"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The blonde froze, fiddling with his fingers in confusion.
Wait.
Wait just one moment.
Was the Marquise… laughing?
Oliver Astrea Mylor—who had just poured out his heart and soul in the most pitiful, dramatic disparagement of working culture ever delivered by a trembling cadet—was utterly at a loss.
Was she actually laughing at him?
His mouth opened. He tried to say something, anything, to explain himself further, only to be silenced when the Marquise leaned back in her seat, eyes glinting with something he could not quite read, and said a single word.
"Good."
"...Good?" Ollie squeaked, his eyes widening as if reality had just betrayed him. "Good???"
Surely he had misheard. Surely this was one of those hallucinations people suffer due to hunger or constipation.
But Marquise Evelyn only tilted her head slightly, as if she had expected such a reaction. She lifted a hand and patted the chair next to her.
