Miss Planeswalker, are you free for romance?

There were no hallucinations. According to the order, she should first hear the whispers again, then the hallucinations. Finally, it was her own brain and her own cognition.

One's own...thoughts.

Yukino looked back at the pillow.

sock…

Can it only protect for a week?

If this condition continues, the hallucinations will reappear in... two or three days.

The girl in front of the mirror rubbed her face.

His face was full of sorrow.

'Excuse me, please give me your old socks.'

——No, that's too stupid.

'Well, I need to borrow your socks temporarily.'

——No, there is no sustainability.

'I'd go crazy without your socks.'

——It’s true, but it will be misinterpreted.

Yukinoshita Yukino held her chin, her mind was full of Mori Tsukisa's socks.

No…wait.

At this time, you should verify it first.

Maybe a non-fitting one would be ok?

Even if you have to touch the skin in the end, what about gloves, wristbands or even hairpins?

actually…

In fact, if you just tell her your troubles and lay the truth out, Mori Yuesha will definitely help you.

Yukino knew it, but she just didn't want to.

I don't want to rely on one person completely and so directly.

'This is also reliance.'

The voice was whispering in my ear from far away.

Yes…

But please give me some ridiculous dignity.

Yukinoshita Yukino lowered her eyes.

Left the mirror.

…………

……

A street full of people coming and going.

Empty milk cartons rolled upside down across the black cotton blanket.

Curling up his fingers, he pressed the back of his hand against his eye sockets. The black mud filled up the other finger that was scratching his scalp, making crisp, crackling sounds. His greasy long hair began to dry, with strands sticking out in all directions.

The lady's high heels walked around his 'mattress', creating a small breeze. The wind smelled of female perfume. She was about 20 or 30 years old, working in a high-rise building that required an elevator to reach.

She should wear a formula-like short skirt and top, showing just enough legs to attract subtle glances from men of the same sex but not enough to attract trouble.

The homeless man covered his hands and leaned against the wall like a corpse or a cold, rotten bacon.

Only the nose kept moving to sniff around.

woman…

He didn't leave a single coin behind and just walked past without looking around.

The tramp turned over and turned his butt toward the outside.

The footsteps grew louder.

This one is a man.

The sound of footsteps that is much heavier than that of high heels, coupled with a throat that is occasionally blocked by thick phlegm, the ringing of the cell phone and the strong, pungent smell of cologne.

He answered the phone and seemed to stop beside him for half a second - half a second, at most one second, and then hurried forward again. It seemed that he just glanced at it, just like the pigeons that can be seen everywhere in the port or the manhole covers that can be seen everywhere on the ground.

He is just a homeless person that can be found everywhere.

Cursing inwardly, the middle-aged man facing the street wall couldn't sleep anymore and opened his eyes.

In front of me were two ants, and in front of me was a large patch of red and yellow graffiti that the ants were stepping on.

Some kids are just spouting out some nonsense because they have nothing better to do.

I can still smell a slightly pungent odor now.

He simply lay down straight, having long been accustomed to all kinds of looks.

Besides, except for some assholes visiting the city for the first time, no one who lives here would waste any extra time on them.

Ah...what's your name, loser, right?

The man shrugged his nose, and the wings of his nose pulled the skin around him to gather in the middle. He hadn't showered for two months, and his keen sense of smell was filled with the stinky smell of his own sweat and the stinky smell of grease from his scalp.

It had been a long time since he had smelled the scent of business coming from rubbing warm ink paper with dry palms. At that time, the women whose shorts were almost as short as belts were full of turbulent hormones, which pressed warmly against his chin and chest.

The tramp smacked his lips.

Times have changed. Times have changed.

He sighed, stretched his limbs wider, and accepted the few free things in this country:

sunlight.

Some hot light hit his face and palms. His nose and ears followed the sounds on the road and collected them one by one. How could he spend this boring day? Apart from the coin sounds that didn't happen very often, he could only use his talent to kill time.

嗅…

The tramp tilted his face.

The smell of gunpowder.

No, it's not the smell of those guys in the alleys and nightclubs selling bags and cartons of happiness.

Bloody smell.

Forensic doctor?

leather.

There is also dust.

He didn't care about any strange smells on passers-by. A man has a special smell left by other men, and a woman has a special smell left by other women - he has also smelled men and women with special smells left by animals.

——If you don’t understand what a ‘special smell’ is, you don’t have to dwell on the topic.

In short, the homeless don't care, they don't care what they smell or see.

What he cared about was that the footsteps that seemed to be wearing thick-soled boots stopped in front of him.

He didn't hear the pleasant sound of coins entering the account.

The other party seemed to just stop in front of him.

Look at him quietly.

Chapter 29 Mr. Sunglasses's Transaction

The other party just looked at him quietly.

The tramp turned over, squinted his eyelids to block out the glare, and put his hand on his brow.

See the other person clearly.

The man squatting in front of him wore a pair of long, narrow sunglasses that fit his face closely, with his blond hair combed back neatly. He also wore a black windbreaker, black pants and black boots.

Look at yourself quietly.

——My dirty and depressed face was reflected in the mirror of sunglasses.

The visitor tilted his head, raised one corner of his straight mouth, and said in a full and steady voice: "Good afternoon."

The tramp sat up and leaned back.

There was graffiti rubbing against his back.

"Good afternoon... sir?"

The man in black sunglasses pointed at one side of his hair that was sticking up - only then did he realize that the other person had been wearing a pair of black leather gloves.

"Sir..." The homeless man wiped his hair. "Excuse me...what can I do for you?"

To his surprise, the other party called out his name.

"George Romey."

The man in black sunglasses looked at him gently.

"George Romey."

The lips open and close up and down.

"George Romey."

His voice became lower and lower, as if he was lamenting the abandoned treasure of the wasteland with this name.

"George Romey..."

"Yes, I am?"

As if comforting a pet dog, every move of the homeless man George was watched, and then, gently, with words of inducement and admonition, and a pair of leather gloves touched his shoulders.

The man brushed the dust off his shoulders.

"You have an unparalleled gift." He twirled his fingers, turned them in circles, pointed at his chest, and said, "It's right there."

"George Romey."

The sound sneaked into the brain quietly without being noticed.

George Romey was once a famous chef, a well-known restaurant partner, a good husband and a good father.

The homeless now.

It had probably been a long time since anyone had said that to him.

Mr. Sunglasses' words made the middle-aged homeless man a little flustered: "S-Sorry...?"

The bottomless lens easily penetrated his outer shell that was wrapped in fragility, revealing the anxiety that had long been festering inside under the scorching sunlight.

Flies and maggots were seen.

"George, George, George..." The man patted his shoulder affectionately again, his dark sunglasses close to his eyes: "You've wasted your talent. You see, you need some guidance..."

I…

George Romey, whose name had been repeated many times, only felt his scalp itchy and his mouth dry.

"You have unique talents, and I need you." The black leather gloves loosened his shoulders and were put back into the side pockets of the leather jacket - the tramp smelled a pleasant scent the next second!

That is…

——The smell of money!

The colorful pieces of paper were casually picked up by leather gloves and stuffed into the homeless man's pocket.

Patted.

"You like them, don't you?"