Middle-Aged Bankruptcy Two-Piece Set

"If you do a good job, you'll be a national hero."

Brother Yong blinked.

His brain's CPU whirred at full speed for three seconds.

Hero?

Another world?

Street vending?

"Ha!!!"

Brother Yong slapped his thigh hard, his voice shooting up an octave. That familiar, swaggering confidence of the streets instantly returned to him.

"Scared me to death! Why didn't you say so earlier! Food business? That's my turf! You're practically handing me a win!"

Brother Yong sat up straight, crossed his legs with practiced ease, took a sip of tea, and his eyes sharpened like he wasn't facing a general but some rookie streamer he was about to go live with.

"As long as it's carbon-based, it can't escape my business loop! Hand me the mic! Let me see which world's leeks are ripe for the harvest!"

"Hey... Little Su, since we're doing food, take big bro's advice: location decides life or death."

Brother Yong cleared his throat, his mentor vibe of commanding the scene completely overpowering his earlier fear of the surrounding generals.

"Now, spin 360 degrees. Slow and steady. Let me scope out what kind of business district this is."

On the streets of Notting City.

Su Yun stopped his pink electric scooter at an intersection, one foot on the ground.

He pressed the temple of his tactical sunglasses, and he and the scooter began to rotate in place at a snail's pace.

The feed streamed live back to Earth.

Brother Yong stared at the screen, his pointer finger tapping frantically.

"Stop! That shop on the left is a no-go! Three steps at the entrance—that's a roadblock tiger, cutting off wealth. A dead spot! Anyone who rents it goes bankrupt!"

"Keep turning... Hey, that corner's no good either. Right next to a blacksmith's—clanging noise nonstop, customers get irritated, how can they spend? And blacksmiths are price-sensitive users, no profit margin, just noise!"

"Keep going... Good! Stop! Right here!"

Brother Yong's pointer slammed onto the screen, targeting a crooked banyan tree at Su Yun's four o'clock.

"See that tree? Leaning on a big tree gives you shade—that's a literal backing! Sideways to the main academy road—that's a golden corner and silver edge! Plus, there's a huge patch of shade under it and a big stone platform—natural tables, full of street-food vibe!"

"The key is—"

Brother Yong squinted, a sly merchant's grin curling at his lips.

"It's upwind! Once we fire up the stove, the aroma will ride the wind straight into those otherworlders' nostrils! Trust big bro, set up under the tree!"

Su Yun nodded, twisted the throttle, and rode the scooter "vroom-vroom" over.

Location settled. Next up, the core issue.

What to sell?

Brother Yong leaned back in his chair and blurted out without a second thought.

"Gotta be semi-self-serve braised pork leg rice! One bowl of braised pork leg rice, taste a man's romance! Get a big iron drum, simmer old marinade, stew the pork hocks until they're tender and falling off the bone, glossy and red, plop it on rice... Tsk, that little flavor hits you—who can resist? That's a hard lock!"

Su Yun parked the scooter and glanced at the dry, hard black bread in the hands of passersby. He paused for two seconds.

"Brother Yong, there's a technical problem. The people here... don't grow rice, don't eat rice. Their staples are wheat cakes and grilled meat. Their diet leans Western."

"What? No rice?"

Brother Yong's eyes went wide, as if he'd heard something treasonous, his face full of scorn.

"These otherworld natives, no taste at all—mountain pigs can't appreciate fine chaff!"

Brother Yong furrowed his brow, took a sip from his thermos, and sank into thought.

The command hall fell silent. All the generals and experts stared at the fat man, waiting for the decision that would shape the otherworld's economic fate.

A few seconds later, Brother Yong's eyes lit up. He slapped his thigh with a sharp crack.

"Since the environment leans Western, we'll go with the flow! No choice—we've got to pull out the food industry's last trump card: the middle-aged bankruptcy duo!"

Su Yun, pulling gear from his backpack, asked.

"What's that?"

"Burgers and milk tea!"

Brother Yong waved his hand grandly, as if commanding a battle.

"Low barrier to entry, high profit margin, fast service! It's the craving for high oil, high sugar, high calories etched into human genes! Forget those fancy health foods—these natives are sick of eating all-natural every day."

At this, Brother Yong wore an expression that screamed this is what pro looks like.

"We'll hit 'em with some tech and ruthless moves! Load up on non-dairy creamer, tons of saccharin, industrial flavorings! Let 'em taste the sweet assault of industrial civilization!"

Notting City, Academy Street, under the banyan tree.

Two days remained before the opening of Notting Junior Soul Master Academy, but the city was already packed with students and parents who had arrived early to register.

At this very moment, everyone passing through Banyan Crossroads had no choice but to stop in their tracks.

Because the air was thick with a scent they had never smelled in their entire lives—an overwhelmingly domineering aroma.

It was a bizarre fragrance, a blend of greasy char, complex spices, and a cloying, sweet creaminess that made the soul tremble.

The source of the scent was a strange little stall.

Hanging in front of the stall was a hand-painted wooden sign, its crooked characters radiating an inexplicable confidence:

[Blue Star Catering - Notting City Limited Store]

Sincerely Recommended by the Proprietor

Secret Recipe Mini Burger

Snow King Happy Water

Opening Special Combo: 5 Silver Soul Coins!

Behind the stall, the six-year-old proprietor Su Yun, wearing sunglasses, stood on a small stool, skillfully operating two portable gas stoves before him.

"Sizzle—!"

As the frozen patty hit the hot oil, the Maillard reaction erupted instantly.

"001, listen to your big bro, don't skimp on the oil! More oil means more flavor!"

In his earpiece, his online mentor Brother Yong, a food influencer back on Earth, was passionately coaching him from afar.

"Sprinkle on a bit more onion powder and black pepper! Yeah! That's the industrial compound punch straight to the crown of the head! Choke 'em out!"

Su Yun expressionlessly tossed down a handful of seasoning, then turned to handle another bucket.

It was a large plastic bucket filled with ice water. Su Yun tore open a bag labeled "Commercial Non-Dairy Creamer Powder" and dumped the whole thing in.

As he madly stirred with a big ladle, a milky fragrance—ten times richer than fresh milk, with an off-the-charts sweetness—shot straight into the air.

Just as Brother Yong had predicted, this kind of modern food industry-refined science and ruthlessness was a complete dimensional strike against the residents of the Douluo Continent, whose culinary culture was still stuck at a medieval level.

Within ten minutes, Su Yun's stall was surrounded by an impenetrable crowd.

"What kind of meat is this? It smells even better than that hundred-year-old wild boar I ate last time!"

A burly man in leather armor was inhaling desperately.

"What's that white drink? It smells so sweet, like it's been soaked in a honey jar!"

Several aunties with children stared wide-eyed.

Although the price of 5 silver soul coins stung a bit for ordinary families, under this unprecedented sensory assault, quite a few people began reaching for their coin purses.

"Don't push! Line up! I'm the proprietor, and what I say goes here!"

Su Yun banged his spatula against the pot, maintaining the precarious order.