CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR. THE CARD THAT COMMANDS RESPECT

As Oliver's words lingered in the air, murmurs spread among the queue of onlookers. Intrigued by his claim of being an SVIP, they began making snide remarks under their breath.

"SVIP? Ha, in those clothes?" a man in a tailored grey suit scoffed, adjusting his expensive watch. "He looks like he can’t even afford lunch, let alone hold a VIP status."

"Is he out of his mind?" a woman in a sleek red dress muttered, rolling her eyes. "This isn't some backstreet store where you can play pretend."

"Honestly, the nerve of some people," another person added, clearly irritated. "We’ve all been waiting in line, and now this guy wants special treatment?"

The employee, emboldened by the growing discontent from the crowd, let out a derisive laugh. Her mocking tone cut through the noise.

"Sir, I suggest you leave now before we’re forced to take more serious measures against you." Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of asserting authority, and her words carried a veiled threat.

As if on cue, two fierce-
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