Just as Serie was about to continue walking, her peripheral vision suddenly caught an unsettling scene—
Two young men in black leather jackets were blocking an Asian exchange student at the entrance. The student was half a head taller than his attackers, but he could only plead in broken Russian: "Don't, don't do this… we're friends… friends…"
"Friends?" The blonde youth sneered, closing in, then suddenly punched the other in the stomach.
"Ugh—!" The student doubled over like a broken bamboo pole, his wallet slipping from his grasp and rolling away.
Another obese youth picked up the wallet and exaggeratedly kissed the crumpled stack of banknotes: "This is what friends are for!"
Serie's fingertips unconsciously stroked her distinct jawline, seemingly deep in thought.
Perhaps it was the familiar Asian face that made her feel a sense of kinship, or perhaps she had other considerations.
Serie stopped in the snow three steps away from the two thugs:
"Give him his money back."
She gestured with her chin towards the student curled up on the ground, her voice as calm as if haggling in a market.
The blonde youth scoffed, closing in, the metal chains on his leather jacket clinking: "Where did this little wildcat come from, sticking her nose in? Quite feisty…"
The youth's hand was not very clean as he reached out towards Serie.
"Sigh." Serie suddenly tilted her head and sighed helplessly.
Before the blonde youth's hand could even touch her hair, Serie's knee precisely connected with his groin.
Crack.
"Aow—!!" The miserable wail turned into a rooster's crow.
As the blonde youth instantly doubled over like a shrimp, collapsing, the other obese youth's fist, whistling through the air, smashed towards the back of her head.
Too slow.
Serie didn't even turn around.
Her left hand shot out like a serpent's tongue, her five fingers gripping the opponent's wrist bone and twisting.
A crisp "crack" mingled with a scream erupted, and with a swift pivot, her elbow strike slammed into his temple.
The obese youth immediately crashed to the ground like a sack of bones, the impact shaking snow from the wall.
To deal with this kind of scum, Serie couldn't even be bothered to use her fire abilities.
Serie couldn't be bothered to watch them writhe in pain in the snow. She casually frisked them, finding not a single penny.
She only found a few cheap cigarettes and a lighter. Serie then picked up the stolen wad of money and fanned it under the streetlamp—whoa, this kid was really rich, this money was enough to buy over a dozen bottles of vodka.
Serie deftly pulled out three large bills and tucked them into her own pocket, then slapped the remaining stack back into the exchange student's hand.
Serie prided herself on not being an evil person, but she wasn't a good person either, and certainly not a police officer.
She could do good deeds anonymously, but a commission was still necessary.
"Tha…" The student had barely uttered half a syllable when his eyes suddenly fixated on the half-exposed banknotes in her pocket: "Th-that… money…"
"Hmm?" Serie raised an eyebrow.
"Please… give it back to me…" The hand the student pointed at her pocket trembled like a reed in the wind.
Serie was stunned for half a second upon hearing this, then laughed in exasperation at the student in front of her: "No, buddy, when that jerk was stealing your money, you called him a friend, but now that I'm taking a little payment for my trouble, you're getting tough with me?"
What, Senko bitten by a dog… no…
What, a dog bites Senko, good people should be held at gunpoint, huh?
Serie honestly felt she didn't take much. From a stack of over twenty bills, she just casually took three, wanting to buy some alcohol to reward herself for her chivalry.
But this coward…
Serie wasn't one to suffer in silence. She snatched all the banknotes from the student's hand: "This lady isn't serving you anymore. Go cry to your dear friends."
Amidst the rustling sound of banknotes fluttering and being counted in her fingers, she ignored the trembling pleas and apologies of the student behind her.
Serie pushed open the bar's wooden door.
She didn't know what she was getting into until she stepped inside.
The bar was filled with young men in leather jackets, all covered in tattoos.
Serie, a young, beautiful woman who appeared utterly defenseless, instantly became the center of attention.
Like a lamb among wolves, she drew all eyes.
"Your strongest vodka, please." She slapped the freshly acquired banknotes onto the counter and placed her shopping bags at her feet.
The bald black bartender's hand paused in mid-air as he wiped a glass. The stainless steel liquor rack reflected several figures slowly rising behind Serie.
The bartender had just brought the bottle, and before the cap was even off, Serie reached out and grabbed it.
The cold bottle was beaded with water, which trickled down her fingers.
She didn't even glance at the small shot glass beside it, tilting her head back and drinking directly from the bottle. Her pale throat bobbed rapidly, and the burning sensation of the strong liquor made her eyes narrow slightly.
Meanwhile, those wolf-like figures had already silently surrounded her.
"Beautiful lady, would you honor us with your presence…"
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