Poul was adjusting to the stares of the patrons in the dining hall. They are giving him a repulsive look to the point some of them couldn't hide their disgust. He could only click his tongue in annoyance. Those high-ranking elites are getting on his nerves. Like what's so wrong about having silver hair? Does it make them less human? Ah, the issues of the parallel nineteenth century where discrimination and racism are ubiquitous.
Not to mention, those elites probably have less money than him as they depended on the inheritance of their ancestors. With that, they'll never have to work a day in their life.
"Jonathan is taking long," Poul muttered as he tapped his feet on the floor impatiently. He wanted to get out of the dining hall as soon as possible as he couldn't bear the stares he was receiving, making him uncomfortable.
He glanced over his shoulder to look over at the reception hall. And there he saw Jonathan, with two ladies trailing behind him.
