But at this moment, Zen couldn't care less about what the pot-bellied man thought. He simply said what was on his mind. After all, where did this old man even get the confidence to assume Zen would use Hera to appease someone like him?
Did he think that highly of himself? Hera's toenail was already more than this man deserved in his entire lifetime, yet he was here daydreaming in broad daylight.
So, calling him mentally unstable wasn't even harsh in Zen's eyes; it was simply stating the truth. He stood there with his hands planted on his hips, looking every bit like a sharp-tongued shrew locked in a verbal fight with an utterly unreasonable person, and he didn't regret a single word he said.
"You—! You!!!" The pot-bellied man jabbed a trembling finger at Zen, his face turning beet-red while his other hand clutched the back of his head. It was obvious his blood pressure had skyrocketed from rage.
