"Who...who has a young master?! There's none, none, none!"
Nia Mitchell snapped, shaking her head hastily.
Both of them had taken precautions when they did...that thing. There's no way there could be a young master.
"Alright, alright, there's none. Just be careful."
Frederick Goldsmith looked at Nia Mitchell, laughing, just as Maxwell Peary walked into the Dining Hall.
"There really isn't one."
How could Nia Mitchell not hear Frederick's perfunctory tone? He clearly didn't believe what she said.
She turned to look at the real culprit, Maxwell, and felt furious.
"I said there's none! Ask him if you don't believe me!"
She pointed a small finger directly at Maxwell Peary, who had just entered the Dining Hall.
Frederick was startled. No matter how much courage he borrowed, he would never dare to ask Maxwell.
"What are you asking me?"
Maxwell came over. He had heard their conversation from outside; how could he not know what they were talking about?
