Song Wuli was a bit surprised and asked, “Why would you be short on money?”
Huang Yijun suddenly got excited:
“I’m only telling you this because I treat you like a brother. This is about our Lord and Heavenly Father. We’re starting a proper church. But to start the church, we need some operational funding, and—”
“Not lending.” Song Wuli cut him off right away.
“Hey, at least let me finish.” Huang Yijun quickly tried to explain:
“This is like an angel investment! And it’s all for our beloved one true God—Yin Lin. The more money you donate, the more it shows your devotion. I’m telling you—”
“You dumbass, you’ve been scammed.” Song Wuli sighed.
Ever since Yin Lin made her debut, Huang Yijun had been spiraling into madness.
But he still had that crazed look in his eyes and didn’t take in a word:
“No, no, you just don’t get it. Our church is massive. Everyone’s a believer in Yin Lin. Everyone has donated at least a little. Right now is the founding phase of the church, so it’s a golden opportunity. Just a little donation, and you could be elevated to a rank just below the Pope—”
Song Wuli cut off Huang Yijun’s religious rambling again:
“Don’t tell me… you gave them all your life savings.”
Huang Yijun nodded enthusiastically:
“Exactly! But I’m just a little short. Old Song, just lend me 100,000. Once I become a bishop, you’ll be my number one priest.”
“Not lending.”
With a thud, Huang Yijun dropped to his knees:
“Old Song, I rarely beg you for anything. This time, I’m really begging. For the sake of our years of friendship, just help me this once.”
Song Wuli:
“Not lending to you is helping you. You’ve already been sucked dry. Scammed out of so much money—there’s no way I’m giving you more.”
“Please! Old Song!”
Huang Yijun clung to Song Wuli’s leg, mumbling desperately.
Song Wuli couldn’t be bothered to argue, so he just focused on work, typing away at his keyboard.
Huang Yijun stayed there, muttering under his breath—chanting the Great Compassion Mantra, then the Bible, and eventually reciting the teachings of their cult:
“Doctrine 1: Our Lord and Heavenly Father, Yin Lin. Our holy maiden Yin Lin is our one true God.”
“Doctrine 2: Lady Yin Lin’s words are divine commandments. We must obey them unconditionally.”
“Doctrine 3…”
Huang Yijun was completely unhinged—just like one of those religious fanatics.
He carried on like that for over an hour.
When it became clear that Song Wuli really wasn’t going to lend him any money, he turned to Qian Dehao.
Qian Dehao was easier to talk to.
Without even blinking, he lent him 20,000.
Then Huang Yijun came right back to Song Wuli:
“You see? Old Qian’s a true brother—gave me the money without a second thought. And you? We’ve known each other for so long, you’re really gonna let me down?”
“Fine.” Song Wuli was absolutely fed up.
He tried to beat him at his own game and said:
“If you squat right here and take a dump in the office, I’ll give you the money, no questions asked.”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence before Huang Yijun had already pulled down his pants and squatted.
“Dude what the hell—Old Huang, stop!”
Song Wuli got up to stop him—but it was too late.
Five seconds.
Only five seconds.
What kind of speed was that?
What kind of determination?
Sometimes, when your friend is being an idiot, you just have to let them hit rock bottom before they finally wake up.
Whatever.
Song Wuli clenched his teeth, pulled out 10,000 yuan, and handed it over.
He made him clean up the mess.
Then wrote a proper IOU and filmed the whole thing.
When he gave him the money, he was already mentally prepared:
This money’s never coming back.
Looking at the 10,000 yuan transfer, Huang Yijun asked:
“Wait a sec, Old Song. There’s no way you only have this much money. Your salary’s even higher than mine.”
Which was true.
Thanks to Song Wuli’s borderline-insane amount of overtime, his salary was noticeably higher than Huang Yijun’s—even though the latter was a team lead.
Plus, Old Song never bought anything.
Didn’t play gacha games.
Didn’t have a girlfriend to support.
No major expenses.
At most, he had one apartment.
He should’ve saved at least 500,000—maybe even a million.
And he only lent his “brother” 10,000?
“Forget it, give it back.”
Song Wuli reached out like he was going to take the money back.
“Want it! I want it! Thank you so much! I’ll remember this favor forever!”
Huang Yijun grinned as he ran off.
Back at his desk, he bowed to his Yin Lin figurine, then got busy again—though it didn’t look like work.
More like he was busy with that damn cult of his.
Old Song made a mental note:
One day, he’d find a way to “accidentally” hit that cult base with a magic cannon.
This 10,000 yuan?
Just assume it went to the dogs.
That day, he worked until 9 PM as usual.
Then headed off to the milk tea shop for his part-time shift.
Xia Shiyao had arrived early and was waiting at table 3.
She was sipping fruit juice, her head tilted, watching the busy Yao Ruoning with a dazed, silly smile.
No one knew what she was thinking about.
Regular customer Fatty Zhou was also there, huddled with his friends, watching some news on a tablet.
During a break, Yao Ruoning took a peek too.
The night news mentioned a press conference.
Apparently, the Human Alliance HQ had dispatched an elite squad to be stationed permanently in this city.
They would become the main force in maintaining peace here from now on.
Fatty Zhou and his buddies were excited—seemed like they saw something amazing.
Yao Ruoning stood on tiptoes, trying to see what they were looking at.
But she was too short.
She had to grab a stool to stand on just to get a glimpse.
The news showed a lineup of impressive-looking men and women, clad in futuristic exoskeleton armor, wielding weapons no one had ever seen before.
Behind them, a banner read:
“Warmly Welcome the Failure Squad to Be Stationed in Our City!”
Oh.
So the glasses guy from the Witches’ faction was talking about them?
They did seem legit—strong physiques, confident demeanor, impressive presence.
From appearance alone, they looked like elite troops—exactly how they described themselves.
“I don’t know why there are so many useless people in the Eastern Alliance. They can’t even handle three magical girls. They let demonic beings run rampant in the city over and over again, causing massive property and human losses. If I were in charge of public security here, I wouldn’t have the face to stay. If any of you still have a shred of dignity—then disband immediately.”
That’s what the squad leader said.
Arrogant as hell.
The guy clearly had no emotional intelligence.
Just arrived in the city and already managed to offend every agency in the Eastern Alliance.
He kept going:
“As for that so-called ‘cadre-level’ demonic being? Hmph. Anyone with half a brain knows that there’s no way—”
Before he could finish, the TV cut to commercials.
Fatty Zhou and his friends started getting anxious.
They began discussing the Failure Squad.
They pulled up info on their tablets—dug into global records, especially from the former Europe region, now known as the Western Alliance.
That’s where the Failure Squad originated.
No one remembered exactly when they were formed.
But now and then, the Western Alliance would dispatch these super-equipped operatives to fight demonic beings and magical girls.
They could fly.
Run at insane speeds.
Carry weapons and ammo weighing several tons—facing off against demonic beings solo.
Each one was a walking army.
Monsters.
And their weapons?
Pure science fiction—energy-based tech that hadn’t been publicly released.
In short, these guys looked like humanity’s last hope.
I can’t wait for them to be trashed a good time lol
Yeah these guys are cooked. If they didn’t start with immediate insults and criticisms, then they might have stood a chance, but unfortunately they aren’t Anti-Ajin level