The verification went quickly, since there weren’t many people in line—in fact, hardly anyone was willing to come here at all. Of the few who did, most were like James Bennett and William Carter, coming for work or official business. There were also a handful of unconventional interstellar merchants, and a few travelers with peculiar tastes who came here to exile themselves.

You could say: the bigger the forest, the more kinds of birds there are.

Compared to the perpetually busy Newser Port of Decama, the port in Wine City was small and old, on the verge of collapse, as if it had survived several rounds of explosions.

A shuttle only landed here every other day, staying for less than twenty minutes before hastily departing.

So the staff here were so idle they were practically growing mold, and even took up side gigs—

“Sir, do you need a car?”

“The port is very far from the city center, ladies and gentlemen, do you need any services? I can take you to many places, I can even be your tour guide for free, uh... if you need it?”

“Migratory Bird Market, underground winery, cave trading post—aha, any guests want to try their luck?”

Familiar scenes, familiar hawking, so loud it made your eardrums buzz. From the moment you exited the verification gate, the noise would follow you until you left the hall.

Senior Professor Carter absolutely hated people chattering at him, so he truly disliked this place, yet always had to come here for one reason or another.

“Finally, some peace and quiet. I can barely keep my smile up anymore.” As soon as William Carter stepped out the main doors, he brushed off his coat and held his breath, muttering, “Misjudged it. I usually remember to bring a mask when I come here.”

James Bennett merely lifted his eyelids, but said nothing—not even moving his lips.

William Carter suspected he was about to suffocate from the stench too, but was too well-mannered to show it. Besides, with Classmate Bennett’s personality, even if he did show it, it would just be a case of his poker face getting even stiffer.

“Let’s head to that corner. You can’t catch a car here; all the services are monopolized by those staff inside.” William Carter pointed at a gray, dusty building across the street. “Let’s go.”

“I know.” James Bennett’s voice was equally muffled; it was clear he was having trouble breathing too. “I’m just surprised you know as well. Used to come here a lot?”

Senior Professor Carter paused in the middle of crossing the street, then lied without missing a beat, “I was tricked into coming here as a tourist when I was young and naive. Left a deep impression—unforgettable for life.”

James Bennett let out a “heh,” mocking the young and naive William Carter across time and space.

“You know—”

William Carter had just reached the sheltered corner when two or three cars crept out. He casually flagged one down, opened the door, and turned to James Bennett: “Many universities have a faculty ethics rating system. Generally, those who like to sneer and mock students are destined to be unemployed. Like you, always going ‘heh’ at people.”

He finished with a smile and got into the car, leaving half the seat and the open door for Classmate Bennett.

Of course, James Bennett knew about this system—every student did. Metz University was especially fond of anonymous ratings; from lecturers to the president, no one was exempt. The goal was to make the status of professors and students more equal on campus.

And as everyone knew, the law school had a professor whose ratings were absurdly high every year... none other than their sharp-tongued dean.

The compiled comments were mostly things like “witty and humorous,” “elegant and composed,” “terrified of him but also deeply respect him,” and so on.

Honestly...

What a load of crap.

James Bennett held the car door, looked down at William Carter from above, then unceremoniously shut the door, shutting the annoying intern inside, and got into the front passenger seat himself.

William Carter: “...” Fine, don’t sit.

“Gentlemen, where to?” The driver glanced quickly to both sides, and before William Carter and James Bennett could answer, he’d already slammed on the gas.

The car made a sharp turn and lurched onto the road.

The standard of living in Wine City was exceptionally backward, as if it had never experienced the later industrial and technological revolutions of Decama.

There was no way to develop any solid industries here; the whole planet could barely produce a few reliable locals, and it certainly couldn’t attract outsiders. Transportation was inconvenient, and it was like a dusty speck of interstellar debris, always forgotten.

“Black market, winery, or casino?” The driver asked with a sly grin. “People who come here always end up at one of those places. Of course, there’s also—well, you know what I mean!”

The driver sounded half-drunk, dragging out his words meaningfully, then started giggling to himself, “The girls there are really wild!”

James Bennett: “...”

William Carter: “...”

Senior Lawyer Bennett glanced at the intern in the back seat, his gaze sharp as a knife, as if to say, “You really know how to flag down a car.”

William Carter had been feeling a bit helpless, but seeing the funereal look on the person in the front seat, he couldn’t help but laugh.

James Bennett: “...”

Expressionless, he straightened the hem of his coat, clicked his seatbelt shut, and squeezed out five words through clenched lips: “To the detention center, please.”