Amedeo picked up the handkerchief on the table and wiped the tea that had been sprayed across his face.
"Really. So. Rude."
The veins on his forehead throbbed continuously. He was clearly already somewhat angry, but thanks to his noble upbringing, he did not lash out directly.
Romani paid no attention at all to Amedeo, whom he had sprayed with tea from head to toe. He was currently staring dumbfoundedly at Lawrence—at his younger self.
"Wh—what the hell did you just say!?"
Verrocchio had already covered his mouth and turned his head aside, his face red from holding back laughter.
"Well, I wanted to ask—"
Lawrence looked ready to ask again.
"No, you weren't. You couldn't possibly be!" Romani hurriedly interrupted, denying Lawrence's words as he grabbed a handkerchief and wiped his mouth.
"I do have a son, but he isn't you! I—"
Romani's expression had already become somewhat twisted. He had never imagined he would run into such a ridiculous situation.
What the fuck—
Leonardo da Vinci stared at Lawrence in shock, then quickly looked toward Romani, who sat opposite them.
Wait, although their appearances were completely different, those eyes, those features—
They were exactly like Lawrence's!
Never underestimate an artist's powers of observation. If Lawrence had not been completely certain that the other person bore a great deal of resemblance to himself, he would never have spoken up to try and claim kinship.
And yet, the result he got was—
Mrs. Dorigina and Harley, standing beside the second-floor railing, both widened their eyes and covered their mouths, looking utterly shocked.
Romani quickly realized what the problem was.
He had been a doctor for so long that he had forgotten about an artist's powers of observation!
H-how was he supposed to resolve this—
A trace of tears welled up