What else could they say? As expected of someone from Beacon Academy—before he had even said a word, he had already laid it on thick.
And why did such a flamboyant move not look greasy at all when he did it? Was it really true that if someone was good-looking enough, they could be forgiven for anything?
The only hope shared by every man present was that the door Domenico was leaning against would hurry up and vanish. Otherwise, who knew how long he would keep showing off?
Perhaps the officials had heard their heartfelt prayers. At last, beneath Domenico's barrage of seductive glances, the door finally began to fade away.
Domenico straightened up with the flow of it and stretched lazily with exquisite elegance. This was to keep himself from falling flat on the ground once the door disappeared.
Then he took two steps forward, deeply inhaled the fragrance of the rose in his hand once more, and gave it a forceful flourish.
His emerald-green hair streamed through the air as phantasmal petals drifted down in a flutter.
The lush red rose pinched between his fingers instantly transformed into a slender sword. The hilt bore carved rose patterns and was set with pigeon-blood-red gemstones, looking elegant and noble.
Domenico danced with the slender blade, its tip tracing graceful paths through the air. Each trail carried a crimson afterimage. When he sheathed his sword and placed a hand over his chest in a bow, the sword traces before him erupted at once, forming a richly three-dimensional rose pattern!
A frenzy of screams broke out from the stands. Some female fans clutched their chests as though they were about to faint.
As the rose pattern before him dissipated, Domenico raised a finger, lightly tapped his lips, and blew a wet kiss.