Late at night, in the principal's office.
Sitting in the principal's main seat at this moment was not Anjou, but a sloppy, chubby uncle. Bottle after bottle, The Watcher was cracking open Anjou's private stock of fine wine accumulated over the years, gulping it down as if it cost nothing, while Anjou could only stand aside and sigh with heartbreak.
"Almost! Just a little more and we would have succeeded!" After downing a bottle of 1946 Macallan in one breath, The Watcher slammed the empty bottle heavily onto the table, making Anjou's eyelids twitch violently.
Chapter 137