Trafford’s Trading Club

Still, Nero didn't drink the cocktail the boss himself made, but asked for a white beer - with an oversized cup.

She ate the barbecue served by the maid in a big mouthful, and it tasted good: “Really, so many things happened... no wonder Cook would lose his memory, so he was fooled by Airyu. Hmm... so I can write a full report. ”

Saying, Nero threw a dimly lit soul light ball out of his bag carrying his soul, "Mark me how long this Prometheus has been here. ”

Grabbing this soul light ball, Rocciu said softly: "Three months. ”

Rocciu's palm popped, and a disk about the size of a box of makeup mirrors appeared in front of Nero, "For three months, this thing can help you find it anytime. ”

Another piece of barbecue stuffed into his mouth - this was the last one, Nero closed the little disc without hesitation and hit a burp, “Ah... so full, thank you for the hospitality. ”

She stood up, raised her hands, stretched out a lazy waist that tightened her body, and suddenly squinted her eyes: "By the way, boss, let me ask you something, this Yan Demon knife in my hand, I can only do the second form that fits it... how do you think I'm going to fit it perfectly in the third form at the end? You don't know that, do you? ”

“Guest, there is a charge for this question.” The boss said softly.

“stingy.” Nero.

The boss laughed without saying a word - of course Nero couldn't see because of the mask.

But she's a natural -- at least that's what she looks like right now, so she shrugs her shoulders, "Well, I guess I'm an old customer, too, huh? Any deals next time? ”

The boss's fingers were slightly on the table, and Nero showed a black card with four gold prints in front of him.

Nero waved his hand, then gently tapped his finger on his lips and flew the kiss to Boss Lo. “What a good boss. Goodbye! ”

“Please wait, Guest.” Boss Lo suddenly shouted at Nero and nodded towards Yu Night after her surprised gaze.

The maid turned around and left the lobby before she came out with a tray.

At night, the cloth on the tray was lifted, and there was a wooden box about three centimeters tall with a lot of strange lines engraved on it.

“Is this for me?” Nero frowned: “What is it? ”

"The bag the Guest used to fill his soul was too rough," said Roquette. "Or should I use this handle? It's more sophisticated and will last longer. ”

Nero stunned and reached for the box and asked subconsciously: "How much is this? ”

“No,” the boss said softly, “this is a loan to your Guest until your life is over and it will automatically come back to us. Of course, it doesn't matter if the Guest refuses. ”

Nero poured the rest of his soul into the box without saying a word, and laughed: "Ding, congratulations to the player Nero on getting an important item from the owner: a box of souls, GET! Isn't that right? ”

“Welcome next time. ”

……

……

According to a deal that Cook didn't know about, there was no way he could get those memories that showed signs of resuscitation back in a few weeks.

Cook hasn't changed his current life, although he hasn't been able to remember more lately, but has become more confused.

He spent more time in the room, still sitting quietly. He tends to sit for half a day as if he were a piece of dust in the room himself.

Only when the little squeak of the tofu store comes knocking on the door because of boredom will there be some noise in the room.

Although I still can't think of my identity or origin, the way things are handled seems like an instinct. He was able to feel acutely that Sancho was avoiding him.

If you're hiding, try not to get in touch… He's even thinking about leaving the place these past few days - he's had a feeling since the last time he met that strange white haired woman.

The day he left was getting closer.

“Uncle Mark, tell me a story today!” The more familiar this little guy seemed, the more unscrupulous he was, and as soon as he walked in, he held Cook's arm and shook it up.

Cook subconsciously touched the little squeaky head and suddenly didn't find the marginal thought of one thing: if he left, wouldn't the little squeaky be sad?

Rather, he shouldn't have thought about it - his way of thinking has been a reminder of himself.

“No more stories today.” Cook's face is faceless: “Go get me a piece of wood. ”

He drew a size on his hand, squeaking his fingers, and the big eyes of the drum nodded for a while before spreading the legs of the flesh and running out.

Shortly afterwards, the little squeak returned with a round log about 10 cm long and about 10 cm in diameter.

Cook took this round log and walked up to the table and pulled the drawer, took out a knife and sat on the floor. The knife was plotted against the round wood for a while, and it began to shred.

Tiny squeaks around his neck and watches this Uncle Mark move - she knows this Uncle Mark is awesome! She quietly saw Uncle Mark lift the tofu plate a metre tall!

But Uncle Mark doesn't talk much often.

“Uncle Mark, what are you doing? ”

Cook didn't care, either. He just cut the round log off his hand with a knife. Little squeak was used to his silence, and instead of making a scene for a while, he lay directly on the ground with his hands up his chin.

She looked at Uncle Mark like this and thought it was funny when he kicked his fleshy, soft calf.

Slowly tired, Sol fell asleep.

Cook stopped the motion in his hand, squeaked it up, put it on the bed, covered it, and started sitting on the floor again, carving the wood on his hand.

Every knife has wood chips flying out, like a float.

When his last knife was finished, the ground was already full of wood chips. Cook put the knife down, then blew the air against the finished wood carving, and blew off the wood dust attached to it before putting it in these pieces of wood.

It's a swan.

It is waving its wings in these pieces of wood, like a real swan falling in the snow and ice.

He put the wooden swan in his squeaky arms and lifted her up again, sending her back to her room.

Cook went back to his room, swept the wood blocks off the floor, turned off the lights, and sat here alone.

Tomorrow, I guess that's how it goes, Cook.

He doesn't know that a pair of eyes are not far away, staring silently at this little tofu shop... not only at the dim room where Cook is, but also at Sango, who is busy closing in front of the store.

……

“Ah... why do I suddenly have a feeling that Cook just keeps going like this? ”

Nero, who was sitting on the roof of a family with his legs on it, was carrying a cheap loaf of bread from a nearby hawker.

The Yan Demon Knife in the cartridge then whispered a string of whispers - of course, only Nero, its host, could hear them.

“Oh, you want to eat Cook?” Nero looked at the cartridge and mocked, “How come you weren't so spiritual at the boss's house? ”

The cartridge trembled slightly, as if dissatisfied.

“Eating Cook is troublesome.” Nero shook his head: “At least the old guys in the club won't let me go... although it's a big deal to escape, but it's still very troublesome, running around the world being hunted down or something. ”

Nero lay down, his hands pillow on his head, his legs curled, his eyes squeezed gently, and suddenly a teasing smile appeared: "But if Cook goes mad, can he beat me? ”

She suddenly sat up and licked her lips: “I suddenly had a great idea! ”