Chapter 32: 32 Char Company

32 Char Company

The holes on the target aren’t all small?

Upon hearing the female officer’s question, the range manager couldn’t help but freeze for a moment.

Does that mean the kid didn’t just get lucky once—he got lucky multiple times?

Skeptical, he grabbed the binoculars hanging around his neck, glanced at the target, and his eyes instantly widened in utter disbelief.

Supersonic shooting? Six rounds on target?

That young kid only fired a little over twenty shots at the five-hundred-meter supersonic target? And he still achieved nearly a one-third hit rate?

This… the Police Department isn’t the military. Sure, hand-to-hand combat might be comparable, but someone who can shoot this accurately? That’s extremely rare.

Add up all the police precincts in the capital—over thirty thousand officers—and the number who can consistently hit supersonic targets? Probably not even two hands’ worth! Really… how old was that kid just now? Did he start handling guns in the womb?

“?”

Watching the manager’s face shift repeatedly—as if he’d just witnessed Teddy relentlessly pummeling a Tibetan mastiff—the female officer furrowed her brow deeply and explained:

“Don’t worry. I just saw the target he shot and asked out of curiosity. I have no intention of bothering him.”

“Practicing this dangerous thing isn’t ideal, but as long as he doesn’t use it during duty, it’s none of my business!”

“Ah? Oh oh!”

Half-listening to the female officer, the range manager snapped out of his shock, remembered his earlier conversation with his colleague, and his dark face instantly flushed crimson.

He dared ask for the five-hundred-meter target because he truly believed he could hit it. But we, seeing he was young, first condescended to lecture him, insisting he switch to the half-distance target, then refused to even check the target afterward and declared outright he wouldn’t hit a single shot. Now thinking back, it’s utterly humiliating.

After mumbling a few incoherent words, the manager, face burning with shame, shuffled off awkwardly and hurried back to change the targets. Meanwhile, the female officer took the opportunity to check the registration log at the range entrance.

“The previous person… Li Ang… Li Ang Lian?”

Seeing that familiar surname, the female officer’s already furrowed brow deepened into a delicate “ Chuan ” shape.

Lian… why is it always someone from the Lionheart Duke’s family?

…

The next morning, as dawn barely broke, the hardworking worker Li Ang once again walked to work beneath the chill of late autumn wind.

It wasn’t that Li Ang insisted on rising so early—it was simply that from his family’s old veteran alley to the municipal office district where the Cleanup Bureau was located, it was nearly five to six kilometers. Walking there took about an hour, so he had no choice but to get up early.

As for why he didn’t take the tram or steam carriage—well, public transit might be called “public,” but its exorbitant fare of one copper wheel per three kilometers had effectively barred over half the capital’s residents from riding.

Although Li Ang, since joining the Cleanup Bureau, earned over sixty thousand copper wheels annually and could technically afford it, the “Gao Te” cigarettes he bought for Black Goat were far too expensive—each pack cost three silver wheels. He’d already spent his entire two-gold-wheel field allowance and nearly emptied his pockets.

Though walking an hour in the cold was grueling, it was clearly less painful than being broke. Besides, walking to work wasn’t entirely without benefits—at least he could get a hot cup of coffee.

“Boss, one strong coffee, two thin slices of bread.”

Hunched against the wind, Li Ang slipped skillfully into the coffee stall’s tent, carefully unwound his scarf, and sat down at the spot closest to the stove.

After nodding at this “regular customer,” the stall owner tightened his apron on the surface but secretly pulled the insulated drawer filled with ham slices outward, letting the meaty aroma drift out, then smiled warmly and asked:

“Got it~ Butter? Add ham slices?”

“…”

Looking at the stall owner’s smug, smiling face, Li Ang hesitated.

Without butter, just coffee, he could finish breakfast for half a copper wheel. With butter, it’d be one copper wheel. Add ham slices, and another copper wheel.

His entire bus fare from home to the Cleanup Bureau was only two copper wheels. If he added butter and ham, he’d have effectively wasted his five-kilometer walk.

But…

The warm, sweet scent of butter, and the sizzling, melting fat of ham slices on the hot griddle—those irresistible greasy aromas—made the word “no” suddenly grow lazy, stubbornly refusing to crawl out of his lips.

“Well, today isn’t as cold as yesterday, and fewer customers came in. I fried more ham slices than usual… might not sell them all…”

As if seeing through Li Ang’s struggle, the seemingly honest but shrewd stall owner chuckled and offered:

“How about this? If you add ham slices today, I’ll charge you half a copper wheel less—consider it a discount for a loyal customer. You help out my business, how’s that?”

“…”

“Add it! Slather on the butter thick!”

Ultimately, he couldn’t resist the lure of fat. He patted his empty wallet, glanced at his thin arms, then clenched his teeth and nodded fiercely.

Three days until payday. After paying for the drink with the red-haired chief, he’d still have eight or nine gold wheels left. Two copper wheels wouldn’t matter!

Besides, after I get the new anomaly item from the chief today, I’ll need to investigate the Hydro Company. I won’t get a free lunch at the Police Department’s canteen. If I don’t eat well now, how will I have the energy for fieldwork?

“Got it~”

Smiling, the stall owner pulled out his dwindling supply of ham slices, swiftly drizzled homemade sauce over them, and laid them alongside the bread on the stone slab above the charcoal fire. Watching this, Li Ang—accustomed to years of frugality—felt a pang in his chest.

To ease his guilt, he lifted his gaze away from the two “copper wheels” heating on the stone and made small talk with the owner.

“Boss, what’s your name?”

“Char. Like Char Department Store.”

Anyone running a street stall wouldn’t be socially anxious. The shrewd owner grinned and replied:

“Customer, no need for formalities. Just call me Old Char.”

Char Department Store… Char Company?

That name—it’s the same bastards who dumped sewage into the public water pipes!