Space was very blue, without a trace of clouds. Benedict V looked at the sky, but his mood just could not improve. He had been having such a nice chat with Qin Fen, only to take a fall. Anyone would feel miserable after that.
Besides, his arms and legs were old. That fall had really hurt.
Farrell was a little stunned. His hands were still gripping the chair, while his face burned fiercely. There were people present—any idiot could tell he had pulled the chair away. He did not know whether to let go or keep holding on, and the awkwardness was killing him.
Female Hooligan did not laugh. She still had some principles. She was simply completely bewildered right now. What the hell was this?
Even she, one of those involved, was dumbfounded, let alone Qin Fen. Big Chef did not know what to say either. In the blink of an eye, something had gone wrong.
He immediately stepped forward and supported the old man. "Are you all right?"
All right? Benedict V was covered in sweat. "It hurts!" It had been many years since he had felt like this. Who was he? Benedict V, a man influential enough to rank among the world's top ten!
In the Middle Ages, he would have been the most powerful man on the entire European continent. Yet today, because of a chair, he had been knocked down by some brainless fool.
Every time he spoke now, it tugged at his back, leaving him covered in cold sweat. He did not dare say another word.
Seeing the old man like that, Farrell's expression went blank, then awkward, and finally changed. He pursed his lips, wiped his hands on the chair, and withdrew them.
He gave Female Hooligan an apologetic smile. She was horrified.