I Have 10 Trillion Dollars only Usable For Simping
Chapter 710 - 555 really isn’t much_2

Chapter 710: 555 really isn’t much_2

"Wan Kui’s brother had a car accident a few days ago and died. You’re asking us to go to him? Are you cursing our boss?"

Another thug immediately pushed and shoved.

The bar owner staggered back, utterly astonished.

That ferocious thug who would smash up shops whenever someone was late with the protection money had actually died in a car accident?

Could there really be such a thing as karma?

It was surely a cause for celebration that such a person had died, but looking at the unforgiving gang before him, the bar owner felt like he shouldn’t be happy.

"Gentlemen, I didn’t mean that, I really didn’t know."

He squeezed out a smile, "I can’t believe that brother Wan Kui actually had an accident. It’s truly regrettable. It’s just the protection money, I really have already paid him; you should have a record, right?"

"Record your mother’s head!"

The thug pointed at the bar owner’s nose, swearing without restraint, "So you’re just looking to weasel out of paying, huh?"

The protection money was a fabrication to begin with.

Where was this talk of cheating coming from?

The owner, angry but not daring to speak out, continued to put on a smiley face, "My bar has been open for many years now, and I’ve never missed a payment. Every time, I’ve paid on schedule. Otherwise... why don’t you go back and check?"

"Damn!"

The leading thug took off his sunglasses, seemingly running out of patience.

"Wan Kui’s brother is dead, there’s no proof against your claim, whatever you say is useless. From now on, I’ll be collecting the protection fees around here. Today’s the first time. I’ve talked to the other shop owners on my way here, and they were all very cooperative. I’m asking you now, are you going to pay this month’s protection money or not?"

The thug’s menacing gaze made the bar owner’s heart race; he couldn’t dare to look directly.

The monthly one million won "protection fee" was a substantial expense for a small operation like his, and it had been a struggle to come up with it before.

This month he had already paid once, and now they were here to collect again.

The bar owner was truly distressed.

"It’s not that I won’t pay... but, could we possibly reduce the amount?"

He said cautiously, testing the waters.

Since these criminals had shown up, they were obviously not going to leave empty-handed. He didn’t have the power to stand up to these underworld forces. If he could reduce some of the loss, that would be something at least.

"Reduce the amount? How much do you want to reduce it?"

The boss asked with a smile.

The bar owner’s heart pounded as he mustered his courage, "Would five hundred thousand be okay..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a foot had already kicked him.

"Hah! It’s good enough we didn’t raise it on you, and you have the nerve to haggle! Looks like you don’t want your bar to stay open."

Looking down at the bar owner who’d been kicked to the ground, the thug spat onto the floor, exuding arrogance.

The commotion attracted the attention of the customers inside the bar.

Everyone looked over curiously, but after seeing the bar owner on the ground and the clearly not benevolent gang, none of the young people in the bar dared to make a move.

"Smash it!"

The boss put his sunglasses back on and commanded authoritatively, intending to make an example of this bar.

"I’ll pay! I’ll pay the money!"

Seeing that the group was about to smash up his bar, the owner, disregarding his pain, quickly got up from the ground and begged for mercy.

The boss sneered coldly, ignoring him completely, and signaled his underlings to continue trashing the bar.

"Stop."

An inopportune voice suddenly rang out.

The thugs, excited to start the destruction, instinctively turned their heads and were momentarily stunned, then could not help but let out derisive laughter.

"Cripple, mind your own business, or I’ll break your other leg too."

"By what right are you trashing someone’s store? Also, who gave you the authority to collect this protection money?"

Che Changmin leaned on his crutches, looking disheveled, but oddly enough, the group of hoodlums was inexplicably stopped in their tracks for a moment.

The boss lifted his sunglasses slightly, sensing that this cripple wasn’t ordinary. Before he had a chance to speak, he heard the bar owner say uneasily, "Prosecutor Che."

A prosecutor?!

His heart skipped a beat.

Without needing an order, the thugs also changed their expressions upon hearing the bar owner’s call.

They might be arrogant, but they were not foolish.

A prosecutor was not someone they could afford to offend.

The once almost unbridled arrogance of the group suddenly diminished somewhat.

"Who sent you guys? Which gang are you from?"

Che Changmin’s tone wasn’t intense, but his long-established presence still put significant pressure on the thugs.

"Heh heh, misunderstanding, just a misunderstanding."

This boss knew how to read the room, chuckling nervously without any hesitation.

"Sorry for the disturbance."

He made a snap decision and quickly ushered his subordinates out with him.

A group of men had arrived with aggression and now left in hasty panic.

Che Changmin leaned on his crutch, took a step forward as if to pursue.

"Prosecutor Che, there’s no need,"

the boss stopped him.

"Why not call the police?"

Che Changmin turned his head.

The boss shook his head, "No use, people have tried, but the very next day, their shop would be vandalized."

Che Changmin fell silent.

"We’re used to it. It’s not much money; once paid, we can operate in peace, without loss."

These were the sincere words of the bar owner, as well as the common sentiment of the grassroots population, but to Che Changmin, a prosecutor, they sounded like a tremendous mockery.

"You can tell me about it."

The bar owner gave a bitter smile, "Prosecutor Che, I know you are a good prosecutor, so I’d hate to trouble you even more. Your time should be spent on more important matters. Trivial issues like mine, you can’t possibly manage."

Che Changmin pursed his lips.

Can’t possibly manage.

Indeed.

How many similar cases, how many streets like this?

He could help this owner, but what about the others? Even if he worked tirelessly day and night, how many could he really help?

"Prosecutor Che, you haven’t finished your meal, right? Sorry for disturbing your dinner, please continue eating,"

the owner said.

Che Changmin didn’t utter another word, perhaps not knowing what to say, and returned to his seat, leaning on his crutch.

He sat down.

Let go of the crutch.

Poured a drink.

Downed it in one go.

The other patrons in the bar looked at the man who had scared off a group of gangsters with a mixture of respect and whispering among themselves.

Che Changmin ignored the glances from around him and kept drinking one cup after another.

He seemed to want to get drunk, but after the second jug, he was sobering up instead.

Sometimes the world is just like that, always contrary to one’s desires.

The door to the bar was pushed open again.

"Sir, are you alone?"

The bar owner, regaining his usual demeanor, forced a warm smile.

"Looking for someone."

A young man, probably in his early twenties, glanced around and then walked towards Che Changmin’s table.

The bar owner turned to stop him, then saw the prosecutor allow the other party to sit down.

He was a little surprised but did not interfere any further.

"Miss Lan’s knife is in locker number 136 in the prosecutor’s storage room. If you don’t mind, these dishes are barely suitable to fill your stomach."

After sitting down, the young man who should not have been making public appearances, according to the law, spoke. Che Changmin showed no reaction, not even a hint of surprise, then got up and left, leaning on his crutch.

Jiang Chen, who had not yet had the chance to speak, watched as he passed by without stopping him.

"Prosecutor Che, are... are you leaving just like that?"

The bar owner asked while looking at Jiang Chen, who was still seated.

"Bring another jug of wine,"

Che Changmin said, ultimately not neglecting the manners of a host, "and bring me the check."

"Prosecutor Che, there’s no need,"

said the bar owner.

Che Changmin looked at the bar owner.

The bar owner quickly added, knowing Che’s character, "If it wasn’t for you today, my place probably would have been smashed. Those people probably won’t dare to come back again. Moreover, you’ve done so much for us common folk, a meal is really nothing."

Looking into the bar owner’s eyes, pleading yet mixed with sincerity, Che Changmin, this time, ultimately did not refuse.

"Thank you."

"Prosecutor Che, take care,"

said the bar owner as he personally escorted him out.

At the door,

Che Changmin paused, his back facing the bar owner.

"From now on, don’t call me prosecutor anymore."

The bar owner was startled.

Leaning on his crutch, Che Changmin walked away with a faltering gait, getting farther and farther away.