Four months later, in Jevon, at a small, unremarkable restaurant.
"Hey, lady, a bowl of noodle soup."
A thuggish-looking punk rapped his fingers on the counter and shouted impatiently, "Hey, lady, you open for business or what? I said, a bowl of noodle soup!"
Startled, the woman quickly tore her eyes away from the television screen. She pushed up the large, black-framed glasses on her face and bowed her head apologetically. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I spaced out for a moment. Please, find a seat. It'll be ready right away."
"Heh..." The punk glanced at the middle-aged-looking woman, who was staring blankly at the man on TV, and sneered. Chewing gum, he rapped his knuckles on the counter again. "Lady, you know who that guy is?"
"Who?"
"He's the chairman and CEO of the IS Group! And you're just a lady selling noodle soup on the street. What's the point of you staring at him? Think you can stare some money out of the TV for you to spend?"
