"So what if it is?"
The president of the Mages' Guild mouthed off like a rubber band that had lost its elasticity, 'speaking freely'.
"I even dare to speak about Saint Macaron!"
Macaron's expression changed suddenly.
"What's wrong if our receptionist says you're a chicken Lord?"
Macaron's original anger was directed at Ellie Miller, who had just taken out a potion.
But then, the president's one sentence...
He glared intensely at the president whose forehead was sweating but couldn't stop speaking, "I'm curious what you dare say about me?"
"Haven't your peculiar habits been published in the gossip and entertainment tabloids long ago?"
"Enjoy dressing in pink ladies' lace nightgowns and playing unusual 'games' with The Birdfolk."
Macaron: "..."
His exact expression at this moment was indescribable.
Speaking strong words about being outraged mixed with the agony of being assaulted by dead memories.
Twisted to the extreme.
