Miss Planeswalker, are you free for romance?

Master, why didn’t the owner of the manor show up?

The blonde took a sip of champagne

I miss my soft and thick mattress in New York so much.

Seeing her best friend happily chatting with other travelers, she pouted and walked towards the band. That woman has always been liked by older parents. Maybe the elderly like girls who are not aggressive and not beautiful.

With malicious speculation, she picked up the third cookie from the waiter's plate when the band suddenly changed its tune.

She heard a local shout.

'Here comes Mr. George!'

Follow the sound.

The butler before was serving a man in a gray suit.

Middle-aged, with slicked-back hair; narrow eyes, high nose bridge; not very strong - even a little thin in figure and face. The only thing that makes all these things not look gloomy is his spirit.

He was in high spirits, looking energetic as he walked with big strides.

"Welcome, welcome everyone!"

Instead of attracting everyone's attention and pretending to be serious with a glass of wine in hand, Mr. George just walked along the tables or paths and chatted with people; he said a few words to the locals he knew, and walked around the place chatting and laughing with the tourists.

The same thing happened when I came to the girl with golden curly hair.

The smile is warm and not too aggressive.

"Hi."

"Hi?"

"George Romey, the owner of this manor. Girl, where are you from?"

"New York."

"I was there before." The man clinked his glass with hers. "The city constructed by numbers and Franklin, huh?"

"There are countless legal provisions." The blond curly-haired man held up his wine glass and joked, "I guess many people have asked you some of these questions?"

What I mean is that every tourist will ask this question when they see him.

Why choose here.

"I'm tired of the life of intrigue and suspicion." George Romey lowered his eyes and stared at the wine glass in his shaking hand: "There are many things you don't like, but you still have no choice."

He replied: "So, when I have enough power to dominate the rest of my life, what else am I waiting for if I don't choose to leave?" The man made a joke: "It's like you and your friends don't like socializing, but you still have to endure the boredom of the cocktail party."

puff.

"I like you, Mr. George." The blonde raised her lips: "Many people have said this, right?"

The man laughed.

Chapter 53 Forgetting and Losing

"So, you are a generous person?"

"As long as you don't put 'gentleman' at the end."

George Romy quipped: "You know this isn't a formal cocktail party, it won't cost much. What's more important than making my neighbors smile?"

The way the blonde looked at him slowly changed. Being spoiled is far from being vicious, and given her college age and family background, the girl couldn't help but have a little respect for this Don Quixote-like "old rich man".

What's more, he was so insightful that he took the initiative to invite them to stay at the manor for a few days to avoid the embarrassment of offering to stay.

This made the girl, who sometimes got angry, like him even more.

"Oh, don't." George Romy shrank back exaggeratedly: "Don't, don't look at me like that."

"For me, indeed?"

After a few rounds, the two became familiar with each other and moved away from the corner of the band little by little.

"I heard--"

"Did you hear that?" George Romy interrupted. "Let me guess. Was it those kids who said that?"

The blonde nodded. "They said you asked visitors some 'weird' questions - I apologize for my previous malicious assumption."

"You think I'm one of those guys you meet with those 'little quirks'?"

She did think so before.

For example, the kind of person who appears to be a gentleman at a cocktail party but quietly leans over to a lady's ear and asks her what she is wearing tonight.

"You are an upright child." George Romy smiled with a thin wrinkle at the corner of his eyes: "No need to apologize, in fact, the children are right."

He looked at the somewhat surprised girl and explained: "I have a rare disease."

Rare disease?

"I have no idea about some things. As you can see, the education level here is very low, and I don't really want to leave this paradise - so." He shrugged: "So I occasionally have simple exchanges with you tourists. Don't worry, I don't take it too seriously."

The girl curled her blonde hair and thought, "I thought dyslexia wasn't a rare condition?"

George Romey shook his head.

“It’s not dyslexia.”

When the two people happened to pass by the bar, the man picked up the spine of a book on the table and opened a page at random.

He put down his glass and pointed to the girl.

That paragraph reads:

The money in his pocket is like his flesh and blood. Losing it makes the man extremely painful.

George Romey tapped heavily on a certain word with his rough fingers.

He raised his head, his doubts growing.

"That's what I don't understand."

The blonde girl seemed to have heard something extremely ridiculous.

"Banknotes? You don't understand what 'banknotes' mean? A rich man?"

"Money? No no no...I mean this."

He moved his index finger to the right.

"'Flesh and blood'? Sir, are you serious?"

George Romy shook his head, "What are you talking about? I don't understand that word."

…What???

"This is bullshit..."

The girl shook her head. How could that be possible? Dyslexia is not like this: "What did the doctor say?"

"He said the condition could be named after me."

Oh…God.

Diseases that are named after patients are both extremely rare and extremely difficult to cure.

It seems this gentleman is destined to regret.

but…

The girl didn't think that this disease would cause any trouble in her life: "Other than that? There's nothing else I can't recognize... Sorry, I mean, have you tried anything else?"

"Of course." George seemed relaxed. "That's the origin of the 'mysterious question'. How about satisfying the curiosity of the New York lady?"

Curiosity was satisfied, but above that, another huge curiosity also emerged.

"Ask me. I know that besides the crows on Wall Street, the locals are the most difficult to deal with in that city."

The man didn't take it seriously, as he was only half joking. Since he could ask the passengers 'weird' questions, he also allowed them to ask questions in return.

"Okay, first of all, you don't understand the word I just said?"

"obviously."

"Secondly, you can't 'feel' it either?"

"what?"

"I see there's steak on the table. Sir, if you don't understand, why don't you have a bite?"

The expression on George Romey's drooped face was indistinguishable.

The girl didn't notice and continued, "Besides, I'm afraid you haven't tried it before. It may be impolite to say this, but - who is not flesh and blood? If you are curious, why don't you pinch your face?"

The two people walking side by side turned into the girl leading and the owner of the manor following behind with a moody look.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not questioning the disease. I mean, I'm talking about the disease itself - how could anyone not know? Lamb chops and steaks, have you ever tried searching for images of frozen meat?"

"I really don't understand whether your doctor practices medicine at all—"

Suddenly, she was interrupted.

The middle-aged man looked expressionlessly at the girl who had already walked far away.

He stood there.

"Have a nice trip. I have to excuse myself."

"Oh... hug..."

"It's okay. My butler will help you."

George Romy shook his head and left in a hurry.

——What did that damn deal take away from him?

Go up the stairs and untie your tie.

He threw his suit jacket off roughly.

The spacious house was filled with various random splashes of paint, like graffiti. Different forms of speculative drawings appeared on the easel paper, and finally the owner of the house seemed to accept the mess and simply began to paint on the wall.

It's colorful everywhere.

What exactly did he lose?

He couldn't understand that thing.

It was perhaps the most beautiful thing in the world, and he traded for it.

Then, a huge hole was dug out in the heart.

"What is that?"

"Yes, sir," replied the butler.

"What is that? What on earth is that?! I don't understand! Can you tell me another way?"

The butler pointed to his face: "That's it."

'You mean, the face?'

'No, sir, it's what makes up the face.'

'What is that? What is it made of? I need to know!'

I need to know what I've lost.

'Yes, sir, it is made of ____ beneath the skin, and it also flows through our ____ and is pumped to our limbs by the heart.'

Watching the butler's lips opening and closing.

George Romey could not understand a word he said.

What is…

What the hell did I lose?

He was very eager to know!!