"If you want it—forget it, I'll just give you a big meat bun. Boss, give this kid a big meat bun, put it on my tab."
The girl's smile, cute with a touch of pitifulness, stirred compassion in the middle‑aged customer. He spoke to the bun shop owner like that.
"Thank you, mister. Thank you, boss."
Taking the steaming bun, Mine was overjoyed, but she did not dare let the scarf on her head slip for a second.
The bun was very hot, yet she clutched it tightly and started eating in a rush.
The customer settled his bill and left at once, apparently in a hurry.
Seeing that, Mine quickly followed. The street‑corner urchins watched her with frustration, but there was nothing they could do. They were afraid that if they tried to snatch the food, they would anger the adult who had given it.
"Haa…"
Only after finishing the entire bun did Mine exhale in relief. She had lived through another day.
Up ahead, the man noticed her and turned back to look.
Mine smiled again and bowed politely in thanks, but did not dare keep tailing him.
Adults were dangerous. If she let down her guard and trusted someone's kindness, then exposed her true identity, it could bring harm.
Mine slipped into a side alley. Life on the streets had taught her how to beg, but she would never beg from the same person twice. That was how she protected herself—by not getting too close to anyone who might hurt her.
"Hey, you're pretty full of yourself, huh?"
But just because Mine avoided those who might hurt her did not mean those who could hurt her would avoid her.
"I didn't do anything."
Mine stepped back, only to find other street kids blocking her from behind.
"Everyone else is waiting on bun skins, and you're the only one who gets a big meat bun!"
The boy in front of her spoke with bitter resentment.
"He's the one who offered it to me."
"Hmph. You're just a half‑breed mutt who always acts cute so you can beg stuff off adults."
"You could do that too."
Mine said, but her words only angered the kids surrounding her.
"If we could, we would've done it already!"
"Enough useless talk. Rip her scarf off. Let's see if she can still get food once that's gone."
"No, this is what my mom left me."
Mine hurriedly took off her scarf and hugged it to her chest. Without it to cover her, the pink hair on her head revealed her as a child of mixed tribal blood.
"Give it here!"
The street kids did not care that it was something her mother had left her. They were just jealous that a mixed‑blood girl could scrape by better than they could.
A pink‑haired freak, carrying filthy foreign blood…
Mine took her beating, clutching the scarf as she burst out of the circle. But the urchins chased after her relentlessly. When it came to beating up a "freak" with tribal blood, they were perfectly united.
Mine was just a little girl, and alone. Under the pursuit and blocking of a whole gang of street kids, she was quickly surrounded again.
"Damn, can't believe you made us chase you this long."
The kids panting after her were out of breath.
"I won't hang around here anymore. Can't you just let me go?"
Mine pleaded.
"Not a chance!"
The weak sometimes pitied each other, but not when it came to the infamous tribes.
Even though Mine was only half‑tribal, and the tribe her father had belonged to had long since been wiped out, it made no difference.
"Beat this tribal to death!"
They rushed her. Adults on the street only watched. Mine tried to call out for help, but no one came.
No one in this place liked people from the tribes, who all had reputations as bandits. And the tribes did not stand together either.
No one was going to help her. Just like always. It was not her fault she had tribal blood.
She thought of her mother, who had been kidnapped by tribesmen and still treated this "accident‑born" child with tenderness after she returned.
Then she remembered how, after her mother died, the villagers had driven her out and she'd become a street child.
The life she had had under her mother's protection felt like nothing but a dream.
And now they even wanted to take away the only thing she could still clutch and dream over.
"Please… don't take it from me."
Beaten and kicked, Mine's plea was barely audible.
It did no good. Inch by inch, the scarf in her arms was being dragged away.
"I got it!"
"She's so attached to this thing. Let's tear it up."
"No!"
Just as two boys grabbed an end each and were about to rip the filthy scarf—
Wham.
Someone punched both of them in the head.
"Ow! Why'd you hit us?"
If it had been an adult, they would not have argued.
But the one who hit them was another kid, just like them.
"Because you're bullying someone."
"She's just a mixed‑blood tribal mutt."
Wham.
"Exactly. That's why we're beating her."
Another pair of punches landed. The ones who had stepped in were Broly and the others. They had barely gone two streets from the noodle shop, bellies full, when they stumbled on this commotion.
They had not planned to interfere in a brawl between street kids. But when they heard the word "tribal," they stopped.
They knew people like the Redleaf Tribe, and did not believe all tribes were bad.
So they could not stand by while a pack of street kids used "tribal blood" as an excuse to gang up on another child.
"Damn it, you lot aren't with that mutt, are you?"
One of the boys, head still throbbing, snapped.
"And if we are?"
Akame, Kurome, and the others had already clenched their little fists. A group fight with kids their own age did not scare them.
They had Broly backing them up. A guy who could turn danger beasts into campfire snacks. Dealing with street brats like these was something they could handle themselves.
"Screw it, beat 'em all up!"
The brawl began, and ended quickly. The ordinary street kids were all knocked flat.
"Remember this."
The boy who had started the fight spat the words and tried to leave with the others.
"Give it back."
Broly blocked his way and held out a hand for the thing in his grip.
"This filthy rag? I'll tear—"
"If you tear it, I'll kill you before you can finish."
Broly clenched his small fist and said it seriously.
Target available for capture discovered: Mine. Current Happiness Value: 0.
Without a particular reason, Broly rarely thought about killing others. There was one exception: when someone wanted to hurt a friend he recognized.
He had only just met Mine, but as a Crystal Palace–approved capture target, she came with a built‑in bonus to his favorability.
If his own companions had not stepped in first and told him they did not need his help, things here might have gotten a lot bloodier.
Broly did not mind erasing a few unrelated lives for the sake of a girl he had just met—a future wife and meal ticket.
The boy was not afraid of Broly himself, but he was afraid of the other kids glaring at him from behind Broly.
"Fine, take your stupid rag. I don't want it anyway."
In the end, he did not dare rip the scarf. He threw it at Broly and ran.
"Here. It's yours."
Catching the scarf, Broly walked over to Mine and handed it back.
"Thank you."
Mine's Happiness Value is rising.
Holding the filthy scarf tight to her chest, Mine finally relaxed—and then passed out.
__________
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