A classic Margarita.
Tequila, Orange Liqueur, Lime Juice, and ice.
They collided fiercely on the taste buds.
The crisp, tart fruitiness blended with tequila's distinctive flavor, awakened by the ice into something incredibly refreshing.
This was Cocolia's sixth drink.
Yet her face had not even reddened.
Russians seemed to have a natural tolerance for alcohol. Besides, St. Freya was a school. The bar menu only had drinks for little girls. They thought they were being rebellious, but it was merely adolescent restlessness—staying up at night, going to a bar, and ordering a drink that was not too strong counted as a glamorous act of rebellion. What high-proof liquor could one expect from a bar like this?
Cocolia felt like she was drinking juice.
"Tch."
She felt full before she could even get drunk.
Zhao Bai sensed the diner's impatience. As a chef, he had an instinctive sharpness for such things.
He quietly increased the amount of base liquor.
Cocolia finally felt a hint of the pleasure of drinking.
There was no verbal exchange throughout. Relying purely on the interpretation of looks and movements, Zhao Bai understood her.
Cocolia drank another three glasses. At last, a faint flush appeared on her face, her brows relaxed, and she seemed a little more human than before.
Zhao Bai felt that he was about to pass the test.
But Cocolia's next words knocked him straight to the bottom. "You have an excellent grasp of subtle emotional changes. You're a gentle yet timid child. Bronya must have been won over by all those little details you noticed, slowly falling for you, until she was completely trapped in your web of enchantment, wasn't she?"
Cocolia said this.
"But... you seem to treat other women the same way. Or is that just my imagination?"
The older the