It's Red, It's Red

Ma Zhaodi could actually somewhat understand why his colleagues were afraid of this guest.

As mentioned before, Gotham had a Black Knight, often regarded as a freak in a skintight suit or some kind of urban legend. But it also had a White Knight. He wasn't a character from a legend or an illusionary ghost. He truly existed, and he was absolutely ruthless.

Harvey Dent, the district attorney of Gotham City. If Gotham had any staunch defenders of justice at this time, there were probably only three: one bat, one police chief, and finally, the White Knight standing before them.

This trinity had one member handling the business of fighting violence with violence in the night, one responsible for bringing criminals to the police station in public, and Harvey Dent, the last of them, responsible for prosecuting them to the fullest extent and ensuring those scum received the punishments they deserved.

Because Harvey Dent was unshakable in both his methods and his mind, all the gangs in Gotham, large and small, knew the name of this incorruptible prosecutor. He had a few pieces of leverage on every one of them and had sent several gang members to prison. Though they were as incompatible as fire and water, they also held a measure of respect for him.

In Gotham, countless people wanted to be good. In the end, only a rare few could withstand reality's heavy blows and persist in being good people.

But the problem was, Ma Zhaodi was fucking afraid of him too.

The White Knight was at his brightest when he became a symbol of hope, but after falling into darkness, he became the most twisted and divided existence of all.

You're afraid of Harvey Dent, but what about me? Wasn't I afraid of Two-Face? Am I even your colleague or not?

"Mr. Dent, welcome. Please come with me."

Harvey Dent nodded at him. His sharp gaze lingered on Ma Zhaodi's face for several seconds before he suddenly asked, "I noticed your smile seems a little stiff. Are you feeling unwell? Or are you a little nervous?"

"No, no, I'm feeling great. I just love my job so much that I'm a little excited, hahaha."

Ma Zhaodi desperately tried to make his smile look natural, lest he leave an impression on this future supervillain.

"Oh, is that so?" He smiled meaningfully. "I thought you people didn't like me very much."

"How could that be? Red Dragon sincerely welcomes every guest who walks through our doors. It's my honor to serve you, hahaha."

I'm such an idiot. Really. I knew that superheroes were generally poor, and that the rich ones wouldn't come here. What I didn't know was that Harvey Dent also had a bad habit of provoking people to their faces.

If he hadn't come today to mock the Falcone family and gather information while he was at it, Ma Zhaodi would write his own name backward.

Looking at Harvey Dent's bright, piercing eyes, Ma Zhaodi felt a little nervous.

Hopefully, he won't remember me after he becomes Two-Face. Otherwise, he could flip a coin at random—heads, Superman today; tails, Superman tomorrow—and I'd be guaranteed to get hit by Superman, wouldn't I?

Come to think of it, would they end up fighting later? It probably wouldn't come to that, right?

"Then bring me the menu. A few pieces of scum were dragged into the police station yesterday, so I'm in a good mood today, and my appetite is excellent. I'm currently considering how many years I should prosecute them for."

"Ah, this..."

Ma Zhaodi handed over the menu, then turned back and stole a glance. Within the crowd, several faces were visibly turning red. An ominous feeling faintly rose in his heart.

Don't fucking do this to me.

"Those pieces of scum were like rats—have you ever seen a swarm of rats?" He flipped through the menu with lingering interest and continued enthusiastically, "I've seen plenty. The big ones were very cunning. They hid in their nests during the day and refused to come out, only daring to emerge at night to bite people."

This time, almost half of them had turned red.

Stop, stop. Ma Zhaodi was trembling with fear. If you keep going, they'll all turn red.

"Still, rats in the sewers have no sense of loyalty or family whatsoever, and the small ones are all idiots. Catch a few, and you can lead the entire nest out."

They had all turned red. Hahaha.

Ma Zhaodi despairingly surveyed the surroundings for somewhere he could use as cover, then carefully felt the Beretta beneath his suit.

When the fighting starts, please don't let any blood splatter on me.

Fortunately, after Harvey Dent finished ordering, he didn't continue tormenting Ma Zhaodi. He merely asked a few casual questions about the food and wine, all of which were clearly explained in the guide.

The red wines served in a place like this were ultimately just stories for sale. A specific vintage and brand, its region of origin, the type of grapes, the weather that year, the history of the winery, the wine's unique flavors, and so on were all recorded in detail in that hefty guidebook. No matter how interesting the story was, it was ultimately just capital for selling the wine at a higher price.

There were dozens of wines, and naturally, dozens of stories. Rather than testing the wine, it was testing the person. Being able to remember all of them and introduce them fluently to guests was what gave an experienced server their composure.

As for observing and responding to customers, Ma Zhaodi had originally planned to muddle through for the time being by relying on his bearing. But after encountering Harvey today, he was spared the effort. Most of the time, Harvey was using his conversations with Ma Zhaodi as an opportunity to provoke the other gang members.

Ma Zhaodi served the dishes one by one in fear and trepidation. Several times, he saw his colleagues reach toward the area beneath their jackets at their waists, only for the others to hold them back.

"Ring, ring, ring—"

The telephone suddenly rang. Harvey, who had been in high spirits, was abruptly interrupted. After hurriedly answering the call and saying a few words, he paid the bill and left the restaurant.

Ma Zhaodi was utterly confused and couldn't figure out what had happened. But his first tip, along with the Asset Points, had indeed arrived in his hands, which made him quite happy.

The restaurant's members also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. If Harvey Dent had stayed any longer, they might not have been able to control their anger.

It was unclear how Harvey Dent was so good at picking his timing. He had happened to make today's reservation several days ago, while Maroni's men had happened to be hauled into the police station yesterday.

If this was a coincidence, if the two events had simply happened to collide, then Ma Zhaodi had really hit the jackpot.

Fortunately, the customers who came afterward were all normal people. The supervisor's judgment regarding Ma Zhaodi had also been correct: his appearance and bearing could indeed cover up much of a novice's awkwardness.

Hundreds of all kinds of upper-class people came and went through the restaurant. Ma Zhaodi served them one after another and truly broadened his horizons.

Whether they were picky, demanding elites, hot-tempered women going through menopause, self-important birdbrains, or arrogant idiots, his colleagues handled them with ease. Their main profession was even gangsters, while being waiters was merely a side job. Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but marvel at their professionalism.

Still, he wasn't completely useless. He was the one assigned to serve that hot-tempered woman going through menopause. The moment he merely showed his face, all of the woman's anger vanished without a trace.

Perhaps he had been born for this line of work.