Whitebeard: Seven Sins, Become My Son... No, Daughter! (Continued)

So...

What was this man trying to do?

The petite girl stared at the subtitles appearing in her field of vision as if facing a formidable enemy.

She had always been extremely wary of this group prophet, who seemed to have been missing for ages.

Because she lacked confidence.

She was used to disguising herself as an adult woman around twenty years old, one who looked exceptionally intellectual.

In fact, she had also presented herself as an older sister in the chat group.

So much so that, aside from a certain old lady who was somehow fifty thousand years old and one uncle, everyone else was willing to call her big sister.

But a fake was still a fake.

She looked at the avatar of the man marked "Prophet" in her chat notes, her little face grave.

—If he was the prophet, then surely he could expose her disguise with ease.

So...

What did he mean by suggesting they go on a date?

Was he trying to mock her?

Something like confessing to her, then gathering a bunch of smug people to point at her and laugh once she showed up?

"Ah, that fake actually took it seriously?"

"This is way too funny."

"I'm dying. No one actually thinks a fake could be lovable, right?"

She could not help recalling the pranks that often happened in middle school. Hostility, almost like a stress response, instantly surfaced on her gloomy little face.

"Do you think it is appropriate to invite a woman you have only just met on a date?"

She typed those words directly, intending to cut off any possibility of meeting.

Yet, just before she pressed send, new messages arrived from the other side.

"As everyone knows, being attracted to individuals whose development is incomplete is a pathological fetish."