"Creak."
A regular tavern he occasionally visited.
Che Changmin, leaning on his crutch, pushed the door open and entered.
As a man, his self-discipline was exasperating, devoid of lust, gambling, and greed for money; even the number of times he drank could be counted on one hand.
He had devoted nearly all his time and energy to defending the dignity of the judiciary, only to receive an indifferent disciplinary notice in the end.
"Prosecutor Che."
Because he had been there a few times before, as soon as he entered, the tavern owner hurried over, very enthusiastic.
To ordinary people like them, a prosecutor was an intimidating figure of authority.
Before the owner's eager smile had fully formed, he suddenly noticed Che Changmin's limping leg and the crutch he was leaning on.
"Prosecutor Che, what happened to you?"
The tavern owner's smile froze, his face showing surprise and doubt.
"It's nothing, just took a fall."
Che Changmin said nonchalantly.
