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He noticed Morimoto Chiyoda across from him, still engrossed in the matter of having seen a panda.
The fried egg on her plate had been diced into tiny pieces; to say it had suffered death by a thousand cuts would be no exaggeration.
Aozawa stood up, braced his hands on the counter, and swiftly leaned forward to tap Morimoto Chiyoda on the forehead.
The intermingled scent of shampoo from her hair and perfume from her body wafted into his nostrils. The pleasant aroma ...
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