Thirty kilometers away from the city, in an abandoned factory, there was a chaotic mess of industrial waste visible everywhere. Battle-damaged mecha fragments were piled high as well. On this resource-scarce planet, those in power didn't have the resources or goodwill to deal with such rubbish. The free labor from the slums would solve these mundane problems for them, saving the government a considerable amount of money. What better way to do it,Mu Fan, 17 years old, didn't know who his biological parents were. His adoptive parents told him that he was found behind a trash can while they were scavenging. It was just dawn, and the stars cast an even and gentle glow on the baby's face as they shone along the horizon. When his adoptive father picked up the child, he discovered two tags hanging from him: one, a deep yellow wooden tag inscribed with "Mu," and the other, a dark metal tag engraved with "Fan.",After receiving the news, he didn't cry. He returned to his dilapidated shack and found a worn leather glove he had picked up while scavenging. Then, he went out to offer his labor to people he knew and strangers alike. 。Transporting dishes to the suburban restaurant, delivering express mail for formal city residents, and scouring through factory waste for recyclables to sell... With no one else left, I have to survive. 。This is already the seventh year since my parents passed away. 。Mu Fan raised his head to glance at the bonfire before him, then continued to hone a small, cold knife with his attention. 。He wasn't overly concerned with his appearance. His black hair was messy and unkempt, and his frame wasn't particularly strong, but he had above-average height. When he raised his eyelids, his brown eyes seemed ordinary, but if you got closer and looked carefully, you'd notice that the brown held a depth, with a red flash occasionally passing through, like roses or something aged and steeped. 。At this time, Area 22 was getting cooler. Mu Fan was wearing a canvas jacket and work pants stained with oil. 。While taking a break at night, he came out to hone his weapon. The dagger, forged from industrial alloy, 。He was just the right age, and every week he would go out to work. He'd save all the money he earned and then go to the used bookstore market to buy those bundled books. 。The remaining money only allows him to eat the bare minimum, two packets per day, which just keeps him alive. If he doesn't go out to find food himself, he will remain in this state forever. 。One day on his way back, he saw an old eagle taking flight in the distance. Curious, he saw a black shadow falling from the sky. It was half a field mouse. 。In the leaping flames, Mu Fan tasted it for the first time. 。One of the survival standards Mu Fan set for himself was to go hunting outside twice a week. 。No matter the size, whether alive or dead, any harvest is a victory. He needs this energy too much; his cells clearly feel it deep within, craving nourishment of that kind. 。"Shoo!" The last spark flew out, Mu Fan retracted his dagger, his left hand lightly supporting the blade, and looked at the fire. He narrowed his eyes, a satisfied look on his face, tonight—he was going to eat!...The night of Gaxing was as cold as steel, making people shiver from their bones. 。Mu Fan walked through the wilderness, his body covered with crisscrossing scars that looked like badges of honor from countless battles. Though he was lean, his physique still showed an incredibly natural and defined musculature, leaving no doubt about the power hidden beneath. 。。