‘Dog-pressure, king-pressure, KING-pressure……
I’d like people to care about me, but I don’t want to know it. I’d like to know absolutely nothing.’
The inwardly attention-seeking God-Jio stroked his chin with a grave face. Scary Americans—he’d heard their notoriety, sure, but—
‘Their social wattage is beyond imagination……’
How many times have they even met, and it’s already “Jio, my King, my sweetie pie”?
At the airport, even he felt a little tingle and went along with the mood without thinking—but that was nothing.
Once they arrived at the base, there were rows upon rows of U.S. military and government officials standing at full attention. Martial songs and fanfare resounded in solemn waves.
He thought he’d stumbled into some U.S.-Army-brand idol handshake event. His overworked palms still felt numb.
[Your Constellation, ‘Reader of Fate,’ wails like one who has lost a nation: after all the effort I put in so your hands wouldn’t touch a drop of water, how dare they maul them like that.]
‘Huh.…