Ban blinked at her, honestly stunned for a moment. Then, slowly, he lowered the cucumber as if she had just spoken a divine revelation.
"…So, you have spirit." His voice rumbled low, almost reverent. "A warrior's tongue. A defender of order in this wasteland of waste. Good… good! The earth loves strong roots."
Leona's brows twitched. "I wasn't complimenting you. I was telling you to leave."
Ban's grin widened, sharp as a blade. "Leave? When there are sprouts to water? When there are minds to cultivate? No, This isn't about farms anymore."
He raised the cucumber again—like a knight drawing his sword.
"This is about salvation."
A collective groan spread through the classroom. Someone whispered, "Not again…"
Ban stomped toward the front row, each step a mini earthquake. "You mock me now, but when famine comes, who will you beg for food? The blacksmith? The bard? No! You will beg the farmer!"
