After returning to the spectator stands, the group chatted idly while waiting for the afternoon finals to commence.
"Speaking of which, the matches run for the entire day. Do the spectators and contestants just go the whole time without food or drink?" Hong Meiling asked, her hand rubbing her stomach as hunger began to set in.
"Of course not. Remember all those street vendors lining the entrance plaza when we walked in? Those are set up specifically for the crowd," Beatrice reminded her.
Being a spectator was entirely different from competing on the track. The contestants received standardized rations distributed by the organizers, whereas spectators were free to explore the entrance stalls and buy whatever struck their fancy.
Naturally, buying your own food offered a vastly superior array of choices and richer flavors compared to the official contest rations.
As for those standard-issue racer rations... well, they notoriously consisted of a brick of Master Kong instant noodles washed down with a lukewarm bottle of Sprite. While utterly lacking in balanced nutrition, the high sodium and sugary syrup provided a quick burst of calories to keep the exhausted competitors going.
With a solid two-hour gap before the afternoon session began, the trio calculated the time and decided to slip outside for a proper meal. Their entry tickets allowed for re-entry, making it easy to return whenever they pleased.
Stepping back outside, they found the boulevard swarming with people. Beyond the thousands of ticket-holding spectators, local residents and passersby had been drawn in by the festive atmosphere. Driven by the classic Yan love for joining a lively crowd and the universal "might as well check it out" mentality, the entire perimeter had turned into a bustling festival.
"Let's eat over there. I've heard Hoshiguma talk about this place before," Beatrice said after scanning the stalls, pointing toward a small shop tucked near the corner.
Flandre and Hong Meiling followed her gaze to a prominent banner hanging above the entrance: [Dong's Scaled Beast Noodle Shop].
Stepping inside, they found every table packed to capacity. They barely managed to squeeze into a newly vacated table near the back and began inspecting the rustic menu of the temporary street stall.
The entire establishment was run by just two people: an aging, weather-beaten proprietor and a tired young Ursus male who looked like an overworked corporate drone helping out during the rush.
"Boss! Three bowls of your signature scaled beast noodles, please!" Once seated, Beatrice shed any pretense of upper-class demeanor, calling out in a hearty, down-to-earth voice that cut right through the chatter.
"Coming right up! Three bowls of signature scaled beast noodles!" the old boss shouted back from over the steaming stove.
Hong Meiling blinked, staring at Beatrice with mild surprise. "You know, Beatrice, you're remarkably grounded. Looking at you right now, nobody would ever guess you're a high-born young lady from a prominent family."
"It comes with the territory," Beatrice replied with a grin. "As a patrol officer, blending seamlessly into a crowd is a fundamental survival skill. If you stand out like a sore thumb, how are you ever supposed to catch sly pickpockets?"
As a direct scion of the Swire family, Beatrice had lived under the public magnifying glass since childhood. If she truly wanted to, she could easily cultivate the dazzling aura of a high-society socialite. But upon joining the Lungmen Guard Department, she deliberately chose a path divergent from Ch'en's.
While Ch'en operated in the Major Crimes Unit, chasing down dangerous syndicates and high-profile terrorists by unraveling intricate clues for massive commendations, Beatrice took the grassroots route—slower, steadier, and infinitely more grounded.
That grassroots path came with its own unique trials. In busy commercial districts, the most frequent nuisances weren't international masterminds, but relentless bands of nimble pickpockets. To catch them red-handed, Beatrice had spent years refining a quiet, unobtrusive presence, mastering the art of moving through a bustling market without a single soul noticing her approach.
Moments later, three steaming, aromatic bowls of scaled beast noodles were served at their table. Flandre eagerly scooped up a spoonful, blowing gently before popping it into her mouth. "Mmm, just as delicious as I remember!"
Beatrice looked at her in surprise. "You've eaten here before?"
"Yeah. I wasn't entirely sure at first, but the moment I tasted these scaled beast noodles, it all came back. I came here with Rope once," Flandre explained. Then, a thought crossed her mind. She remembered Rope—the kind-hearted Cautus girl living in the Slums—and wondered how she was getting along lately. Knowing that Beatrice was the officer who constantly played cat-and-mouse with her, Flandre couldn't resist asking if she knew her.
"Rope? Are you talking about that purple-haired Cautus?" Beatrice chuckled, effortlessly painting an accurate picture of the young thief.
"Mhm," Flandre nodded.
"That kid is slippery, but awfully clever. Whenever the weather turns freezing or she runs out of food, she deliberately lets us spot her so she gets hauled back to the station for a warm bowl of pork chop rice and a few days indoors."
Beatrice harbored no real malice toward Flandre's unusual friend; instead, she found the dynamic amusing. Flandre recounted how she had once wandered into the Slums and been looked after by the clever thief.
"Well, fancy that! I never would've guessed she looked out for you, Flandre," Beatrice smiled warmly. "Next time I run into her on patrol, I'll make sure to treat her to the biggest plate of pork chop rice in Lungmen, complete with an iced cola."
After finishing their bowls, the three strolled out of the restaurant. Rather than heading straight back to the race track, Beatrice suggested lingering in the crowded streets a bit longer. In her words, a dense crowd of tourists and spectators was prime hunting ground for pickpockets, and since they had just eaten a heavy meal, a quick patrol to bag a thief or two would serve as excellent digestion exercise.
She took the lead, with Flandre and Hong Meiling trailing behind. Suddenly, moving with effortless grace through the dense foot traffic, Beatrice whipped a pair of standard-issue handcuffs from her belt and slapped them around the wrists of a passing man before anyone in the surrounding crowd even registered the motion.
The startled man opened his mouth to protest, but the moment he caught sight of Beatrice's sharp, emerald-green eyes, all color drained from his face and he slumped in resignation.
"Ah, Officer Beatrice. What kind of lucky wind blew you into my neighborhood today?" the man asked with a practiced, cynical grin.
"Save the charm for the interrogation room. Time to head down to the station for some tea and reflection," Beatrice said smoothly, firmly grabbing his arm and pivoting toward the LGD holding sector nearby.
Just as they approached the perimeter, the bustling noise of the street was pierced by a sudden, frantic shout.
A wild-eyed man clutching a heavy blade burst through the crowd, his face twisted in desperate fury. His bloodshot eyes scanned the plaza before locking onto a defenseless woman standing just a few paces away.
"You treacherous bitch! I knew you snuck out here to meet your lover behind my back!" he bellowed, raising the long blade high above his head as he lunged forward to strike.
Though Beatrice's instincts flared instantly—sensing the murderous intent before the blade had even cleared its sheath—she came to a sudden, chilling realization. She was off duty, dressed in civilian clothes, and completely unarmed save for the single pair of handcuffs currently securing her pickpocket suspect.