HLM – Chapter 921 The Gap Is Quite Big

Following the drone, the helicopter easily spotted the operator. In the middle of China Road, a Honda van was parked, with several young people fiddling with the control panel.

After the helicopter landed, Wang Bo jumped down, his face dark, and shouted, “Whose drone is this? Do you have a CCA operating permit?”

According to New Zealand’s CCA regulations, using drones for aerial photography is legal and doesn’t actually require any permit.

Unaware of this, Wang Bo was confronted by a strangely dressed young man who walked over and said, “Hello, sir, this is our drone. The CCA does not require any permit for aerial photography.”

Seeing this youth, Wang Bo stopped paying attention to the drone. He gave the young man a peculiar look and asked, “If you want to talk to me, can you pull your pants up first?”

The youth looked about twenty, with flowing blond hair and a strangely handsome face, but his outfit was odd—his waistband hung so low that his white underwear was exposed.

Annoyed, the youth replied, “This is called sagging pants. It’s meant to be worn like this. Why should I pull them up?”

Wang Bo didn’t care about sagging pants or crotchless pants. He flashed his badge and said, “I’ll give you a choice: either wear your pants properly, or come with me to the police station for an investigation of indecent conduct.”

His words were like poking a hornet’s nest. Several youths surrounded him, shouting:

“WTF, how did we commit indecent conduct? This is an art of fashion, understand?”

“It’s because of people like you that New Zealand’s pop culture can’t keep up with Western trends!”

“Don’t use your police position to oppress us. Jeremy, point the camera here! If he dares to use violence or abuse his authority, we’ll sue him!”

True to their word, the drone buzzed above them.

Bowen walked over, coldly saying, “Don’t confuse trash with culture! Do you even know how this style became popular in the U.S.?”

“Justin Bieber wears it!”

“Bad boy Eminem wears it!”

“LeBron James wore it too!”

Bowen sneered, “Who wore it, I don’t care. I just want to tell you how these pants were born.”

“There are two mainstream explanations. One is that in the ’80s, Black people invented these pants to make stealing easier. The crotch is large, like a bag, to hold stolen goods.”

“The other explanation is that the style came from prisons. In Texas, prisoners repeatedly committed suicide by hanging with belts, so belts were banned. Prisoners then wore their pants low as a form of protest.”

The youths looked at him, confused.

Bowen smiled wickedly and continued, “But I know both are false. The real purpose was indeed related to prisons, but for gang leaders to conveniently… handle prisoners’ behinds.”

“Do you know why this style became popular? At first, it was only worn by the ‘pretty boys’ in prison. The leaders wanted easy access to their behinds, so ‘pretty boys’ weren’t allowed to wear their pants properly.”

“Shit, that’s disgusting,” Wang Bo grinned.

The youths exchanged glances. The blond youth said firmly, “Don’t believe him, he’s talking nonsense! This is a popular fashion in America!”

New Zealand’s youth always followed English-speaking world trends—American, British, or Australian. Whatever was considered the newest, trendiest thing in these countries would appear on New Zealand streets within days or months. Positive or negative, nobody cared.

Bowen lifted his T-shirt, revealing a terrifying bull-skull tattoo on his right chest. “Nonsense? Ha! Know what this is? The tattoo mark of Dallas, Texas prison. I served two years there. This style spread from Dallas prison!”

“And if you don’t believe me, check online. Wearing this on Texas streets can get you arrested and sentenced to up to a year for indecent conduct!”

Seeing the tattoo, the youths were a little unsettled.

Wang Bo coldly reminded them, “These are ‘explosive pants.’ Don’t doubt my friend—he’s a real American cowboy, and he even served time for killing someone!”

Bowen made a fierce face, feeling that it was enough to intimidate the youths.

But they weren’t so easily fooled. The blond youth asked skeptically, “You said you were in prison for two years, and now you say it was for murder? Two years for murder?!”

Wang Bo frowned at them. “Is that the point? The point is, tell me—what are you doing flying a drone here?”

Charlie stepped forward quietly. “The CCA has specific requirements: flight below 120 meters, drone weight under 25 kg, flying only in open public areas, and only during the day.”

Wang Bo looked at him. He added, “The helicopter just encountered your drone at 200 meters!”

Hearing this, Wang Bo laughed and waved his hand. “Confiscate this drone. They violated CCA regulations.”

A Black youth argued, “Violated what? What evidence do you have?”

Wang Bo pointed to the nearby helicopter. “Know what that is? You do, but maybe you don’t know it has a monitoring system. Your drone’s altitude was recorded.”

“We just wanted to shoot a promotional video for our graduation project. If I’m not mistaken, you must be the mayor of Sunset Town, right? Our video is to help promote your town,” a girl said, looking aggrieved.

Wang Bo asked curiously, “What? A promotional video?”

The girl said, “We are students of the Television Arts program at the University of Otago, and we want to shoot a video called South Island Charms. Sunset Town is a key location for us.”

Another youth complained, “Yes, when filming in Queenstown and Tekapo, locals helped us. You’re not helping; you’re obstructing us.”

Wang Bo held out his hand. “Let me see your permits and the footage.”

He still doubted them—their style and appearance were very different from what he imagined university students, the pillars of society and future elites, would look like.

Soon, several University of Otago student IDs appeared in front of him. The blond youth took a laptop from the van and opened it to show him the footage.