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On the street corner, outside a two-story general store, a young man leaning on his broom hums a tune nobody seems to understand. He lazily watches the people flowing back and forth on the street.,“Holding a steamed bun in my hands… There's not a drop of oil in the vegetables…”,Three men in leather jackets, reeking of alcohol, burst into the general store. The one in the front, with green hair and a mohawk, surveyed the shop, spitting out his toothpick.。

• latest chapter： Chapter 2: Ding-a-ling