A light rain drifted down from the sky. It did not seep into people's bones with the chill of winter, but it was still cold—at least a little.
It was just that this cold no longer made anyone feel as though it was winter.
On the main street, two workers without umbrellas wore Duckbill Caps, heads lowered as they hurried along the road.
One was old, and the other middle-aged.
They were father and son. Both worked in factories. After watching the news the previous night, they had deliberately come to the nearby Labor Union club to learn more about the situation.
For the Working Class, social security, pensions, medical care, and the like had a greater impact on them than the war!
They did not care who won or lost the war, just as they had not cared ten years ago whether the Great Depression would destroy the country or the world.
They were just small-time people. They could only worry about their own fates, not anything else.
Some people said they should broaden their horizons and look at the world, but when they could barely fill their stomachs, who the fuck cared whether the world would be destroyed tomorrow?
Accumulated rainwater ran down their faces. Perhaps the purpose of wearing hats was merely to keep their hair from getting too wet.
The two walked quickly, weaving through the pedestrians while doing their best not to touch anyone else.
But such things were unavoidable. They occasionally bumped into people, prompting a few passersby to curse.
The people of the Federation had never been particularly well-mannered. Rape, robbery, murder, and breaking into homes were all common occurrences here, let alone casually cursing at someone on the roadside.
After crossing the long street and reaching its end, the signboard and neon