Schiller sat calmly in his chair. He would not eat food someone else had left unfinished, but he used his knife and fork to arrange the food on the plate into a particular shape.
Jerome's twin brother turned back and thought viciously, Anyone who saw that food would want to run three miles away. Yet here he was, mooching three meals off three people. If he had any more candles, he could eat an entire hotel into bankruptcy by himself.
Jerome's twin brother returned to his seat. He had to talk to Schiller. He truly could not go into the kitchen; there was an obstacle there that an ordinary person like him simply could not overcome.
Before, he had had no reason to go into the kitchen, so naturally he had been tricking Schiller into taking a risk. But now he had a reason he had to go, and he still had to trick Schiller into taking him along. The difficulty had increased exponentially.
Even taking ten thousand steps back, even if Schiller was willing to go, there was no reason for him to bring along dead weight like him. Anyone could see that taking an injured ordinary person into a dangerous place under these circumstances was basically courting death.
For the first time in his life, Jerome's twin brother somewhat wanted to give up.
It was not as though he truly had no angle from which to persuade him. He was simply afraid that the moment he opened his mouth, Schiller would start talking again. If he kept his mouth shut, Schiller would too, so from now on, he would not say a single word.
But Schiller clearly had no intention of letting him off so easily.
"Actually, I'm rather curious about your relationship with the third party." Schiller