Familiar colors, familiar design, familiar size...
As she gazed at the silver flask, Tiffany, who was about to begin her opening speech, froze on the stage as if struck by a paralysis spell, motionless.
Her eyes shifted upwards to meet Levin's face, a face unfamiliar to her, with brown hair and dark green eyes—an obvious foreigner from Frederick, not a native of Windsor.
Initially, Tiffany thought she must have been mistaken, that person surely wasn't the troupe leader she knew. Many people had the habit of carrying a flask with them, and one identical flask meant nothing, but still...
When Tiffany looked at Levin, Levin was also looking at her.
In his calm gaze, there was a hint of warmth and a gentle smile on his lips, which seemed content. Levin's inadvertent expression caused Tiffany's heart to skip a beat.
Why...
Why would a stranger look at her with such an expression?
