In the Alps, in the castle that stood between the mountains, Christian sat quietly on the sofa in a dark room, holding a glass of red liquid. He looked at the ripples in the cup as if he was waiting for something.
"Mr. Kerry, the data is out." A Clansman in a tuxedo came in and reported.
More than a dozen pages were handed to Christian.
After all, Lord Roche was getting on in years. It was difficult for him to accept reading information on a phone or tablet. To him, reading paper information was true reading. Although this was a little old-fashioned, it could also be said to be retro romance.
Christian put down his cup and flipped through the paper filled with strange symbols with a solemn expression. He stood up and tidied his clothes, then went to Roche's room.
It was already winter. Roche was sitting in his wheelchair, his knees covered with a small cashmere blanket, warming himself in front of the fireplace.