But it was clear that this young man didn't recognize him, nor did he know that this Sword Forging Competition was sponsored by him.
He had always enjoyed such encounters; after all, he met the producer of the Sword Forging Competition in a similar way, and he was always happy to befriend those with interesting souls, regardless of age.
The more he looked, the more satisfied he became. Winslow smiled slightly, looked at the painting, and said while turning, "Young man, you might not know who I am, but…"
He hadn't finished speaking when his expression froze. He blinked, turning his head left and right, and saw only his butler standing there, holding a few cans of paint.
The wind blew, and a newspaper wad spun on the ground.
He asked, "Where did the young man go?"
The butler hesitated before saying, "He… he slipped away."
Winslow didn't understand: "What do you mean by slipped away?"
