The first guest is so strong, how can the ones behind not take off?

Ma Zhaodi wasn't lying. Everyone knows how pre-exam cramming works: a semester's worth of knowledge crammed in a few days before the test, forgotten immediately after. Even though this guide was a bit thick, and no one had highlighted the important parts, he could still memorize most of it.

To be safe, he spent one dollar from his asset points on the car to save the content to the System's record board, so he could access it anytime.

The supervisor casually asked him a few questions. After confirming he wasn't lying, he led Ma Zhaodi directly into the changing room, took out a waiter's suit that fit him, and told him to change.

To be honest, this was Ma Zhaodi's first time wearing a suit.

"Mmm, not bad, not bad."

The supervisor sized up Ma Zhaodi, who was tall, well-proportioned, with a proper face and handsome features, all dressed in a crisp suit. He was generally fine—except for the lingering coldness, cunning, and a bit of fierce wildness in his eyes.

"But you're working the day shift, not a nightclub. This face still looks a bit too fierce."

Hearing this, Ma Zhaodi curled the corners of his mouth into a smile. It immediately made his aura more complex, like a beast restrained in a suit, grinning at its prey. If he were wearing a proper Italian suit, most people would likely mistake him for a high-ranking figure in the underworld.

"…Have you considered joining a gang? I think that face would fit right in."

The supervisor grumbled as he turned and left. A moment later, he returned holding a pair of gold-rimmed non-prescription glasses.

"Put these on, but you'd better not drop them on a customer or in their food while you're working."

Ma Zhaodi took the glasses and put them on. The coldness and wildness of his face were immediately softened by the hint of scholarly elegance the glasses brought.

"That looks much better now."

The supervisor then had him go through mock scenarios of greeting customers, taking orders, serving food, and clearing tables. Ma Zhaodi's demeanor and actions were basically up to standard, with few errors in etiquette. He answered all questions accurately. Or rather, most of his mistakes were glossed over by his face and calm demeanor.

"Good, good, you learn fast. In that case, you can start your official shift at ten."

Ma Zhaodi watched the supervisor yawn and disappear, figuring he was going back to catch up on sleep. Last night's club shift must have been busy, or he wouldn't have stayed up until now.

He'd already eaten breakfast and didn't want any more. He simply took off his glasses and went to a street kiosk to buy a newspaper, wanting to see if anything big had happened in Gotham.

"Two armed robbery-homicides, tsk, Gotham sure has a lot of 'newborns'; a group of street racers got revenge-crashed by a road-raging truck driver, unlucky, but I can't sympathize; several pharmaceutical company employees bizarrely frozen into ice sculptures, clearly Mr. Freeze's work; a few members of the Maroni gang had all their bones broken and were sent to the hospital, with criminal evidence handed over to the Gotham Police Department. This is what happens when you're in the life."

Wait? All their bones broken?

Ma Zhaodi alertly flipped back to that page and carefully examined the miserable state of the gang members.

Limbs broken, ribs fractured, and suspected of being the perpetrators of two armed robbery-homicides.

Good job, he thought silently. Even if he's a psychopath, at least he's a psychopath doing good deeds.

However, the Maroni family was half-subordinate to the Falcone family, and the Falcone family was still Gotham's number one mafia. No wonder the supervisor stayed up all night; there must have been many important figures visiting yesterday.

But what does all this have to do with me, an ordinary restaurant waiter?

He shrugged and continued flipping through the newspaper. The rest was just about a dozen robbers with broken jaws sent to the hospital, and a few drug dealers tied up and dumped at the Gotham Police Department's doorstep. Excluding any major influential events that wouldn't make the news.

Yesterday was a relatively peaceful day in Gotham.

"Hmm?"

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. There was a hint of schadenfreude on their faces.

"Hello?"

"Hello, my name is Santos, Claude Santos."

"Lloyd Rick."

"I'm Brigid Castro."

"Hello, hello, I'm Ma Zhaodi—do you guys want to see the newspaper?"

"Thanks."

Santos took the newspaper and read it carefully. Ma Zhaodi stood up and saw that he and a few colleagues were looking at the news about the Maroni gang members being sent to the police station. He suddenly understood.

It makes sense, doesn't it? Drake once said the people behind Donald were very powerful. Combined with what Donald was doing on the phone, how could it not be related to Gotham's biggest underworld family, the Falcones?

But I really didn't expect that there would be family members among the restaurant's waiters. This level of connection is much deeper than I imagined.

"Maroni family, hehe."

Santos spoke first, his tone sarcastic.

Rick shook his head: "So embarrassing, getting thrown into the Gotham Police Department."

Castro asked: "Are we just going to watch? What about the Godfather's honor?"

"Maroni's honor doesn't reach the Godfather, besides, you might win a duel against a lion, tiger, or even a person with a gun, but what about dueling a vengeful spirit, a nightmare, or fear?"

Santos closed the newspaper and shook his head: "It has nothing to do with us. We're just little waiters. Today's newspaper is quite entertaining."

He stood up, smiled, and teased: "Speaking of which, Ma Zhaodi, you really look like a mob boss. Could you happen to be from the Falcone family?"

"No, no, I'm not in any gang, I just look a bit fierce." Ma Zhaodi waved his hands immediately and put on his gold-rimmed glasses, "See? It's much better now."

The expressions of the three changed subtly. Santos's smile became even brighter: "Haha, just kidding, don't mind me."

Rick and Castro secretly glanced at Ma Zhaodi's exposed wrists and neck, finding no tattoos of their family.

Why didn't Donald tell the supervisor to give me a heads-up? He almost mistook me for one of his own.

Unbeknownst to them, the family's situation yesterday was even more urgent than reported in the newspaper. The supervisor and Donald had stayed up all night and had forgotten about this small matter.

"It's almost time to start work, and the head chef has arrived too. Shall we get ready together?"

"Alright, I just got here, so I can learn from you guys."

They didn't wait long before a man in a suit walked into the restaurant.

Ma Zhaodi didn't move, wanting to see how the veteran employees handled things. However, after a brief moment of stiff expressions from the three of them and their other colleagues, they directly pushed him forward.

"?"

"Hello, do you have a reservation?"

"One."

"Your name is?"

"Dent, Harvey Dent."