Chrollo had always been a frequent visitor to the old church district. Whenever he found a free moment, he would slip away from the chaos of Meteor Street and wander into that quiet sanctuary. Over time, he even became familiar with Father Lizor, a gentle, soft-spoken priest who treated him with warmth that was rare in this barren place. Because of that, Chrollo often received small gifts or leftover supplies from the church.
A few days earlier, he had overheard whispers that the church had gotten their hands on a small batch of a mysterious food called sticky rice cakes, soft and sweet, something almost unheard of in Meteor Street. They had planned to distribute it to a few of the more devout kids. But before long, rumors spread that Finks and Feitan, the notorious biker troublemakers, had intercepted the distribution and snatched some for themselves.
Unfortunately for them, the rule of Meteor Street was simple. Those who rob will eventually be robbed. And sure enough, soon after, Wogan and Maggie crossed paths with them and took the sticky cakes for themselves. That incident had clearly planted a seed of bad blood.
No wonder Wogan had so much energy today, Chrollo thought. The realization hit him suddenly, and he stopped in his tracks, eyes brightening.
He muttered to himself, "So that explains everything. Wogan probably got more of those sticky cakes today. He must be pumped full of sugar, which is why he has the stamina to chase after us like this."
"What?!"
Finks' eyes widened the moment he heard those words. His temper, always dangling by a thread, immediately snapped.
"That idiot got good food again?! And after he already stole ours?!" Finks clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw bulged. "Just how much does that big oaf think he can take? Why do all the good things magically land in his hands?!"
His anger flared hotter with every thought. Without warning, he stomped hard on the rusty motorcycle's accelerator. The engine coughed, growled, and then roared forward.
"That's it. I'm going to find that big idiot and settle this properly!"
Somehow, standing beside a half-broken motorcycle and gripping a dented baseball bat gave Finks the illusion of overwhelming power. It was as if he had already forgotten the humiliating beating he and Feitan suffered when Wogan took their sticky cakes last time.
Two against one. A motorcycle. A bat. In his mind, this was an unbeatable lineup.
"But before we hunt Wogan down…" Finks abruptly reached a hand out and shoved it in front of Chrollo's chest. "You can hand over whatever good stuff you found just now, little Chrollo."
A proper thief never lets an opportunity slip by, after all.
Chrollo just stared silently at him, lips pressed tight. But under Finks' increasingly threatening face, Chrollo reluctantly pulled something from his coat.
It was a dusty, cracked videotape he had dug up from the junk heap.
"That's more like it."
Finks took it without even looking, stuffing it into his shirt. "Next time you better find something even better. Hahaha!"
He grinned triumphantly, slammed his foot down on the pedal again, and shot off toward Wogan's direction.
Chrollo didn't bother looking back. He grabbed Shalnark by the wrist and immediately moved away from the area. Once they were at a safe distance, he subconsciously tightened his arms around the real treasure he had picked up earlier.
He always worked with two layers of preparation. Expecting someone to rob him was standard logic in Meteor Street. So before anyone could approach him, he had already hidden the real item safely and placed a fake one in an easy-to-find spot in his clothing.
After all, in a place overflowing with garbage, who could tell which piece was valuable and which wasn't?
A fragile, smart boy like him couldn't survive in Meteor Street on strength alone. Without brains, survival was impossible. Outsmarting people like Finks and Wogan was practically his specialty.
Behind them, a furious roar suddenly broke through the street.
"Wogan! Give me back the sticky cakes you stole from me!"
Chrollo didn't stop running, but he glanced back once. He saw Franklin, swollen and bruised from earlier, immediately take the chance to turn tail and escape. His job had only been to stall Wogan temporarily. Now that someone else had come to distract Wogan, sticking around would be suicidal.
No one with a functioning brain would insist on fighting Wogan to the bitter end. In Meteor Street, the smartest thing to protect was not pride but survival. And survival meant knowing when to run.
"Who else wants some?!"
Wogan wiped the blood from his face, courtesy of Franklin's earlier punches. He ignored Franklin's fleeing silhouette and instead focused on the two new challengers storming toward him.
When Finks and Feitan finally screeched to a stop and got off their bike, trying to look as intimidating as possible, Wogan's expression shifted from confusion to amusement.
"Oh, it's you guys."
Finks' forehead pulsed with veins. "So you did forget! You really forgot about us?!"
He jabbed a finger toward Wogan's face, almost trembling from anger. "Wogan, listen carefully. The sticky cakes you stole from us last time, we're taking double the payment today!"
"Sticky cakes, huh."
Wogan's fingers twitched unconsciously as he let out a small sigh. The taste was still lingering faintly on his tongue. Morgan's freshly made sticky cakes were warm, chewy, and full of flavor, so different from the bland and stale food that filled most of their lives. Even though not much time had passed since he'd eaten, the memory of that sweetness still clung to him.
"You bastard!"
Finks exploded. "You're savoring it again, aren't you?! You're literally enjoying the taste right now! Aren't you?!"
He couldn't believe it. Not only had Wogan stolen their sticky cakes long ago, he'd already eaten them. And now, after Finks brought it up again, this giant idiot had the nerve to look like he was reliving the delicious moment?!
It was unforgivable.
And for Finks, who had only gotten one tiny bite before Wogan knocked him flat and took the rest, this was nothing short of emotional torture.