Can Ci Pin/Imperfections(残次品)BL by Priest

Chapter 3

Three men and one woman came out of the high-speed motors. The men looked like they were preparing to debut as a band, hair dyed red, yellow, and green like traffic lights. The woman was dressed the same as the delinquent girl, wearing a jacket and a bra. Perhaps the style was popular among the city's delinquents.

They had all burst in from out of the blue; however, standing in a line in the back of the speakeasy, none of them dared to say a word.

After some deliberation, the "traffic lights band" sent the woman to speak on their behalf. She was the type of person who could withstand the bitter cold for the sake of fashion, but when met with the icy glare of the man standing by the back door, she was outmatched. Trembling, she spoke hesitantly.

"That guy was using a weird shielding device, we lost his mark..."

The man stared at her in silence, causing her to sneeze so hard her lungs nearly flew out of her chest. The boy, who had finally calmed down just a moment ago, was startled by the fierce sneeze, and promptly returned to noisily crying from his spot on the ground. However, one look from the man holding the cigarette was enough to scare the boy into trembling silence.

"Call the cops. Stop standing here and embarrassing me, get in." The man held the boy whose crying he had stopped with mere eye contact in one arm, looked at the disheveled girl in the corner of the room, and spoke.

"You too."

The group of riders followed him one by one as if they had been pardoned after committing a crime. The girl stood up and hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of the speakeasy quickly persuaded her. She touched the wound on the back of her hand, dragging her luggage in with her.

The atmosphere in the speakeasy was pretty retro, so that even the decay felt deliberate. The sweet smell of rum filled the air, and jazz music lightened the mood of the room. The speakeasy seemed to be closed at the moment, as there were no waiters or bartenders to be found. The only one there was the man who had opened the back door, presumably the owner.

He's pretty cocky for the owner of such a tiny bar... the girl thought, unsure. She thought she saw something move on the shelf beside the table but dismissed it as a trick of the light, until her gaze met a cold eye. She jumped in alarm. On the shelf sat a dark green lizard.

"Don't worry, it's too lazy to bite anyone," The owner placed the boy on a bar stool opposite the girl, "What do you want to drink?"

The girl answered: "Beer."

The owner looked her over: "How old are you?"

Now that he was in the light, the girl could properly see his face. Although the contours of his face were deep, she could tell he had Asian blood. He still had some stubble on his jaw. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a solid chest and chiseled abs. He noticed the girl was looking at him, and casually fastened up a few of his buttons. Hidden under his shirt was an old, thick scar along his neck, extending all the way from his Adam's apple down to his shoulder, making him seem all the more dangerous. He squinted slightly through his cigarette smoke. One could say he was totally careless with his appearance, but despite his unkempt and bearlike looks, his dark grey eyes lent him a dignified presence. Those eyes were unusual, evocative of a dense foggy gorge, secluded and melancholy.

The girl's eyes met his, and she instinctively looked away.

She answered plainly: "Fifty."

The man stared down at the girl: "Don't be stupid."

She was a little delinquent who no one cared about and who had never feared anyone or anything, but for some reason that she couldn't explain, she couldn't even bring herself to argue with the owner of this little speakeasy. Those dusky eyes made her nervous— not the kind of nervous women felt when they met handsome men, but that kind of nervous naughty kids felt when they were caught by teachers or late newbies felt when they looked at their boss.

She lowered her head and gave another answer: "Twenty-five."

Before she could realize what was happening, a white light swept over her. She scrambled to cover her face with her hands: "What are you doing?!"

A personal terminal appeared above the man's wrist, then an identification file floated in mid-air. He blew smoke out of his nose and read the girl's name: "...Jingshu Huang?"

The girl was agitated: "Who do you think you are, checking my ID without permission?"

The owner didn't give a shit. He just smiled.

"Jingshu, huh? Nice name, same as the wife of the secretary-general of the IU."

Saying "the wife of the secretary-general of the IU" was like saying "Scientists named a black hole after Pixiu's* small intestine" to the girl — never heard of it, totally irrelevant to her.