During the second period of the afternoon biology class, Claude was frantically taking notes, a pen cap between his teeth, when his right hand suddenly stopped, leaving a black signature on the paper.
Outside the lounge of the 28th Mansion headquarters, a member of the Western Palace's delivery team sought entry.
Claude continued writing notes as if nothing had happened, a part of his mental energy sinking into the dog pattern, and the small dog lying on the warm bed in the lounge suddenly opened its eyes.
"Agree to the application, woof," he said, raising his head, his voice soft as if he hadn't yet fully mastered control of his body.
As soon as the words were spoken, the lounge door opened from the outside. Two individuals in the 28th Mansion's specialized black uniforms rolled in a metal cart, saluting Claude with a proper military gesture: "Hello, logistics team of the 28th Mansion's Western Pala
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