"...So you want to go out and play with Kafney?"
Dmitry stared at Annan, slowly repeating the question.
His brows furrowed even tighter.
Subconsciously, he rested the second knuckle of his right index and middle fingers on his chin, quietly contemplating something.
But his pupils, always indifferent and calm, still showed no hint of emotion.
Annan, even with his shoulder-length short hair, could easily be mistaken for a girl of steadfast disposition; but Dmitry, with his hair reaching his waist, could never be mistaken for a woman.
Not just because of his deep voice.
More so because of the heavy aura of a "bearer" that he exuded.
"...Yes."
Annan pursed his lips and replied softly.
For some reason, the Dmitry in front of him overlapped somewhat with the memory of Ivan Rime who had taught Annan the Frost Sword Technique.
...Is it because the eldest brother is like a father?
