The midday sun was dazzling.
The man standing with his back to the light had a slightly pale complexion due to long periods of lying in bed, but as he slowly stepped down the stairs, almost everyone was cheering for him.
"Saint Losa, Saint Losa!"
"Long live the Grand Marshal!"
Unbeknownst to anyone, the ladies appeared in the stands, each with a different expression.
Prajna took out a notebook with a calm expression and recorded the scene before her with a charcoal pencil.
Jeanne held a bottle of glass wine that had been improved in the workshop, took a small sip, and although she said nothing, she gave off a feeling of "watching one's child grow up." She appeared quite benevolent.
Furin, on the other hand, was smug, as if the protagonist of the people's cheers wasn't Losa, but her.
Cherinita felt a sense of relief, but there was still a hint of apology in her eyes.
