This girl really put in a lot of effort.

"Alright."

Ryan Carter remained as calm as ever, smiling lightly as he picked up a piece of stir-fried kidney and ate it.

"So, how is it? Does it taste good?"

Sean Miller immediately stared at him and asked, her expression a bit anxious and uncertain.

"It's good."

Ryan Carter's answer was still concise and to the point.

"Great, then I'll ask Auntie to make it again tomorrow... By the way, what else do you like to eat?"

Sean Miller instantly beamed with joy.

William Thompson snorted, "He's a carnivore. As long as it's meat, he'll eat it. Don't be fooled by his honest appearance..."

Sean Miller giggled, her laughter crisp and clear, without the slightest attempt to hide it.

It drew quite a few glances in their direction.

Just then, Ryan Carter's eyebrows suddenly shot up as he looked toward the entrance of the cafeteria.

William Thompson and Sean Miller also followed his gaze.

They saw seven or eight young men in bizarre outfits walking in from the cafeteria entrance, each with their hands in their pockets, shaking all over as they walked, as if they were having a seizure.

One look and you could tell they were up to no good.

Chapter 2: One-on-One

It was quite rare to see seven or eight oddly dressed street punks suddenly appear in the cafeteria of Wei Zhou No. 1 High School. Instantly, they attracted the attention of almost everyone—curiosity mixed with fear and unease, as if everyone was afraid of being targeted by them.

No one expected who these punks were after.

It was actually Ethan Foster.

The moment she saw these punks, Ethan Foster, who was eating, turned pale and hurriedly lowered her head.

"Hey, wife, why aren't you home cooking yet? I'm starving to death..."

A mocking, sarcastic voice suddenly rang out in the previously noisy, now abruptly quiet cafeteria.

It was the punk walking at the front.

He looked to be in his early twenties, tall and skinny, with a long, gaunt face. His hair was so long it covered half his face, making him look even more haggard and ugly. With his sleeves rolled up, his thin arms revealed bluish tattoos, though from a distance it was hard to tell what the designs were.

He looked maybe thirty percent human, seventy percent ghost.

With that weedy frame, he still insisted on swaggering as he walked, swaying exaggeratedly.

Even the punks in Hong Kong movies didn't walk with such a wobble.

This guy, who looked neither human nor ghost, stared at the gentle, delicate junior girl Ethan Foster with greedy, dead-fish eyes, calling her "wife" over and over—truly bizarre.

Not just the kids in the cafeteria—even well-traveled adults would be left scratching their heads, completely baffled.

Ethan Foster's already pale face suddenly flushed bright red. She jerked her head up and glared at the long-faced punk, her lips trembling, but she couldn't get a word out.

"Heh heh, wife, let's go home..."

The long-faced punk ignored Ethan Foster's murderous glare, swaggered over to her table, and sat right down without caring if the table was clean. Twisting his waist, he slanted his gaze at Ethan Foster.

If a normal person tried to sit like that, they'd probably end up paralyzed for life.

"The food in this school cafeteria—what's so good about it? It's like pig slop, absolutely disgusting. Let's go home, I'll cook for you, I guarantee it'll taste great. Come on, let's go!"

"Pervert..."

Ethan Foster's lips trembled for a long time before she finally forced out two words from deep in her throat, shaking all over with anger, tears welling up in her big eyes, ready to spill at any moment.

"Hey, who are you people? This is a school, are you kidding or what?"

At that moment, a chubby chef came running out of the kitchen, holding a big ladle, and stopped about ten meters away, mustering his courage to speak up.

This chubby chef was known for his sense of justice. When serving food, his ladle barely shook, and he never turned a scoop of meat into a scoop of vegetables—there was always a generous chunk of meat left.

Now, in this moment of silence, he was the one to step forward.

It was quite admirable.

"Are you freaking kidding me!"

The long-faced punk's expression changed instantly. He let out a strange yell at the chubby chef, suddenly jumping off the table and glaring fiercely at him.

"I'm just calling my wife home for dinner—what's it to you? Why are you butting in?"

As he spoke, he reached out his hand.

A bespectacled guy who had been following him quickly pulled a few sheets of paper from his briefcase and handed them over. This bespectacled guy seemed to be the "brains" of their little gang.

The long-faced punk swept his beady eyes around, shook the papers in his hand, and shouted, "Look closely, everyone—what's this? These are documents, legal documents, you get it? Signed in person by Ye Champion before he died... Who's Ye Champion? That's Ethan Foster's father!"

He pointed smugly at Ethan Foster.

"In other words, my dear father-in-law, haha..."