"Hello, sir. This flight to Number 87 Satellite has air conditioning running throughout." The beautiful attendant clearly had plenty of experience dealing with all kinds of flirtatious advances.
The young man before her looked like a wealthy young master, but why were the things he said so utterly low-class?
Not mature enough.
That was the beautiful attendant's assessment of White Hair.
"Business class can accommodate special requests, right?" White Hair scratched his chin. He really was hot; after all, he had worked up a sweat.
"Uh... sir, requests can be made within the flight's reasonable regulations. We will certainly help however we can." The attendant spoke neither humbly nor arrogantly, placing special emphasis on the word "reasonable."
In her heart, she would much rather date a tasteful, mature man than this...
"Okay, then bring me a fan." White Hair snapped his fingers stylishly, but his words instantly blew the attendant awake.
"Huh? Sir, what did you say?" The attendant suddenly stammered. She suspected she had misheard him. Hadn't things like fans been obsolete for ages? Probably only people in the slums still used them.
"Bring over a fan and point it at me." White Hair pointed at his own chest.
"This is business class. You can adjust the temperature of the air conditioning here yourself." The attendant's face was full of incomprehension.
"Air conditioning alone won't do. I need a fan blowing directly at me too." White Hair reluctantly pulled his gaze away from her neckline.
B-plus cup, sigh...
Then White Hair saw the expression on the beauty's face and added an explanation. "Otherwise, I can't suppress the spray of my sweat."
Pfft—
A middle-aged man beside him who had been drinking tea failed to swallow his mouthful and sprayed it all out. A violent fit of coughing left this