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... g the porter over his shoulder.

The faint sunlight trickled through the thick canopy above, tracing patterns over his pale face and thin arms, making his already frail body look even more drawn out.

"This should be far enough."

He slowly set the porter down and leaned back against a large tree root that stuck out from the ground.

’Fudge.’

He cursed inwardly. After all, he lost the saber that George entrusted to him with words ’take care of my little baby, ...

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

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“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

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“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

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Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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