Chu Zihang looked at her expressionlessly, his eyes like two frozen lakes.
Xia Mi wrinkled her nose in displeasure and, emboldened by the alcohol, began to grumble, "Hey, hey, aren't I a customer? What kind of service attitude is that? Look at Caesar and Finn—they're so professional!"
After several seconds of deadlock, Chu Zihang finally conceded. The corners of his mouth twitched upward with extreme reluctance, trying to form the curve of a smile.
However, asking a face renowned for its perpetual deadpan expression to make such a difficult expression was indeed asking too much.
That smile looked more like a slight spasm of his facial muscles.
Yet Xia Mi seemed to have received some sort of permission and immediately pushed her luck. She tilted sideways, leaning against Chu Zihang with the warmth of a light buzz, while muttering restlessly. One little paw silently reached toward his abdomen—apparently, a host's abs were one of the important standards by which his professional quality was judged.
Chu Zihang reacted swiftly and slapped away the mischievous paw with a sharp smack. But he did not push the girl away as she leaned against him. He simply let her rest against him while his slightly unfocused gaze drifted toward the flickering neon lights in the distance.
The clamor around them continued. The clinking of champagne towers, the coquettish laughter of female customers, Finn's exaggerated flattery, Caesar's thanks as he accepted flower tickets onstage—all the sounds seemed filtered through frosted glass, blurred and distant.
In his world, it seemed that only this small booth remained, enveloped in ambiguous warm lighting, along with the cunningly smiling, alcohol-scented girl beside him.
The atmosphere at Takamagahara continued to boil under the catalyst of champagne and hormones.
Caesar stepped onto the central stage, accepting the worship of his subjects