The threatening shouts from those people were so frightening that Pak Yunus and the security guard there could no longer contain the mounting panic. The protesters began moving in to surround the official car, and no one could stop them.
Pak Yunus reluctantly backed away, unwilling to put his life on the line. Meanwhile, the security guard was trying to call the authorities, hoping they would arrive as quickly as possible to deal with the chaos.
But time was against them. Several people had already forced open the car doors to find the person they were looking for. The truth, however, was that there was no one inside, making their anger boil over even more.
"He’s not here, assholes!" shouted the tall, tattooed man who had just peered inside after opening the back door.
"Where is he?" A fat man growled as he slammed his wooden cane against the asphalt.
Pak Yunus’s face grew deathly pale. All he could do was pray that the angels wouldn’t take his life today.
"I-I already told you, didn’t I... I didn’t bring Mr. Arven. I swear!" Pak Yunus explained, clasping his trembling hands in front of his chest.
The tattooed man slammed the car door shut.
BLAM!
The people nearby flinched. Pak Yunus was no exception. His mouth even began murmuring a prayer for safety.
A man with long, shaggy hair then turned to his companions.
"Aaargh... enough! Don’t overthink it! Let’s just smash the car!" he ordered, raising a clenched fist into the air.
Meanwhile, in a café across from the salon where Viora was, a handsome, solidly built man wearing a black leather jacket sat alone, enjoying a cup of coffee he had just ordered. With one hand, he scrolled through his phone, reading the news that had recently been trending.
"Tsk, this city really does have a lot of crime. Even the police are powerless against the mob that burned down a government building the other day. Hmph, no wonder I was sent here," he muttered as he took a sip of coffee.
But after only two sips, his ears caught the sound of a commotion from across the street. He looked toward the source. His brow furrowed. A large crowd had gathered there. Some were merely watching from the roadside, while others were carrying banners and various props like protesters.
Seeing that, he suddenly remembered the new assignment he had been given. He quickly finished the rest of his coffee, then walked to the cashier to pay. With long, wary strides, he headed toward the crowd, making sure to remain at a safe distance.
Behind the people who were merely watching, he observed and listened to what was happening.
Several people in front of him turned to one another and exchanged opinions.
"Hey, what are they making such a fuss about?"
"That car parked in front of the salon. It’s supposed to be used for work, you know."
"What does it have to do with those protesters? Do they feel like they’ve been wronged?"
"Of course they do. That’s an official car. It was bought with taxpayers’ money. It’s supposed to be used when they’re carrying out their duties as representatives of the people. Instead, they brought it over there to hang out."
"Maybe the committee meeting got moved there. It’s not like they had a choice after their building was burned down."
"Oh, shut up. You’re talking nonsense!"
The spiky-haired man standing behind them barely managed to hold back his laughter. After standing there for a while and continuing to watch the group, he finally understood.
It was true: the chaos had been sparked by an official car parked somewhere it shouldn’t have been. The buildings there were a row of shopping and beauty centers, not offices for elected representatives or any other government agency.
When he saw the protesters’ emotions reaching a dangerous boiling point, with only two people trying to hold them back, he let out a restrained growl.
"Are the police or security forces really not coming?" he muttered, glancing left and right.
And when he saw several people preparing to turn violent, he drew a deep breath.
"Tsk, looks like I’m the one who has to step in," he muttered with a faint nod.
He moved from his spot, silently slipping through the crowd. No one would suspect who he really was or what he was about to do.