The group of people in front of him, whether in attire or demeanor, gave Jeming a strong sense of déjà vu—a standard template for street thugs.
Leading them was a tall, robust young man.
He was wearing a flamboyant studded leather jacket, had his hair dyed a glaring green, and had a toothpick in his mouth.
His walking style was deliberately exaggerated, shoulders swaying as if to tell the world "I'm a bad guy."
The most striking feature was the "weapon" casually slung over his shoulder—a double-edged axe that gleamed coldly, well-maintained.
The few followers behind him shared a similar style, with scornful eyes and an air of arrogance, practically having "delinquent" written on their faces.
As they walked, other students in the restaurant hastily stepped aside, their eyes filled with fear and a hint of... acceptance?
Jeming's pupils narrowed, his brain quickly running through the vast false memories.
