello. I'm Ma Zhaodi—do you want to look at the newspaper?"
"Thank you."
Santos took the newspaper and began reading it carefully. Ma Zhaodi stood up and realized that the three of them were looking at the report about members of the Maroni gang being sent to the police station. He immediately understood something.
It made perfect sense, didn't it? Drake had once said that the person behind Donald was extremely powerful. Considering what Donald had done while making that phone call, how could he possibly have no connection to Gotham's largest criminal family, the Falcones?
What he had not expected was that even the restaurant's waiters had ties to the families. The depth of those connections was far greater than he had imagined.
"People from the Maroni family, huh?" Santos spoke first, his tone mocking.
Rick shook his head. "How embarrassing. They even got dumped in the Gotham Police Department."
Castro asked, "Are we really just going to watch this happen? What about the Godfather's dignity?"
"The Maronis' dignity isn't enough to involve the Godfather. Besides, if you take a gun and duel a lion, a tiger, or a human, you'll at least have a chance of winning. But what if you're dueling a vengeful spirit, a nightmare, or fear itself?"
Santos closed the newspaper and shook his head. "It has nothing to do with us. We're just lowly waiters. Today's paper is pretty entertaining, though."
He stood up and grinned teasingly. "But Ma Zhaodi, you really look like a mob boss. Don't tell me you happen to be with the Falcone family?"
"No, no. I haven't joined any gang. I just look a little fierce." Ma Zhaodi quickly waved his hands, then casually took out his gold-rimmed glasses and put them on. "See? I look much better like this."
The three of them showed subtle changes in expression, while Santos's smile became even brighter. "Haha, I was only joking. Don't take it seriously."
Rick and Castro secretly examined Ma Zhaodi's exposed wrists and neck, finding that he indeed had no tattoos belonging to either of their families.
Donald had not let the supervisor give them any warning in advance, and they had nearly mistaken him for one of their own.
What none of them knew was that yesterday's situation within the families had been even more urgent than the newspaper suggested. The supervisor and Donald had stayed up all night, and had already forgotten about this minor matter.
"It's almost time to start work, and the head chef has arrived too. Shall we get ready together?"
"Sure. I just got here, so I can learn from you."
They did not have to wait long before a man in a perfectly tailored suit walked into the restaurant.
Ma Zhaodi did not move. He wanted to see how the veteran employees handled things, but the expressions of the three men and the other colleagues stiffened for an instant before they shoved him directly forward.
"?"
"Hello. Do you have a reservation?"
"One person."
"May I have your name?"
"Dent. Harvey Dent."
Before you continue