Ignis was in a rare good mood; Vesmir's breakfast stall was turning out to be quite successful.
Cheap and delicious breakfasts were a hit among the workers. After all, Ignis had adjusted the filling to suit the tastes of physical laborers, increasing the ratio of fatty meat and salt. These long-term laborers desperately needed precious calories and salt supplementation. The food provided by their factories wasn't cost-effective, so many not only ate there themselves but bought extra to serve as proper meals. Some who had just finished the night shift even bought food to bring home to share with their families.
Although Vesmir didn't even dare call out loudly at first, Ignis demonstrated by shouting once. The voice produced by three lungs was enough to make people jump, even though he had already controlled his volume. Calling out alone felt unnatural for the boy, but once he had someone doing it with him, his resistance faded, and he quickly learned how to hawk his goods.
But he immediately ran into a new challenge—some customers recognized the young boss of this breakfast stall as the notorious delinquent leader. And Vesmir, in order to emphasize his former identity, had previously covered his arm with large tattoos. So a few customers, even after queuing all the way to the front, turned around intending to leave.
Ignis naturally understood their concern and tried to persuade them. In the end, these few were defeated by the offensive of "free samples."
When they bit into the bun, the steaming, juicy filling released its aroma instantly, sweeping away all doubt. And after taking a large bite—mouth full of wheat fragrance and meat—they each raised a thumb in approval.
Since it tasted that good, there was naturally no reason for it to actually be free. And Ignis's pricing wasn't steep—twenty-five Dennies per bun, buy four and get one free. Being a breakfast cart, they barely needed to consider rent, and labor costs were negligible, so nearly all costs were purely in ingredients.
And Ignis was someone who cared deeply about food; within the range of the budget, he selected only the best ingredients—never mixing in even a trace of inferior goods. Of course, the main reason he could acquire such good ingredients cheaply was that the refrigerators of the Cunning Hares constantly needed restocking—Ignis had practically become a major customer. And the friend introduced by Ignis naturally offered him similar friendship pricing.
Through casual chats with customers, Ignis learned that breakfast stalls used to appear here as well. But none lasted long. Understandable—there used to be many gangs, each demanding their share. And the constable who managed this area before, Leonard Russo, was the type who recognized only money.
But after Razor cleaned them out, the new gangs here had yet to establish their rules. After all, they were mostly teenagers—hot-blooded, with parents supporting them, and they cared about face. Shaking down neighbors for protection fees felt awkward. Most of those "targets" were their own brothers' parents—too familiar for extortion.
When workers saw Vesmir working with Ignis on a small business—and especially hearing the giant say most of the work was done by Vesmir himself—many nodded in praise for the boy who had turned over a new leaf. It made the former gang leader a little embarrassed. It was probably the day he had received the most praise in his entire life.
Vesmir didn't say it aloud, but Ignis could see that the boy was enjoying it. Of course—who wouldn't enjoy being praised? These buns were made by his own hands. Having labored for them, he naturally hoped for recognition. It was certainly better than pouring an enormous amount of effort into something, achieving a great result, only to get torn apart by others afterward.
Vesmir once told Ignis how his mother cried tears of joy upon learning her son was learning a proper trade. His father, though still silent, had patted his shoulder and told him to learn well. Those few days, Vesmir had indeed studied diligently, asking about every detail and taking notes.
Ignis even teased him—if only you were this serious back in school. The boy scratched his head in embarrassment before burying himself again in learning how to knead dough, mix fillings, and control heat.
News of their former boss transforming into a culinary entrepreneur quickly attracted the attention of the other members of the Wolf Gang. These teenagers, seeing their once-fearless leader suddenly wearing a smile while pitching goods to every customer, were in total disbelief.
Some had already tasted the buns and knew the boss was learning business skills from the giant living across the street. But seeing it with their own eyes was another matter entirely. The boys roughly fell into three categories.
The first group was genuinely interested in legitimate business—excited by the crowd enthusiastically buying and paying. When they heard from the giant of the Cunning Hares that as long as they were willing to learn, they'd be taught how to run their own small stalls, they were thrilled. After all, no one disliked the feeling of earning money. Watching Denny pile up little by little in the cart's collection basin, and hearing the boss's phone beep with scan-payment notifications—they were visibly envious.
The second group was simply confused. They had no idea what got into Vesmir—why he suddenly changed careers. They were suspicious of Ignis's invitation, thinking this giant surely had ulterior motives. But they never bothered to consider—what exactly do you have on you that would make Ignis covet anything? Someone even asked if Ignis wanted to become the new gang leader and found a "catering-themed" gang. Ignis—dark lines forming across his head—could only repeat that he had no ill intent, only wishing for them to have a proper way to earn a living. He even gave them a few buns, which successfully sent them off.
The third group—the stubborn ones—was the hardest. These were the types whose heads were filled with hot-blooded scenes from comics and movies. They were furious that Vesmir left without a word and started a stall. They saw it as betrayal, abandonment. A few even charged forward intending to flip the breakfast cart. But the surrounding workers united for once, scaring the boys back. After all, a cheap, delicious, honest breakfast cart was rare, and Ignis only needed one glare to dominate them.
Vesmir felt helpless toward these little brothers. He truly wanted to guide them, but they refused to listen. Ignis was right—earning money properly was the right path. Watching the basin fill with cash was incredibly satisfying. This time, the money wasn't begged for, stolen, or tricked—it was earned through his own labor. He could walk with chest held high, spending honestly earned money.
Of course, he had to save enough for tomorrow's ingredients—not recklessly blow everything at once. The breakfast cart and the earlier practice sessions had been entirely fronted by Mr. Ignis, and Vesmir needed to think about paying him back.
Judging by the day's sales, this entrepreneurial venture was extremely successful. Several hundred buns sold out within two hours, and some customers queued without getting any.
Vesmir pushed all the money in the basin together and counted it slowly. Even though the denominations weren't large, seeing a full basin of cash felt very fulfilling.
"How is it?" Ignis watched the boy stack the bills by denomination. "Feels good earning money with your own hands, doesn't it?"
"It does feel good." Vesmir put the earnings into the prepared bag. "But without your help, I probably couldn't handle all of this alone. Still, I talked with a few friends—they'll come help tomorrow. They can only do basic prep for now; things like kneading dough still need technique, so I'll have to do those myself."
But the boy didn't seem too worried. "But since you prepared those recordings, and I can demonstrate myself, they'll learn quickly. They're not dumb. Once they can fully take over this stall, you'd better keep your promise and teach us something else. We can't all open bun shops, right?"
Seeing Vesmir already planning for the future, Ignis didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm and nodded repeatedly.
"Of course. As long as you and your friends want to learn, I'll teach." Ignis patted his chest. "And like you, anyone wanting their own small stall—I'll help arrange ingredient delivery. I'll provide the startup funds. When you earn money, you can pay me back slowly."
"To be honest, sir, I don't even know how to thank you." Vesmir felt embarrassed. He'd calculated yesterday—the cost Ignis invested was equivalent to half a month of profits. If he had to gather that money himself, it would be difficult. His father, a factory worker, had no savings, spending everything to keep the family fed.
"Live well. Work seriously. That's the best gratitude." Ignis patted his shoulder. "Remember, in food service, authenticity matters. Quality and affordability are your true signboard. If you get caught selling fake or inferior goods in the future, don't you dare say I taught you."
"And remember to get a business license from the New Eridu Public Security sub-bureau's General Affairs section. Don't let yourself get hassled. If you're too young to apply, have your mother or father do it." Ignis reminded him. "Don't waste money. Set aside enough for supplies and a reserve fund. Never play payment-delay tricks on your suppliers. Otherwise, they'll start slipping you inferior goods."
"Got it! I know!" Vesmir cheerfully pushed his little cart into the alley. He began calculating whether to add milk or porridge—selling only buns seemed too monotonous. Maybe he should ask his friends if they could get a few sets of tables and chairs, so people could sit and eat.
Vesmir now had a rough plan for his future—and he was eager to make it real.