The Martial Saint decisively shut up and lowered his head to slurp the noodles.
Helping is a favor, not helping is duty.
Even if it's just lifting a finger.
"Whoa..."
While comfortably enjoying some authentic ramen, suddenly, there was the sound of water splashing. The Martial Saint turned his head to look, only to see a group of burly men in suits outside the ramen shop, at an unknown time, holding buckets and splashing some unknown liquid onto the ramen shop.
Tanki Liuli's refined nose twitched a bit, and then she put down her chopsticks.
Not even foodies can ignore everything.
"Damn it! Gasoline!"
The pungent smell of gasoline was getting stronger. Not only the Martial Saint, but also the scattered other customers in the store smelled it and anxiously looked outside, at a loss.
"Damn, it's the mafia!"
The Martial Saint was astonished.
