Chapter 7 - Playing with a Kitten
“So, even things like this can come out of the dungeon...”
Snapping out of his frozen state, the shopkeeper held up two teddy bears and gazed at them with fascination.
The monocle perched on his face suited him well despite his youth.
He still looked unsure of himself, but the seriousness with which he carried out the appraisal was enough to inspire confidence.
“I honestly didn’t expect people to be so unwilling to believe I became an adventurer.”
“S-sorry... B-but compared to before, um... you do feel a little more approachable now...”
“That’s nice to hear.”
When Lizel smiled, the shopkeeper quickly averted his eyes and turned back to the teddy bears.
Gil, watching the exchange, thought that meant Lizel must have been rather unapproachable before.
True enough, Lizel blended into his surroundings more easily now—but Gil suspected that was simply because of a change in clothing.
Incidentally, not only his non-noble background but even his claim of becoming an adventurer had been hard to believe.
Gil couldn’t blame them. From the sound of it, the shopkeeper had only seen Lizel back when he had just arrived here.
Even Gil himself had believed without question that Lizel was a noble at first. To meet such a man again and hear, “I’m an adventurer now,”—of course, no one would take it at face value.
When Lizel began pestering the shopkeeper with small talk just to amuse himself with the man’s reactions, Gil told him not to get in the way and turned to browse the maintenance tools for swords displayed on the shelf.
Since they were uncommon, it naturally took him some time.
While the two of them discussed what gear Lizel still lacked as an adventurer, the appraisal finished.
“How is it?” Lizel asked.
“Um... these were found on the second floor of the nearby dungeon, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
When Lizel nodded curiously, the shopkeeper set the two teddy bears side by side.
Their red and blue gem eyes sparkled as they caught the light.
“The fabric, the buttons, even the gemstones in the eyes—all of it came from the dungeon.”
“For something from the second floor, that’s pretty impressive.”
“Would the pair fetch about a gold coin, maybe?”
Their client’s budget capped at one gold coin. Unrealistic as that sounded, Lizel wanted to hit the upper limit if possible—take what you can get, after all.
Besides, Gil had told him from the start: passing off worthless junk would only hurt his reputation as an adventurer.
“One coin? Hardly. Depending on the buyer, these could go for five.”
“Five? For dolls... oh, I suppose there are collectors who specialize in that sort of thing.”
“Yes, and quite a few, actually. Probably two coins for one, and five for a matching pair...”
Both men stared down at the teddy bears. Neither Lizel nor Gil could really grasp that world.
Still, if it were books, Lizel could understand perfectly. For a rare volume, he wouldn’t hesitate to spend without limit.
It was the realm of true enthusiasts. Lizel nodded, accepting that such things existed, while Gil remained doubtful, his face clouded with skepticism.
“Still, as a dungeon item in the ordinary sense, it ranks fairly low...”
“As a dungeon item?”
“It means in terms of usefulness. And this has absolutely none. So as a dungeon product, it’s only fitting for the second floor.”
Collectors aside, what adventurers valued most were practical tools.
Superior weapons and armor, of course. Lamps that never went out, knives that never dulled, rare ores—all of them carried high value.
And anything that could be sold for cash almost anywhere was automatically prized.
Items like the ever-burning lamp could be sold through the guild and distributed to shops, which made them command a high price.
But Lizel’s teddy bears were exceptions.
They had no practical use, and the very idea of someone being a “doll enthusiast” was something the dungeon itself could never comprehend.
Incidentally, when items that clearly didn’t match the floor they appeared on popped out of treasure chests, adventurers had a saying for it: “the dungeon bugged out.”
“It’s not unusual to get low-rank stuff deeper inside, but finding something good in shallow layers almost never happens. This one doesn’t quite count as a bug.”
“Well, at the end of the day it’s just a stuffed animal, isn’t it?”
Lizel held the teddy bear in his hand, wondering what to do.
Selling it to a collector wouldn’t be a bad move, but in that case, he’d have to dive back into the dungeon to get something else for the commission.
He hadn’t expected it to be worth so much, and naturally, he didn’t have a replacement item prepared.
“...Well, whatever. Please write up the appraisal at the standard dungeon-item price.”
“Huh?! Are you sure about that...?”
“You just don’t want the hassle, do you?”
“You could tell?”
For an adventurer, to throw away a chance at profit was practically unthinkable.
Gil shot him a reproachful look, but Lizel only narrowed his eyes and smiled faintly.
The shopkeeper glanced between them in a fluster as the two silently locked eyes.
The one to look away first was Gil. He clicked his tongue, sighed deeply, and muttered, as if it were obvious all along.
When it came to adventuring matters, Lizel usually took Gil’s advice without question.
The fact that Lizel brushed him off meant it must have been something serious—likely not just laziness.
What exactly it was, Gil couldn’t say.
“...Do as you like.”
“Alright. Then please, go ahead.”
The tense atmosphere crumbled in an instant, leaving the shopkeeper blinking in confusion. Prompted by Lizel, he hurried to prepare the appraisal slip.
It bore the shop’s seal, and he filled in the value without hesitation.
Lizel leaned over to peek. The amount came out to three silver coins—decent, considering it had no real use but still held artistic value.
For a low-ranking adventurer’s submission, it was more than respectable.
In truth, dungeon items worth a whole gold coin didn’t appear until the middle floors onward. Their client had probably set a generous budget just in case.
“Is it alright to hand this over bare like this?”
“Just put it in some kind of box.”
“Then let’s have them wrapped properly, since they are stuffed toys.”
He had already accepted that his first dungeon discovery was a plush bear.
The way he happily paid a little extra for wrapping showed how much he was enjoying the novelty.
“Keep in mind, the guild will need to check it. Best not to overdo the packaging.”
“Then just put a ribbon on the box—oh, that silver one will do.”
“Y-yes, right away!”
The bear was placed in a sturdy, armful-sized black gift box, with a silver ribbon seal stretched across it like a medal.
The ribbon itself was a black-and-white stripe, giving the teddy bear the air of a chic, adult gift. Lizel looked at it with deep satisfaction.
The appraisal slip, for good measure, was placed inside a fancy envelope reminiscent of a castle’s formal invitation, and tucked into the box alongside the bear.
What drove him to such lengths? In strange ways, Lizel was a perfectionist.
And why this shop even had such elaborate wrapping supplies was a mystery—it was supposed to be an adventurer’s supply store.
The pleased looks on Lizel and the shopkeeper’s faces as they admired their “ideal product” only made Gil more baffled.
He had told them to box it, yes, but he had never imagined this.
“You... why do you always pour your energy into pointless things?”
“It’s called a sense of play.”
“I see,” Gil muttered, nodding once and dropping the matter.
Later, they stopped by the guild and safely delivered the commissioned item. When Lizel pulled the box from his pouch, Studd accepted it without a word, opened it to check the contents, then closed it again in silence.
The commission was officially marked complete, so there was no problem. Lizel left the guild looking thoroughly satisfied.
After returning to the inn, Lizel spent his time as usual—reading.
Not just today; whenever he had even the slightest bit of free time, he always had a book in hand.
He made a point of visiting bookstores other than the one he had first been introduced to, carefully choosing titles that didn’t overlap with what he already owned. He always kept a stock of them tucked away in his pouch.
Thanks to the excellent selection of that first shop, he had been spared from having to buy out an entire store all over again.
He glanced out the window and confirmed that the sun was beginning to set.
Closing the book he had been reading and slipping it back into his pouch, Lizel rose from his chair and left his room.
He knocked on the door next to his own—Gil’s. Lizel was unfailingly polite about calling out whenever he went out, so Gil was bound to be inside.
“Do you have a moment?”
“What is it?”
“There’s something I’d like to ask.”
Gil let him in, and they sat across from each other at the desk.
As always, Gil’s room was neat and tidy. Lizel’s, on the other hand, was rather cluttered with books left lying around after he finished them.
“So?”
“It’s about that party we saw at the guild this morning.”
“The guild’s packed with parties in the morning.”
“The ones talking about the new dungeon—you know, the party with the cipher I accidentally glimpsed.”
“Oh, the people you decided to meddle with.”
Gil didn’t even bother to hide the sharp look in his eyes. Lizel could only answer it with a sheepish smile.
It was understandable. If the person he was supposed to protect deliberately walked into trouble, anyone in Gil’s position would feel the need to complain.
Lizel was well-accustomed to being the one protected, so he usually refrained from acting on his own whims. But since he had come to another world, he wanted to try different things.
That was simply something Gil would have to accept.
“Do you know anything about them as an adventuring party?”
Gil raised one eyebrow in suspicion.
Lizel had never shown the slightest interest in the countless adventurers around them before.
“Something about them bother you?”
“Not really. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to know.”
“‘Wouldn’t hurt,’ huh. I don’t know much myself.”
The information Gil offered was all fairly general—things anyone could find out with a bit of asking. He clearly didn’t spend time paying attention to other adventurers.
All the members were young but already C–D rank, putting the party itself at C and earning them some expectations for the future.
They tended to take combat-oriented requests, making them a textbook example of the adventurer type.
Being young, they had a tendency to be quick to fight, but overall their reputation was neither especially good nor especially bad.
“They did seem pretty rowdy,” Lizel remarked.
“They’ve never tried to pick a fight with me.”
“That just means they know their place. Smarter than that last guy, at least. Do they have potential?”
“Huh? No idea... but, well, it’ll take them a while before they hit B-rank.”
The higher the rank, the steeper the climb.
Lizel himself had gone from F to E today, but that was a completely different matter.
Only those the guild deemed truly ready could advance to the next rank, and even then, there were no guarantees.
“I see,” Lizel murmured. Gil rested his chin on one hand and asked:
“So? What’s this about potential? You planning to recruit them?”
“No. But if I’m going to make an investment, even a casual one, I’d rather it be in someone with a future.”
Gil was aware that he remained by Lizel’s side because Lizel needed him.
For a moment, he wondered if Lizel felt the same about that party—but apparently not.
And that made sense. Gil wasn’t prone to self-importance, but being lumped in with adventurers of that level would have been insulting.
Just then, as Gil was still mulling over what Lizel had meant by “investment,” his ear caught a familiar set of footsteps approaching.
Before Lizel, who had risen from his chair, could reach the door, the footsteps passed by and then came to a halt.
A firm knock sounded at the very moment Lizel opened the door to peer out.
“Ah, Mr. Lizel, so you were over here.”
“Sorry for the trouble. So, what is it?”
“Well, you see… I just wanted to ask you something...”
The innkeeper, whose footsteps they had heard, approached with a puzzled look, lowering her voice as she spoke.
Her expression carried a trace of suspicion, and Gil stood up as well, moving closer to where the two were talking by the door.
“There are some guests asking for you, Mr. Lizel. But honestly, I can’t imagine they’re your acquaintances...”
Gil looked down at Lizel. No one should have been seeking him out at the inn.
As far as Gil knew, there was only one person Lizel had promoted from stranger to acquaintance.
That sole exception was Studd—the only one with whom he had ever exchanged names.
But if it had been him, the innkeeper wouldn’t have phrased it like that. Studd always wore his guild uniform properly, rough around the edges but unfailingly polite—hardly the type to draw such disapproval.
Sensing Gil’s gaze, Lizel only deepened his smile before answering the innkeeper.
“Young men, perhaps?”
“Ah, yes. Around twenty, I’d say. Not exactly thuggish, not overbearing either, but... they looked ill at ease, strangely solemn. If they’re planning anything against you, I was ready to toss them out.”
“Then they’re probably my guests.”
“That doesn’t sound like they’re close friends. Unlike Gil—whose looks only suggest a thug—you don’t strike me as the type to be rubbing elbows with adventurers who are rotten inside and out. Where did you even meet them?”
“Well, I am an adventurer myself.”
The innkeeper had a habit of forgetting that.
While Gil mulled over the sting of being written off as thuggish in appearance only, Lizel soothed the innkeeper’s concerns, assuring her the visit wasn’t for anything dangerous.
Perhaps she thought the naïve-looking Lizel was the type to be sweet-talked into trouble. She was absurdly overprotective.
“Well then, it would be rude to keep them waiting. Let’s go.”
“If you say so, Mr. Lizel... You don’t want to meet them here in your room?”
“The dining hall should be empty at this hour. And there are chairs. We’ll meet them downstairs.”
As if escorting her, Lizel gently took the innkeeper’s hand and turned her around with a smile.
Sighing but giving in, she descended the stairs, and Lizel cast Gil a glance over his shoulder.
It clearly meant come along. Gil locked the room behind him and followed, exhaling a mixture of awe and exasperation.
Already, Lizel’s earlier question about “potential” looked ready to bear fruit.
At the bottom of the stairs stood four young men, crowded into the small reception area.
They had been muttering among themselves while waiting, but the instant Lizel appeared, their voices cut off.
Their demeanor was taut—half wary, half determined not to look submissive. Lizel gave them a reassuring smile.
“Madam, could we borrow the dining hall for a little while? We’d like to talk in private.”
“Dinner’s still a ways off. No one should come by, but I’ll hang up a ‘Closed for Preparation’ sign.”
“Thank you. Shall I leave a generous tip?”
“Don’t be silly!”
She laughed heartily and bustled off, leaving the four men blinking at Lizel’s effortless way of taking charge without ever stating his business.
Turning back to them, Lizel opened the dining hall door with an inviting gesture.
“Please, let’s hear what you have to say.”
“A-ah, right.”
Lizel entered the dining hall first, choosing a table at random. The young men sat down opposite him.
Since each side only had two chairs, the remaining pair settled at the next table over, close enough to lean in.
Gil stood diagonally behind Lizel, arms folded, leaning against the wall.
His gaze fell on the adventurers—sharp, weightless, merciless. The four men sat stiffly, their nerves fraying as they wondered when that gaze might pin them. With Gil there, the very idea of “negotiation” seemed almost laughable.
He never tried to intimidate, but his very presence radiated dominance.
And then Lizel’s voice, warm and calm, sliced through the ice in the air.
“So then—what brings you here?”
That gentle tone was the same the young adventurers had heard that morning. It gave them a foothold, a reminder of their purpose.
Yes—he had been so consumed by the presence of the two before him that he nearly forgot what he had come for.
He scolded himself, reminding himself that he was dealing with a novice adventurer, and fixed his eyes on Lizel across from him.
‘Too damn late.’
Gil cast a sidelong glance at the adventurers, as if observing them, making no effort to hide the exasperation on his face.
He understood they were trying to seize control of the conversation—but it was already too late for that.
The moment Lizel had given them advice in the morning, the initiative had already slipped from their hands.
Completely unaware of what Gil was thinking, the man before Lizel finally opened his mouth.
“I’m Ain, the leader of this party. This is my second-in-command.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Apparently the man who called himself Ain would be speaking for the group.
Lizel answered their introduction with a light smile.
“Thanks to your advice this morning, we’re leading the pack in that new dungeon.”
“Congratulations.”
While offering polite praise, Lizel found himself wondering how adventurers even learned of one another’s progress in the first place.
After all, in most dungeons one never actually ran into other adventurers.
No matter how many parties entered one after another, even though they were technically in the very same dungeon, there was never another soul to be found.
And yet, the fact remained that multiple groups did explore the dungeon simultaneously. It was inexplicable—though most simply dismissed it with, “Well, it’s a dungeon. That’s how it is.”
There was no real benefit to asking Gil about it here, so Lizel decided to shelve the question for later.
“I do hope you make it to the bottom floor first.”
“...On that note, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve hit another wall. I want your help again.”
It seemed the dungeon really did throw up codes with remarkable frequency.
For them to get stuck again on the very same day they had cleared the last puzzle—it was quite the spiteful dungeon.
The four adventurers fixed their eyes on him, and Lizel tilted his head ever so slightly, as though puzzled.
“Well now...”
Of course he already knew what they wanted, but he let the words hang in the air, feigning deliberation.
Whether or not he realized Gil thought him a devil for it, Lizel suddenly spread out one hand.
“If I can take half of whatever lies on the bottom floor, then I’ll agree.”
“What—!”
The man sitting furthest to the side shot to his feet with a loud scrape of his chair.
Lizel’s gaze drifted lazily toward him. The man’s face was twisted with anger as he glared back at him.
“Oh, but if there turns out to be nothing, then there’s no need to pay me.”
“Don’t screw with me! There’s a limit to how much you can take advantage of us!”
“Then let me ask you this.”
Lizel leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together, and rested them lightly atop the table.
And in that instant, the chair beneath him no longer looked like the cheap furniture of a common inn, but like the heavy seat of a nobleman.
The man, pierced by a gaze that was not sharp but rather serenely calm, clenched his fists without realizing it.
But Lizel’s eyes did not linger on him. They drifted back instead to Ain.
“I solve your riddle, I clear the way so you could be the first to reach the bottom floor—and then what?”
“...!”
“You thought you could just say ‘Thanks, we don’t need you anymore,’ and that would be the end of it?”
From the start, Lizel had been speaking only to Ain. The unspoken dismissal was clear enough that the man who had leapt to his feet sank back into his chair.
Lizel’s words remained calm, even gentle, yet somehow they pressed down on the men like a weight.
They could not explain why, but none of them could see him as a mere novice adventurer any longer.
“...Of course, I never thought it would be free,” Ain muttered.
“Is that so?” Lizel asked mildly.
The truth was, Ain and his companions had entertained the faint hope that perhaps Lizel might help without demanding payment.
First, Lizel hardly looked like a man in need of coin.
Second, at the guild that morning, he had shown no particular eagerness toward the new dungeon.
The first was nothing more than their own assumption—Lizel’s finances were not nearly as secure as they imagined.
The second was simply coincidence—his current commission had nothing to do with the dungeon, though he did harbor a casual curiosity about new, unexplored dungeons.
“To receive a reward equal to the results one delivers—that’s only natural, don’t you think?”
Lizel added that with the air of someone who had read their thoughts, and whatever fragile hope they had nurtured was quietly crushed.
Still, none of them had truly expected his help to come free. They had always known payment would be required.
It was only that the amount he demanded was far too much to accept.
“Half the take is outrageous.”
“You came to me because you believed you couldn’t do it yourselves, didn’t you? I’m offering to make the impossible possible. That seems like fair compensation to me.”
“We’re the ones diving into the dungeon, risking our lives, bleeding and sweating for every step. Don’t compare our burden to yours.”
“And that’s why I said: the reward isn’t for the effort. It’s for the result.”
No matter what they said, Lizel parried each protest with unshaken composure. The men grew more and more agitated.
The only reason none of them laid hands on him was the figure standing behind his chair.
Gil had yet to move, but it took little imagination to picture what would happen the moment anyone tried—his sword flashing from its scabbard without hesitation.
And so Lizel smiled serenely at the increasingly irritable adventurers, never once shifting into a defensive posture.
“There’s one thing you seem to misunderstand.”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?!”
“You’re not in a position to ask me for concessions. Do you realize that?”
Lizel’s gentle smile accompanied the words, leaving the adventurers momentarily stunned.
They could hardly believe such ruthless intent had slipped from a face so kind.
“I could always bring this same offer to another party—fifty percent in exchange for the first descent. What do you think would happen?”
“...!”
Half the treasure from the dungeon, gone. But in return, the glory of the first conquest would be theirs.
If asked whether there would be any parties willing to accept those terms, the answer was without a doubt: many.
The honor of being the first to conquer a dungeon was something every adventurer sought. For an adventurer, the advantages of having their name spread far and wide were countless, and it served as a major appeal for advancing to the next rank.
And yet, the reason Ain and his party hesitated now was simply because they were currently the closest to achieving that first conquest.
They still couldn’t abandon the hope that perhaps they could clear it on their own.
But if Lizel lent his hand to another party now, even that fact—that they were the closest—would be shaken.
“...You really think some other party’s gonna believe whatever a no-name adventurer suddenly says?”
“You’re the one saying that? When you believed me yourself?”
Lizel laughed with amusement, and Ain found himself unable to say anything. It was because he had believed him—on the strength of a single hint that morning.
He had believed. No, he had to believe.
Even now, sitting face-to-face with Lizel, it felt impossible to imagine a situation where this man would fail to solve a cipher.
And if Ain himself felt that way, then surely any other party who stood before Lizel would feel the same.
“Besides,” Rizel continued, “your premise is wrong.”
“Premise?”
“You came to us for help. But if you could have cleared the dungeon on your own, you never would have come, would you?”
“...Of course not.”
“Exactly. Of course not.”
Unlacing his fingers, Lizel raised a single index finger.
Pointing to himself with that hand, he let his eyes drift toward Gil behind him.
“You know, we could always go in tomorrow and challenge it ourselves.”
Only then did Ain’s party arrive at that terrifying possibility—and they shuddered.
They had never even considered it. If Lizel and Gil entered the dungeon alone, was there any chance they wouldn’t reach the bottom floor?
Even in the middle levels where Ain’s party currently struggled, the monsters were the sort that a D-rank adventurer could get through with some combat experience.
There was no way the man known as “Lone Blade” would struggle in such a dungeon, and no way Lizel would ever fail to solve its riddles.
At last Ain understood. They weren’t offering Lizel half the reward in exchange for his help.
They were being allowed to share half the reward and the honor of the first conquest with him.
From their perspective, it was an absurdly generous deal. They were in no position to demand concessions, just as Lizel had said.
On the contrary—they should feel nothing but gratitude for such a favor.
“...My bad. Let’s start over.”
“Go ahead,” Rizel said.
“Ain?!” One of his companions cried, unable to keep up.
But the vice leader, the only one who had grasped Lizel’s meaning, cut him off. He would handle explaining it to the others.
Ain turned back to Lizel with renewed resolve.
“We want the honor of being the first to conquer this dungeon. We’ll accept your terms—please lend us your strength.”
Lizel smiled, amused at how quickly the boy had grasped his position and adapted. He was a clever one.
Once the explanation sank in, the rest of the party too waited for Lizel’s reply.
He had half-expected at least one of them to throw a tantrum, but they were surprisingly disciplined.
No wonder they had reached C-rank at such a young age—the guild’s evaluation had been accurate.
“Then we have a deal,” Lizel said.
A cheer erupted from Ain’s party.
Their joy was so great it was as if they had already conquered the dungeon. Lizel could only give a wry smile, while Gil let out a sigh.
That sigh must have reached the pair at the neighboring table, because they froze in place.
“Well then, since neither of us want strange rumors going around, if you run into a code you can’t solve, pass it to Studd—”
“Ugh.”
“Don’t.”
“Huh?”
Rizel had been about to say: give it to Studd, who will pass it on to me, and then I’ll send it back through him again. But both Ain and Gil stopped him with equally sour expressions.
For Ain, it went without saying—he disliked Studd. In fact, no adventurer was particularly fond of him.
And just this morning, Studd had given him a fresh new trauma. The last thing Ain wanted was to have to approach him on his own.
As for Gil, he knew with certainty that Studd himself would refuse to be involved.
“He’s such a good boy, though...” Lizel murmured, but not a soul agreed with him.
“Then just leave it with the innkeeper here. If I’m around, she can call me over.”
“In that case, we won’t be able to push all the way through in a single day.”
“And that’s exactly how it should be. You’re not supposed to take the easy way out.”
It meant they would solve what they could on their own, only asking when they truly hit a wall.
After all, Lizel wouldn’t be sitting around the inn waiting for them all the time.
“‘An investment on the side,’ huh...”
Gil murmured to himself.
So that was what Lizel had meant earlier, before Ain’s group arrived.
They would take half the reward themselves, of course—but if they were going to give the other half to someone, it ought to be to a party with potential.
These kids were still young, and it didn’t look like they’d stall out at C-rank. S-rank might be beyond them, but still...
“With this approach, your pace won’t really slow down, will it?”
“Not at all. There are parties who spend a whole week stuck on a single cipher. And when they still can’t figure it out after that, most of them just give up.”
“Just don’t tell me you got stuck because the monsters were too strong. That’d feel like such a waste.”
“We won’t!”
Gil watched Ain’s party speak so casually, despite how overwhelmed they had been just moments before.
No doubt Lizel had guided the conversation in that direction. If he could not only control his own emotions but subtly steer those of others as well, then yes—he would have fit right in among the nobility.
The frightening part was how naturally he did it, never letting anyone realize he was pulling the strings.
After a brief exchange, Ain’s party departed, eyes brimming with gratitude. Lizel saw them off, then turned to Gil.
“Good work.”
“You too. Battles of words are right up your alley, huh, nobleman?” Gil said with a laugh.
Lizel blinked in surprise, then smiled softly.
“A battle? Hardly. It was nothing more than a kitten batting at me with its paws.”
He pressed his thumb, middle, and ring finger together and opened and closed them like a tiny mouth.
Gil burst out laughing at the sight, then muttered cheerfully, “Terrifying, all the same.”
“You know, around here, that gesture means a fox.”
“What?”
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