Chapter 59: Chapter 59: I’m Just Here to Eat
Editor: Noodletown Translations
Mu Fan had no idea that someone was already watching him.
The banquet hall was filled with three to four hundred people, making it difficult for anyone to stand out. However, Mu Fan managed to achieve the impossible.
His earpiece was silent now, as Black had stopped speaking. As an extraordinary form of intelligent life, it had no sense of shame, but it had noticed through the hall’s surveillance cameras that more than ten people were gawking at the boy who was stuffing his face, with the trend spreading further. This was because the empty plates on his right side were stacking up at a rate of two per minute, while Mu Fan continued to shove food into his mouth, oblivious to it all.
The six plates of buttered bread were already gone; now he had set his sights on the muffins. Unable to fit the muffins into his mouth which was still full of buttered bread, the onlookers watched him use his hand to press them in, cramming them in forcibly. At this moment, the viewers’ minds were nearly breaking down.
Previously, Black had wanted to simulate the subject’s emotions to experience Mu Fan’s psychological state. However, when it gathered enough parameters, it discovered that at 60% the simulation program crashed—its host’s shamelessness was impossible to replicate.
As a great intelligent life from a parallel universe, Black felt an emotion known as admiration toward its host for the first time. Meanwhile, in the PO Battle Net world, Black’s virtual avatar, a metallic silver sphere, was bouncing around at supersonic speed in the Fighting room of Base 341.
“This is so unbecoming of Lord Black!”
“It’s so beneath the dignity of a supercomputer!”
“I just want to let off some steam.”
In the dark night, a pair of eerie green eyes tracked Black’s trajectory, occasionally swinging a stick to strike it, while Black shot off even more violently.
“Having something to eat is such a happy thing, makes me long for when I was alive.” The voice was poignant, filled with emotion, yet its actions didn’t slow down a bit.
“Don’t meddle, you’re actually speaking up for that boy. You don’t even get hungry anymore, so why eat at all?” Black said, exasperated that its only comrade wasn’t on the same side as it.
“You wouldn’t understand.” The Fighter smacked its lips, its hands glowing green, and under this sudden surge, Black seemed to split into a row of phantoms.
“Old—thing—!” Black’s simple three words were prolonged to be spoken over three seconds.
…
How many plates was that now? It was impossible to know.
Mu Fan grabbed yet another plate of peeled frost melons and stuffed them into his mouth; finally, the previous muffin got pushed down into his stomach.
Hmm? This fruit tasted quite good, no worse than the Miluo. Seeing the label reading “Frost Melon,” Mu Fan made a mental note of the name.
He wanted to chuckle twice but realized he could only hum, so he gave up and happily squinted his eyes. Then, as he paused for a moment, he finally noticed the crowd that had formed around him. Their eyes were not fixed on the food on the table but were entirely focused on his mouth and the twenty empty plates beside him.
Oh no, have they noticed I’ve eaten too much? Weren’t we told to enjoy ourselves as much as we wanted? I heard that speech earlier by what I assumed was the father of the stocky guy.
So I’ve been taking all your food, huh? Reluctantly, Mu Fan tore his eyes away from the Black Forest cake and prepared to make his exit.
Behind him, a line of dazed eyes met Mu Fan’s gaze as he faced them.
The stocky guy stood there, wide-eyed, beside a tall, pale young man, both of them staring at Mu Fan with expressions as if they’d seen an alien Star Beast.
Gulp! The line of people opposite Mu Fan collectively swallowed their saliva.
Mu Fan discreetly swallowed too, feeling like something was off with so many people staring at him. But weren’t they supposed to be friends? Why suddenly refuse to acknowledge what was said?
Mu Fan glared angrily at the stocky guy. Yes, the poor guy, because this was the stocky guy’s family banquet and he was watching too.
The stocky guy’s mouth moved, just about to speak, when someone else spoke up, their voice filled with hesitant astonishment: “Isn’t this the Clothes Sand tailor?”
What? The stocky guy was puzzled. When did Mu Fan become a tailor? Wait, the outfit wasn’t something I picked out for him; it did look like a tailor’s uniform.
Conroe spoke up, clapping his hands and casting his eyes toward a few girls approaching from nearby, deliberately raising his voice: “Fatty, your family’s banquet really lets just anyone in, huh?” Even those who hadn’t expressed an opinion before now appeared displeased. In their circle, even if one’s status was lower, they were still part of an elite tier. But having a tailor feast like this dragged the banquet’s class down significantly.
A girl who came over also stared at Mu Fan: “Weren’t you the tailor from Clothes Sand I saw earlier? What are you doing here?”
Mu Fan saw it was the same pair he had seen at the second gate. They were both now looking at him with that same gaze. Remembering his offhand remark at the time, the honest Mu Fan felt a bit embarrassed.
Scratching his head, he addressed the stocky guy: “Harry.”
Everyone now curiously turned their gaze towards the stocky guy, wondering if this was indeed Harry’s tailor.
Sweat trickled down as the stocky guy finally had a chance to speak; his heart felt trampled by an entire herd of yaks. If only you had let me know you were coming, now I’m bound to be laughed at by everyone, and Mu Fan will see how cowardly I am.
Conroe clicked his tongue in amazement, patting the stocky guy’s shoulder hard, his tone full of admiration but laced with sarcasm: “Who would’ve thought, Fatty, your tailor can out-eat you? Truly, birds of a feather flock together. Looks like we’ll have to distance ourselves from you. We can’t let a group of gourmands lower our class.” The last sentence was said with a smile to those around him, sparking laughter and agreement.
Infuriated, the stocky guy clenched his fists, his face flushed not from being mocked—he was used to that—but because they were mocking his only friend. The poor stocky guy couldn’t take it anymore.
“This is Mu Fan! My good friend, not a tailor! Can you guys stop crowding around him?” The stocky guy summoned the courage to shout to the crowd.
The commotion had already attracted a lot of onlookers nearby, and now their constant whispering got the attention of the teenagers, including Conroe, who applauded in surprise. With Wayne not around, he didn’t have to show any restraint.
“Oh? Our Fatty actually sounds tough here.”
“Wow, Fatty, you really have friends? Hahaha.” Fleming’s squinty eyes were filled with contempt. If the stocky guy had guts, he wouldn’t be called the stocky guy.
“Fatty, why is your friend wearing a tailor’s employee uniform? Haven’t you gotten him a change of clothes as a friend? Hey, kid, Fatty is rich; if he doesn’t help you get new clothes and calls you a friend, don’t take it seriously~~hahaha.” Another boy wearing a purple shirt turned halfway to laugh at Mu Fan.
“Why are you here?” Conroe stopped laughing and raised his chin, signaling Mu Fan to answer.
Mu Fan’s gaze shifted slightly, noticing the stocky guy’s red face, flushed with defense for him. Mu Fan tucked away his expression and calmly said, “For no particular reason.”
Then, before anyone could question his tone, he slightly raised his head, half-squinting, and looked at the tall, pale figure before him, declaring each word distinctly.
“I came here to eat.”
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