"He's really getting into it."
Deathstroke, hidden behind an ordinary face, sat with the still-young Wong in a luxurious restaurant. Outside, at an open-air food stall, the two had each ordered a bowl of udon and watched the scene inside through the restaurant's glass.
Under the warm, bright lights, Monark had his arms around a group of beautifully dressed young women, with a table full of fine dishes and alcohol before him.
Amid the clinking glasses, the Magic Prince had long since thrown away his earlier reluctance. He was grinning so widely his tongue practically popped out of his mouth.
Monark seemed to have gotten a taste for it, just like Wolverine. Women knelt to pour him drinks and feed him food, their fragrant skin pressing close against his ears and cheeks. He accepted every single one without hesitation.
Little Wong looked at the dining table in the luxurious restaurant, then lowered his head to look at the shack made of tattered straw mats where he sat.
He looked at their lavish feast, then at the noodles in his own bowl.
It really was "black" dragon noodles, because aside from soy sauce broth and a tiny bit of noodles barely enough to fill the gaps in his teeth, there were no other toppings at all. At least throw in a couple of scallion slices for some color, damn it!
As a good cook, Wong slurped his noodles expressionlessly, but inside, he had already begun complaining.
Su Ming barely ate. He merely picked at a noodle with his chopsticks for show, while the corner of his eye remained fixed on the entire street and Monark's reactions. Just in case, he even kept an eye on the sky.
Yet the late-night street remained as quiet as ever. Aside from the buildings reddened