h? Did I wake you up?”

Harold noticed Emma and turned his face facing her.

“Eh? What’s this? It’s amazing!”

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The wall behind Harold was entirely painted in bright colors.

The realistic and subtle touches on the painting that could make one feel as if one’s in a botanical garden weren’t something she could possibly think of as a work of an amateur.

“Fufufu, it’s good, right?”

The man proudly showed Emma the wall he’s using as a canvas.

It’s like the real thing! You can draw the perspective accurately, and the casting of shadows in the paintings doesn’t feel off… Above all, the colors are splendid.
No matter what paint you use, it’s hard to produce such bright colors, isn’t it?”

“Hm?? Oh, ooh.”

The man looked at Emma blankly.

He was surprised at her unexpected professional compliment.

Hue told him that they were children from another slum, but as long as he remembered their conversation from last night, he felt they were well educated and could think and decide for themselves like an adult.

“You, what are you?”

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Harold stared at Emma with suspicion.

‘Fufufu,’ Emma stared back at the man, looking satisfied.

It was just as I had thought.

Hue called him ‘Big Brother,’ but in fact, the boy and Harold’s age difference seems farther than that of siblings or that of parent-child.

Only Emma, with the spider on her head, was secretly aware.

Perhaps even without the spider, she would notice it with her own innate abilities.

Although he is all skin and bones, he has intelligent-looking orange pupils and unkempt hair with a darker shade of orange.
She could tell now that he stands up that he has a tall height.

He is quite a handsome uncle.

(T/N: Emma used the same word she used to describe the King: “ikeoji” or ikemen oji-san.
It actually means cool old man or handsome old man, but I think Harold isn’t that old to be called old man, so I used the word “uncle” on him.)

If the King is a wild, muscular-type cool old man, then the man in front of me is an intelligent subculture-type handsome uncle? The withered feeling he gives off is also good in its own way.

“Hey, hey, show me what you’re painting.”

The colorful paintings were painted with the same type of ink as the red ink spilled on the front of Joshua’s store.
They were about to reach their purpose unknowingly, but before that was Emma, who, rather than that, was more eager to see the figure of a handsome uncle painting seriously.

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