After completing the registration, the group officially joined the team, becoming members of the 【Little Tigers】.
However, Leo was in no hurry to accept the so-called ranking missions.
After all, according to the plan, Vespa and A-Ling still had to hand in their missions tomorrow.
Just as the group stepped out of the Adventurer's Guild's entrance, planning to find a place to rest and have some lunch...
"Huff... huff..."
A figure drenched in the smell of engine oil, with a bird's nest for hair and dark circles so heavy it looked like he'd been punched twice, was slumped half-dead over the stone lion at the guild's gate, his eyes scanning the crowd with desperate urgency.
It was none other than Flint, the maintenance master who had only taken a 0.7-day leave.
When his bloodshot eyes swept over the crowd and landed on Leo’s group—who stood out like cranes among a flock of chickens—he locked on!
Specifically, after seeing the "couple" with extraordinary height and looks, Leo and A-Ling, followed by the two "children" (referring to Vespa and Lucrezia Sylvania), he confirmed it!
"Adoptive Father!!!"
A shrill, soul-stirring cry instantly drowned out the clamor of the street.
Immediately after, under the watchful eyes of everyone present...
Flint sprinted forward at full speed, and three meters away from Leo, he used the inertia on the floor tiles to execute a perfectly smooth, standard sliding kowtow!
Zzzzt—
He slid all the way to Leo's feet, cupped his hands over his head, and bowed deeply.
"Adoptive Father above! Please accept this humble one's bow!"
"Holy crap?!"
Vespa jumped in fright, her tail fluffing up instantly.
A-Ling subconsciously reached for the hilt of her blade.
Even Lucrezia Sylvania, having undergone her share of growth on this journey, reacted quickly, stepping back half a pace and assuming a defensive posture.
But on second thought, this was inside the city, and judging by the man's appearance... he didn't look like an assassin no matter how you sliced it; he looked more like a refugee who had just escaped from somewhere.
Leo was also stunned for a moment.
But seeing the pathetic state of this typical engineering workshop laborer and those bloodshot eyes burning with longing, he understood everything instantly.
Ah, the fish has arrived.
However, this was clearly not the place to talk.
With people coming and going at the guild's entrance, Flint's shout of "Adoptive Father" had already drawn the curious gazes of countless passersby.
"Look, look! What's going on over there?"
"Is this a 'daddy' recognition scene?"
"That guy is pretty handsome. Could he be the long-lost illegitimate son of some Great Family being found?"
Seeing more and more onlookers gathering—since the curiosity of gossip-seekers is the same in any world—Leo decided to move.
"Get up first. We'll talk somewhere else."
Leo pulled up Flint, who was about to keep kowtowing, and led Lucrezia Sylvania's group quickly through the crowd. They ducked into a nearby shop with a confusing interior and an even more baffling sign that bore a dining symbol.
...
This shop, enigmatically named "Sora Wabi-Sabi," was exceptionally cold and empty.
There were no customers, and the decor was entirely in that incomprehensible "Syrian war-torn style"—cement walls, broken wood, and dim lighting that looked very stylish (and very cheap).
The group found a corner to sit down.
"Hello, waiter, we'd like to order."
Leo called out casually as he sat.
Behind the counter, a man with long Japanese-style hair, wearing a linen apron and possessing a melancholy gaze, was slowly and methodically wiping a glass.
Hearing the word "waiter," his brows instantly furrowed as if he had heard some foul profanity.
He looked up, scanning the travel-worn group with disdain, his eyes lingering on the oil-stained Flint with unconcealed disgust.
But he did have a business to run (though he hadn't made a single sale in the two weeks since opening).
And now, this person actually called him a waiter?!
The man put down the glass and walked over, looking as though he had swallowed a fly. He didn't hand over a menu; instead, he crossed his arms, tilted his chin up slightly, and corrected them in a tone like a school dean:
"I'm sorry, guest."
"Please do not use a word so saturated with the stench of industrial assembly lines as 'waiter' to address me."
He pointed to his logo-less apron with a proud expression.
"I am the Principal of this space. Also, let me clarify in advance: what we sell here is not coffee, but a lifestyle, a life narrative of the beans from growth to roasting."
"If you just want to drink that 'dishwater' mixed with saccharin and creamer to quench your thirst, there's a cooling tea stall run by an old lady if you turn right out the door. That might better suit your palate."
"..." Leo and Lucrezia Sylvania looked at each other, both seeing the message "Is this guy sick in the head?" in the other's eyes.
"Alright, alright, Mr. P... Pr... P... PPT... right?"
Leo didn't want to waste time with this hipster who had "pretentious" etched into his DNA, so he just threw out a random pronunciation.
"Could we get four glasses of your most 'effortless' and 'narrative-heavy' water?"
"And for this... newly recognized adoptive son of mine, bring a glass of 'deconstructionist' ice water to wake him up."
"By the way, if you sell anything to eat besides 'attitude' here, bring out whatever signature dish has the most 'vibe.'"
"I must seriously correct you! It is Principal!"
The man with the man-bun looked as if his tail had been stepped on. He adjusted his non-prescription gold-rimmed glasses, looking insulted.
"Furthermore, we do not sell 'dishes.' We provide a 'march of the taste buds'..."
Leo was too lazy to listen to him recite poetry and just lazily raised his eyelids, giving Flint a look.
Flint caught on immediately. As the future "Technical Director of the Riders," he at least had that much situational awareness.
Thwack!
He pulled two shining silver coins from the pouch he had just taken out and slammed them heavily onto the wood-grained, flawed tabletop, producing a crisp and pleasant ring.
"Enough, enough! We get it!"
Flint waved his hand impatiently.
"Get your taste buds on the march! Hurry it up! Don't let—" He glanced at Leo. "Don't let my adoptive father wait!"
Upon seeing the silver coins, the "Principal," who had just looked aloof as if he didn't belong to the mortal world, instantly performed a face-changing act worthy of Sichuan opera.
Zip—
He snatched up the silver coins with lightning speed, though his mouth was still muttering:
"Tch... a soul saturated in the stench of money... utterly vulgar..."
But his body honestly bent that supposedly noble waist, and a hint of a service-oriented smile squeezed onto his face.
"One moment, everyone. The glacier meltwater with 'ultimate purity' of soul will be right here."
Rate on N.U.
