I wasn't recruited by you, and you're only making yourself look more suspicious by saying that.
Babaru gave the man a long, searching look and sighed. "If you really have important business with that person's family, you shouldn't have chosen this time—or this approach."
The man immediately looked shocked, even horrified, then gave a dry laugh. "W-what are you talking about? I really am here looking for new talent. Several highly anticipated blockbusters are going into production next year, and my little company needs to grow. Uh, like I said, Mr. Babaru, you're perfect for the big screen."
After delivering this well-worn spiel—three parts politeness, three parts changing the subject, and four parts sincerity—he hurriedly fled. In truth, Mr. Dingbadu walked quite naturally. He wasn't overly flustered or putting one foot in front of the other, and an ordinary person wouldn't have noticed anything amiss. But Babaru still felt that the man was fleeing in a panic. Maybe it was because he hadn't tacked on the usual couple of lines at the end: "If you don't go into movies, it'd be such a waste of your natural gifts. Mr. Babaru, it might take the whole universe thousands of years to produce another face like yours!"
Am I really that bad? Back on Lumina, I'd always been popular. I was even known far and wide as Lumina's handsome young lad. And among all the tribes beyond Red Maple Factory, there were legends about Lumina's Little Mengchang, too.
Babaru, the labor union leader on leave from Red Maple Factory, rubbed his bald, carapace-covered head, clutched his gifts a little tighter, and headed into the pedestrian street.
He wasn't unfamiliar with Ronghui House, the restaurant that had been making such a splash. Though it looked high-end, with its antique decor, eating in the