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Chapter 143: Respect from a Pin
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Chapter 145: Is it Really Just a Regular Pot?
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The dining room was small—maybe ten tables, each with a simple white cloth and a single candle. The walls were painted a soft cream color, and copper pots hung from hooks along one wall, catching the candlelight like small suns. It smelled incredible: roasted herbs, butter, something sweet baking in the back.
It felt like the street market and the upper district had somehow found a middle ground—beautiful but not pretentious, elevated but not cold.
"Sit," Simone said, gest ...
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