When Xenophilius Lovegood coughed, he did not fully catch what Wizet had said.
Relying almost entirely on the rehearsals he had gone through in his study, he immediately began with the words he had prepared. "Wizet, it's actually all right if you still can't figure it out—"
Only halfway through did he suddenly realize what Wizet had said, and his mind went blank.
His mouth opened, but in the end, all that came out was a brief, bewildered, "Huh?"
"Mr. Lovegood, thank you for your guidance and concern!" Wizet said sincerely. "I've figured it out!"
Xenophilius Lovegood came back to his senses, his brows knitting tightly together.
As though he needed to confirm something, he deliberately stressed his words. "You mean... you've figured it out?"
"Yes!" Wizet nodded. "Mr. Lovegood, don't worry!"
He added firmly, "I won't make you worry like I did this afternoon."
Hearing Wizet say that, Xenophilius Lovegood truly could not understand how, in less than a single afternoon, Wizet had managed to figure it out.
All he felt now was miserable. Wizet had figured it out, while he had become the one who could not.
It felt as though he had brought out a glass of Gamp's Old Gregarious, only for the other person to take it, down it in one gulp, and then complain that the vintage was not old enough and its aroma not rich enough.
For some reason, Xenophilius Lovegood felt as though he were hallucinating. He heard a ripping sound by his ear, like a script being mercilessly torn to shreds.
Wizet studied Xenophilius Lovegood and noticed that he did not seem to look well. He hurriedly asked with concern, "Mr. Lovegood, what's wrong?"
"I..." Xenophilius Lovegood faltered, not knowing how to respond for a moment. He could not possibly say something