By the time Frez returned to the slums, night had fully swallowed Lungmen.
A heavy rain drummed against the windowpanes, the relentless downpour working overtime to wash away the grime and daytime hustle of the sprawling nomadic city.
Furina’s grand afternoon tea had carried on without him.
Earlier, W and the others had flooded the multiversal chat group with pictures of delicate, artisan cakes and pastries, a move that severely triggered Kiana’s FOMO.
Fortunately, the Herrscher of Finality was notoriously easy to coax; a promised box of premium snacks had successfully talked her off the ledge.
[Fufu: Are you guys done with your business?
It’s a real shame you two couldn’t join the afternoon tea.]
[Handsome Big Liar: Indeed.
Fufu prepared a massive spread for us.
It was exquisite.]
[Wiš’adel: Yeah, it was actually pretty damn good.]
[Quantum Beheading Barbarian: I’ve never eaten anything this good in my entire life!
I even brought some back for Hook and the Moles; they completely devoured it.]
[Kiana: What’s the big deal?
Frez scammed a ton of good stuff out of that bastard Otto anyway.
Speaking of which—Frez, where’s my dinner?
It’s already pitch black over here!]
[Dump Truck Hater: Yes, yes, I’m heading out to buy it right now.
Is pizza fine?]
[Kiana: I want pineapple pizza!]
[Dump Truck Hater: Sure.]
Frez pocketed his phone and stepped out into the stairwell.
As he pushed open the heavy iron door to the street, he instinctively flared his Cursed Energy.
The Limitless activated.
Raindrops plummeted from the sky, only to hit an invisible barrier a millimeter above his skin and slide harmlessly away.
He took two steps into the deluge before pausing.
Walking through a monsoon looking like he was wrapped in a perfectly dry, invisible film was a great way to draw unwanted attention in a place like Lungmen.
Clicking his tongue, he dropped the technique, turned back inside, and grabbed a cheap umbrella.
Shielded by the mundane canopy, he blended smoothly into the rainy night.
He handled the neon-lit alleys until he found a pizza joint bustling with local gang members and weary office workers.
Shaking off his umbrella, he ordered a pie for himself—topped with authentic Siracusan sausage and fresh mushrooms.
The aroma wafting from the oven was rich and savory.
“Waiter, add one more pineapple pizza to go,” he called out.
The Perro waitress gave him a brief, judgmental look before nodding.
A few minutes later, Frez walked out the door, balancing the warm cardboard box in one hand.
Just as he prepared to open the chat interface and send the meal through a red envelope, a prickle of intuition made him pause.
He glanced across the rain-slicked street.
A Lupo girl was standing under a flickering streetlamp, staring directly at him.
Or rather, staring directly at the box in his hand.
Her green eyes practically glowed in the dark, predatory and entirely hollowed out by hunger.
Her clothes were slightly tattered, clinging to her frame.
Long, rain-dampened grey hair plastered against her pale cheeks.
The black stockings on her legs were torn at the knees, revealing smooth, delicate skin beneath the frayed nylon.
A long, cloth-wrapped rod—unmistakably a sword—was strapped securely to her waist.
Behind her, a wolf tail hung limp and low, its normally fluffy fur dull, coarse, and dripping with dirty rainwater.
Frez blinked.
The pineapple pizza was still hot in its box.
Noticing that the Lupo girl’s gaze was locked onto the cardboard with a terrifying intensity, he crossed the street.
As he approached, he caught the faint, lingering scent of cheap cigarette smoke clinging to her wet clothes.
“If you don’t mind, you can have this,” he offered, holding out the box.
He could always just buy another one for Kiana.
She took the box with both hands, her green eyes shimmering with deep anticipation.
Behind her, the soaked, miserable tail actually began to wag.
Before lifting the lid, she straightened her posture, trying to muster a shred of dignity.
“I am Pizza—no, I am Texas.”
As expected.
It’s the Texas Dog.
Frez reached out, tempted to take the box back just to mess with her, but a famished Texas had already popped the lid.
The radiant anticipation in her eyes instantly died.
“Pineapple…
pizza!?”
Her ears flattened against her head.
Texas looked up, genuine fury flashing across her features.
“Can pineapple pizza even be called pizza?!”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Frez withdrew his hand, his expression perfectly deadpan.
“Not putting durian on it is already showing plenty of respect to the concept of pizza.”
Texas gestured wildly with one hand, launching into a rapid-fire, highly technical explanation of Siracusan culinary law and why this abomination violated every code of human decency.
Grumble…
A loud, hollow roar from her stomach instantly betrayed her righteous indignation.
Her pale face flushed crimson.
The rant died in her throat.
Ultimately, she lowered her head in absolute defeat and began eating the pineapple pizza, chewing in humiliated silence under Frez’s dry, amused gaze.
After polishing off the third slice, Texas experienced a horrifying realization: It actually tasted pretty good.
Born in Columbia but raised as a true Siracusan Black Flag, Texas had been subjected to a pure, orthodox Siracusan education since childhood.
She ate traditional noodles, authentic meatballs, and strictly regulated pizza.
If someone had placed a pineapple pizza in front of her a week ago, they would have been having a lucky day if she didn’t instantly draw her sword and separate their head from their shoulders.
But after starving in the slums for several days, her pride had evaporated.
It was a delicacy.
She finished the last crust, wiped her mouth, and looked at him, her face still burning red.
“…Do you know if there’s a suitable place to stay around here?”
As a newcomer in a strange, unforgiving land, she desperately needed a safe place to rest.
“Do you have money?” Frez asked.
Texas shook her head.
“Then there’s only the park benches.”
Texas stiffened.
She looked away, her fingers gripping the empty cardboard box.
“Can…
can you lend me some?
I’ll look for a job tomorrow.
I will definitely pay you back.”
Lungmen was far from both Siracusa and Columbia.
Texas didn’t want her bloody past to catch up with her, and she planned to lay low here for the foreseeable future.
But her family was gone.
Aside from the damp clothes on her back and the wrapped sword at her waist, she possessed absolutely nothing.
The local gangs were notoriously unwelcoming.
She had been ambushed by a syndicate crew the moment she arrived last night.
She won the fight, but lost her wallet in the chaos.
If she hadn’t run into Frez just now, her backup plan had been to start hunting down the robbers and robbing them back.
Asking a total stranger for money was an incredibly shameful request, especially toward a man who had just fed her.
But her life had hit rock bottom.
If she lost face, so be it.
She already owed him a favor; owing a bit more wouldn’t kill her.
If he needed help cutting someone down tomorrow, she wouldn’t hesitate to draw her blade for him.
“I see you’re having a hard time,” Frez noted, observing her tense posture.
“Do you know how to do housework?”
“No.” She paused, her ears twitching, and immediately corrected herself.
“I can learn.”
“Help me clean up the place, and I’ll let you stay for the night.
I haven’t had time to take care of my apartment lately.”
Texas didn’t sense any ulterior motives.
Even though he was wearing dark sunglasses in the middle of the night, her honed assassin’s intuition didn’t pick up a single trace of lust or malice from him.
“Alright.”
“Besides the room, I’ll lend you a thousand LMD.
Go get some fresh clothes and then come with me.
Oh, wait here.
I need to go buy another pineapple pizza.”
Texas stared at him.
Just how much does this guy like pineapple pizza!?
“Um…” Texas called out, stopping him before he crossed the street.
“Can you get me another one?”
“A pineapple pizza?” Frez joked.
Texas closed her eyes, looking as though she were resigning herself to a grim fate.
“If possible…
please don’t.”
Frez returned a few minutes later with two boxes—one pineapple, one standard pepperoni.
He handed the normal one to Texas, keeping the cursed one for himself.
True to his word, he transferred a thousand LMD to a temporary cred-stick and led her to a nearby late-night commercial district.
While Texas wandered into a small department store to buy ordinary clothes, shoes, and a change of laundry, Frez opened the chat group and fired the pineapple pizza into a red envelope.
[Kiana: So slow!
I already caved and ate a bowl of instant noodles!]
[Dump Truck Hater: Ran into some things on the street.]
Kiana didn’t complain further, instantly claiming the red envelope.
After finishing her shopping, Texas emerged carrying a few bags.
Among her purchases was a large, one-liter bottle of premium Tail Care Solution—an absolute necessity for Lupo and Vulpo races who needed to carefully groom their fur to prevent matting.
Frez led her back to his rental apartment.
It was a standard, no-nonsense one-bedroom unit with a small living room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom.
A classic bachelor pad.
“Go take a shower,” Frez said, tossing his keys onto the counter.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Texas offered a genuine nod of gratitude and carried her new clothes into the bathroom.
She desperately needed a hot bath to wash away the grime of the slums, the chill of the rain, and the lingering ghosts of her past.
Frez dropped onto the sofa and clicked on the TV, flipping through the local Lungmen news channels to see if anything interesting had blown up today.
Meanwhile, back in the rain-drenched slums, right in front of the pizza shop Frez had just left, a bizarre scene was unfolding.
A half-person-tall Emperor penguin, decked out in oversized hip-hop streetwear and a thick gold chain, was standing in the puddles, letting out an ear-piercing, indescribable shriek of pure frustration.
“Where is she?!
Where the hell did the talent I just scouted go?!”
[Akarin’s Note:
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