Red, Red

Ma Zhaodi could actually understand his colleagues' fear of this particular guest to some extent.

As mentioned before, Gotham had a dark knight, often thought of as a costumed freak or some kind of urban legend. But there was also a white knight, who was no legendary tale or phantom illusion; he was real, and utterly ruthless.

Harvey Dent, Gotham City's District Attorney. If there were only three people in Gotham steadfastly defending justice at this moment, they would be a bat, a police captain, and the white knight standing before him.

This trio worked in concert: one handled the vigilante justice in the darkness, another brought criminals to the police station in public, and finally, Harvey Dent was responsible for prosecuting them to the fullest extent, ensuring those scumbag criminals received their due punishment.

Because Harvey Dent's resolve and mind were exceptionally firm, all the major and minor gangs in Gotham City knew the name of this incorruptible prosecutor. He held leverage over them, had sent several gang members to prison, and while they were sworn enemies, there was also a grudging respect for him.

In Gotham, countless people wanted to be good, but very few could withstand the harsh realities and persist in being good.

But the problem was, Ma Zhaodi was also terrified of him.

The White Knight was the brightest when he was hope, and the most twisted and fractured when he fell into darkness.

You guys are afraid of Harvey Dent, but what about me? Am I not afraid of Two-Face? Am I even your colleague?

"Mr. Dent, hello, please come with me."

Harvey Dent nodded at him, his sharp gaze lingering on his face for a few seconds before he suddenly asked, "I noticed your smile seems a little stiff. Are you feeling unwell? Or a bit nervous?"

"No, no, I'm feeling great. I'm just very passionate about my job, so I'm a little excited, hahaha."

Ma Zhaodi desperately tried to make his smile seem natural, so as not to leave an impression on this future supervillain.

"Oh, really?" he chuckled meaningfully. "I thought you guys didn't like me very much."

"How could that be? Red Dragon sincerely welcomes every guest who visits. I'm honored to serve you, hahaha."

I'm so stupid, really. I only knew that most superheroes weren't rich, and the rich ones wouldn't come here. I didn't know Harvey Dent had a bad habit of provoking people.

If he wasn't here today to mock the Falcone family and gather information, then my name, Ma Zhaodi, would be written backward.

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

I hope he doesn't remember me after he becomes Two-Face. Otherwise, if he just flips a coin, heads means today's Superman, tails means tomorrow's Superman, and I'm definitely going to get caught in the crossfire.

Speaking of which, will there be a fight later? It shouldn't come to that, right?

"Then bring the menu. Several scumbags were arrested yesterday, so my mood and appetite are good today. I'm considering how many years in prison to sentence them to."

"Ah, this..."

Ma Zhaodi handed over the menu and then stole a glance back. Among the crowd, several faces turned red at a visible speed. This gave him a vague sense of foreboding.

Don't mess with me, you bastard.

"Those scumbags, they're like rats... have you ever seen rats in groups?" He flipped through the menu with lingering interest, speaking with a hint of excitement. "I've seen plenty. The big ones are very cunning, hiding in their nests during the day and only daring to come out at night to bite people."

About half of them turned red this time.

Stop talking, stop talking, Ma Zhaodi thought fearfully. If you keep talking, they'll all turn red.

"However, rats in the gutter have no loyalty or family values. The little ones are very stupid. Catch a few, and you can lure out the whole nest."

They're all red now, hahaha.

Ma Zhaodi desperately scanned the surroundings for any potential cover, and carefully felt the Beretta hidden beneath his suit.

If a fight breaks out, don't let the blood splash on me.

Fortunately, after Harvey Dent ordered his food, he didn't continue to torment Ma Zhaodi. He merely asked casual questions about the dishes and wine, all of which were clearly explained in the guide.

The red wine in a place like this was merely about selling stories. A specific vintage, a specific brand, its region, its grape varietal, the weather that year, the winery's history, its unique flavor profile – all meticulously recorded in that thick guide. No matter how interesting the story, it only served as capital to justify a high price.

With dozens of wines, there were naturally dozens of stories. It was less a test of the wine and more a test of the person. Being able to memorize all of them and introduce them fluently to guests was the mark of a seasoned waiter's composure.

As for observing and responding to customers, Ma Zhaodi had initially intended to bluff his way through with his presence. But encountering Harvey today saved him that effort. Most of the time, Harvey was using his conversation with Ma Zhaodi as an opportunity to provoke other gang members.

Ma Zhaodi nervously served the dishes one by one. Several times, he saw his colleagues reach for their waists under their suits, only to be restrained by others.

"Ring ring ring—"

The phone suddenly rang. Harvey, who had been in a good mood, was interrupted. He quickly finished his call, said a couple of sentences, and then paid the bill and left the restaurant.

Ma Zhaodi was bewildered, not understanding what had happened. But he had received his first tip, along with his assets, which made him quite happy.

The restaurant staff 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.

Who knows why Harvey Dent was so good at timing? He had booked this table for today just a few days ago, and Maroni's subordinates had just been sent to the police station yesterday.

If this was a coincidence, just a random collision of events, then Ma Zhaodi was truly lucky.

Fortunately, the subsequent guests were all normal people. And the supervisor's judgment of Ma Zhaodi was not wrong; his appearance and demeanor could indeed cover up a lot of a newcomer's awkwardness.

Hundreds of distinguished guests, of all sorts, came and went from the restaurant. Ma Zhaodi served them one after another, truly broadening his horizons.

Whether it was picky and demanding elites, or hot-tempered individuals going through menopause, self-important jerks, or arrogant fools, his colleagues handled them all with ease. And their main job was actually being in the mafia; being a waiter was just a side gig, which made Ma Zhaodi exclaim at their professionalism.

But he wasn't without his contributions. He was the one who served the hot-tempered lady going through menopause. He had barely shown his face before her anger completely dissipated.

Perhaps he was naturally suited for this line of work.