"You don't know that Yves Saint-Fran was shot dead on Markland Avenue yesterday! I heard that it was related to that group of people." "God! I wonder why the price of rice has doubled again! With so many actions recently, how can we ordinary people live! Hey! Even the smartest Yves died! The Saint-Fron family really has no heirs!" In the coffee shop, two gentlemen whispered about the shooting that occurred in M City yesterday evening. The funeral of Yves Saint-Fran, the figure at the center of the conversation, took place three days later.
However, the real Yves Saint-Fran is now leisurely lying on a cane chair and sunbathing, enjoying the gentle massage of his malicious adoptive son. "Tsk. You are a wolf dog. It hurts so much to bite someone." "How can I remind you of my existence if it doesn't hurt, Lord foster father." The tall foster son smiled softly, casually folded a small rose and put it behind the man's ear. "The fangs of the wolf-dog are revealed to the enemy, and the roses are reserved for the lover."
Purpose: Lovers get married and have a special liking for each other