Translator:	Author:	Original Source:
MJCross	Cat’s Glasses	SFACG

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The seven lowlifes lay sprawled on the ground, playing dead.

Even those who still had the strength to stand didn’t dare to.

Forget the fact that Zhao Zhao, who was nearly 1.9 meters tall and weighed close to 100 kilos, could stomp them back down with one foot—even if they got up, they still wouldn’t stand a chance against Haitang.

The Queen of the Urban Village barely broke a sweat after all that.

She didn’t even look winded.

Staring down at the thugs with an expression of pure disdain, she scoffed,

“So this place is your turf, huh? Tch, I barely even tried, and you guys are already on the floor. How boring.”

I dragged a plastic chair over, wiped the seat off with my sleeve, and Haitang casually sat down crossing her legs.

She didn’t care at all about her skirt riding up—not that there was anything to see.

With safety shorts on, she could do whatever she pleased.

Tangerine quickly poured her a glass of ice-cold cola.

Haitang swirled the plastic cup in her hand, looking like a reigning king upon her throne.

After setting the drink down, Tangerine returned to the table and resumed eating, completely unfazed by the chaos around her.

Well, not wasting food is a good habit, I guess.

“You over there—the fat Mohawk guy—pay for the table you smashed, then get the hell out of this village.” Haitang ordered, clearly reveling in her victory.

This kind of generic punk-shakedown scene was usually where the protagonist—me—would get to show off.

But since I was no fighter, she had stolen my moment of glory.

Honestly, can’t the whole ‘God of Bishoujo (Apprentice)’ title at least come with some bonus stats?

“D-Don’t hurt my bros! I’ll pay, I’ll pay!”

The Mohawk guy’s face flushed red, like he was the one being bullied here.

Which was ridiculous—he’d barely taken a single hit.

Meanwhile, his so-called “bros” kept getting up, only to be knocked down again.

These guys were persistent, I’ll give them that.

Then, instead of taking out cash, he pulled a cylindrical firework from his jacket, yanked the string, and sent a signal flare shooting into the dusk sky.

“One flare in the air, reinforcements appear! Our big bro will be here any—”

“Enough already,”

Haitang cut him off, unimpressed.

“With your skills, how many people would it take for you to even have a chance? Don’t you even have a clue?”

Before he could finish his sentence, she sent him flying with another kick.

Even if this so-called “big bro” was stronger than his lackeys, there was no way a real powerhouse would waste their time collecting protection money from street vendors.

Meanwhile, Old Feng silently handed Tangerine a fresh bowl of rice.

To be fair, this “big bro” guy really was fast.

Not long after the signal flare, another group of seven or eight people appeared around the street corner.

At a glance, the leader of this new bunch was clearly a cut above the rest.

This had to be ‘Thunder Tiger’ Lei Laohu himself.

Unlike his scrawny lackeys, he was taller, more muscular, and had a bit of that bad-boy charm going for him.

Not quite as beefy as Zhao Zhao, but still impressive.

Unfortunately, his choice of accessories completely ruined the look.

A gold chain, gold bracelets, gold rings, a gold watch—he was practically glowing under the streetlights.

Hell, I half-expected him to flash a mouthful of gold teeth.

Dude, do you have some kind of gold fetish?

Are you a bootleg Gilgamesh? Or a budget Kintoki Sakata?

If I threw you in a river, would you sink or float?

Of course, I kept these thoughts to myself and instead focused on finishing my meal.

Priorities.

Lei Laohu surveyed the scene, his expression darkening as he took in his men writhing on the ground.

Then he locked eyes with… Zhao Zhao?

Guess it didn’t occur to him that a girl like Haitang could’ve been the one to take out his crew.

Zhao Zhao, my poor guy, even if it wasn’t you.

“You’re the one who beat up my boys? You’ve got some nerve messing with the famed Thunder Tiger’s crew,” he snarled.

Though, since he was shorter than Zhao Zhao, the intimidation factor wasn’t quite there.

Seriously, why do these guys keep picking fights with people taller than them?

Zhao Zhao, as straightforward as ever, tilted his head in confusion.

“Thunder Tiger? What, like that Andy Lau movie?”

Lei Laohu’s face twitched.

“Looks like I’ll have to teach you some respect!”

But before he could make a move, Haitang rolled her eyes and cut in.

“Tsk, you’re so damn noisy. What’s wrong? Are you hitting puberty late or something?”

Then she kicked him.

Unlike his men, Lei Laohu didn’t go flying.

He stumbled back, gritting his teeth, but he stayed on his feet.

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurts like hell! What the hell is wrong with you, woman?!”

“Oh? Not bad, you’ve got a solid stance. Looks like you’ve trained, huh?”

Failing to send Lei Laohu flying with a single kick, Haitang wasn’t discouraged at all—if anything, her fighting spirit flared up, and I swear I could see little stars of excitement in her eyes.

“All your lackeys got taken down by me alone. If you wanna get back at someone, come at me.”

I took a sip of cola to cool my tongue. I’d bit into a particularly spicy chili just now.

Old Feng, the actual victim of this whole ordeal, had somehow been completely sidelined.

He was calmly sweeping up the shattered plastic table.

“I, Lei Laohu, have a principle—I don’t hit women… Ow! Stop, you ungrateful little—ow! You better not corner me, I’m warning you—hey, not the face!”

Uh… you won’t hit Haitang, but isn’t Haitang hitting you a different matter?

Have you been watching too many old Hong Kong movies?

“What a coincidence! I don’t hit women either!” Haitang kept kicking him mercilessly.

“But you’re not a woman, are you?”

Regardless of Lei Laohu’s actual strength, his ability to withstand hits was honestly impressive—after all, when Haitang kicks me, she never needs a second shot.

With Lei Laohu seemingly not attacking, Haitang started to increase her output.

“Hmph, not bad. Looks like I’ll have to get serious! HAZARD ON!”

As Haitang got serious, her aura surged, radiating an almost tangible presence—like Cosmo, Chakra, Reiatsu, Haki, or Ripple energy bursting forth from her body.

Her ordinary kicks leveled up into rapid, fluid whip-like strikes, each one slicing through the air with a sharp whoosh.

The impact landed on Lei Laohu with a relentless barrage of painfully sounding whips—just watching it made me feel like I was in pain.

His lackeys, meanwhile, were cheering him on from the sidelines.

“Boss, you’re so manly!”

“Boss is refusing to fight back, so cool!”

“Boss will always be my boss!”

Hey, is no one going stand out for your boss who is literally being treated as a human sandbag?

What kind of backstabbing lackeys are these?!

“You guys—!”

“Some damn backup would be nice!”

Some moments later, his persistence ran out, though he was still standing upright.

Lei Laohu finally broke, shouting in frustration.

“Alright, alright! I give up! I was wrong, okay?”

“Eh? That’s it?”

Haitang looked almost disappointed.

“Tch. Fine, scram. And don’t let me see you in this village again.”

‘Thunder Tiger’ dusted himself off, scowling.

“Let’s go, boys. And trust me, I’m never setting foot in this dump again.”

“Wait a sec!”

He flinched. “What now?”

Haitang pointed at the pile of broken plastic shards Old Feng had swept up.

“Your fatass henchman smashed that table. Pay up.”

“How much is this, Uncle Feng?”

Before Old Feng could answer, Lei Laohu slammed two crisp red bills onto the table.

“Keep the change.”

He then proceeded to lead his lackeys, leaving the site.

“Uncle Feng, take it. This is their compensation for the damage.”

Haitang shoved the two large bills into Old Feng’s hands.

Meanwhile, Zhao Zhao couldn’t help but mutter, “What kind of idiot joins a gang when they have this much money?”

Lei Laohu casually slapping down two crisp hundred-yuan bills seemed downright extravagant to us broke high schoolers.

“Maybe he just romanticizes the whole gangster lifestyle,” I mused.

“You know, like those rich brats in movies, rolling around with their goons, looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, but no spoiled rich kid could take a beating like that. That guy’s definitely trained.”

With things finally settled, I leaned back into my plastic chair, stretching out in contentment.

Tangerine did the same beside me, lazily rubbing her stomach and occasionally letting out a satisfied burp. “Sis Haitang, you’re seriously amazing! Hic!”

Haitang clicked her tongue, giving us a look of exasperation.

“You two sure had a good time eating, huh…”

Unlike us, Old Feng wasn’t one to express gratitude with words.

Since the fight had left most of our food cold, he silently cooked up two fresh hot dishes just for Haitang and Zhao Zhao.

This time, though, instead of returning to his food stall after serving the dishes, he lit a cigarette and took a seat at the table next to us, watching them eat.

Through the curling smoke, I caught a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face.

Something about his worn, weathered expression stirred my curiosity, and before I knew it, I blurted out, “Uncle Feng… can you tell us about your past?”

Old Feng fit the description of an “unfortunate soul” perfectly.

If I wrote his name in the Bishoujo Notebook, it could change his fate and give him a new shot at happiness.

And at the same time, I’d be able to clear this month’s assessment.

A win-win situation.

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