Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1427: Chapter 154: Are You the Grim Reaper?

When Boss Luo intended to reveal himself, Nero suddenly jumped down from the tree, carrying a shopping bag… Luo Qiu stopped in his tracks.

Nero began to walk towards the direction the departing child had gone, seemingly planning to follow.

After Nero had walked out of this small park, he came under the tree, looked around… and then closed his eyes, visual information reconstructed in his mind in a three-dimensional shape.

Boss Luo discovered something, opened his eyes, moved slightly, and in the next instant, he was already on top of a slightly taller building in the small town.

On a signboard reaching out from the eaves of the building, a balloon caught by it was swaying in the wind… The balloon was obviously much smaller than its original volume, seemingly already snagged here for some time.

Perhaps it was from yesterday, perhaps the day before.

The thin line wrapped around the signpole began to automatically unravel, and the now free balloon ultimately fell into Boss Luo’s hand—he unwrapped the small note tied at the end of the line, opened it, and looked at it.

“I-don’t-want-to-die.”

As the sea breeze blew, suddenly, it took the small note from Luo Qiu’s hand and carried it away… far away.

…

Mr. Smith is a chef and owner of a restaurant in the small town. He has a lovely wife and a five-year-old child, Joe.

The restaurant’s business has always been good, and despite the busy work, Mr. Smith’s life seemed fulfilling and happy—because this year the family will welcome a new little life.

Mr. Smith’s wife, Deborah, is already eight months pregnant, with her due date fast approaching… Whether it’s neighbors or regular patrons of the restaurant, all genuinely feel joy for the little life that is soon to arrive.

After the New Year, to care for Deborah during her second pregnancy, Mr. Smith’s mother temporarily came from their hometown… This indeed made Mr. Smith quite relieved.

Outside the restaurant, today’s menu was written on a small blackboard, as an old customer looked at it and contemplated.

A five-year-old boy walked over with his head down at this moment.

“Hey, Joe, are you okay?” The customer called out to the boy who was about to walk into the restaurant with his head down.

Little Joe simply nodded—in truth, his face showed no signs of happiness… A child’s unhappy mood is something adults easily recognize.

The customer saw the dirt on Joe’s clothes, seemed to already know something, and took out a napkin to wipe the dirt off Joe’s cheeks and clothes, “Joe, were you bullied?”

The boy… Joe shook his head.

“But I see you’re very unhappy, Joe.” The customer placed his hands on Joe’s shoulders, “Kid, if you don’t want to tell, you might become an untruthful child. You’ll get punished. Your nose will grow long and hit the ceiling, hurting you, eventually ending up like Pinocchio.”

Joe was silent for a while, then suddenly said something unexpected to the old customer, “If I turned into Pinocchio, would I not die?”

The old customer was taken aback and looked at the child with a peculiar expression, frowning as he said, “Joe, do you know what you’re saying?”

Joe nodded, “Pinocchio didn’t die, in the story, he didn’t die in the end.”

The old customer thought for a moment, “Kid, why do you feel you’re going to die?”

Joe looked scared and said: “Because I saw Mr. Death. My grandma said, Death will take life… He’ll take me away.”

The old customer tried to speak but after thinking for a moment, directly took Joe into the restaurant. The clerk naturally recognized Joe, the boss’s child, and immediately ushered him to the counter area, watching over him.

The old customer, however, went to the kitchen where Mr. Smith was busy and told him about Joe.

Recently having gained some excessive weight, Mr. Smith listened patiently to the old customer’s remarks, then thought for a while: “Oh, Old George, thank you for informing me about Joe’s situation. Forgive me for being so busy; if you hadn’t told me, I might never have known about Joe’s matter.”

“Maybe he just feels anxious.”

The customer… Old George comfortingly patted Mr. Smith’s shoulder, “Perhaps because Deborah is about to give birth, you’ve all neglected Joe’s feelings. Smith, kids this age are very sensitive and vulnerable.”

“Once the lunch service ends, I’ll sit down and speak with Joe.” Mr. Smith promised.

“I know you’ll be a good father.” Old George smiled, “Then let’s have a signature roast duck breast set for lunch today; I’m indeed quite hungry.”

“As you wish, sir.” Mr. Smith wore his chef’s hat once more and went into the kitchen.

…

Today’s lunchtime doesn’t have many customers, so Mr. Smith soon found himself free. He approached Joe and brought along a bowl of mushroom soup he made personally.

Seeing Joe’s still somewhat dirty clothes, he carefully patted them a few times and suddenly said, “Joe, is there anything you want to tell me.”

Joe quietly drank the mushroom soup, occasionally licking his lips.

Watching, Mr. Smith suddenly felt a sense of guilt; perhaps he truly ignored this child’s feelings recently… The family was caught up in the busyness and joy over the imminent birth, gradually paying less attention to Joe’s affairs.

Thus, Mr. Smith picked Joe up, placing him on his lap. He reached out to wipe away the soup traces from Joe’s mouth, then smiled, “Joe, when summer vacation arrives, I’ll take you out to sea, just like last year.”

Come summer vacation, Deborah would have smoothly delivered the second child, his time would also be freer… He can indeed spend more time with this eldest son.

“Really?” Joe seemed to cheer up a bit.

Mr. Smith extended his hand, and Joe followed by extending his own hand, a big hand and a small hand clapped together, then turned into fists, hitting each other lightly.

Mr. Smith laughed, “It’s a promise. I’ve never broken our promises, you should know that, Joe.”

Joe nodded.

Mr. Smith rubbed Joe’s head, “Then you also should promise me to forget the story your grandma told you. Trust me, it’s just an old tale to scare naughty kids; it’s not real. In this world, Mr. Death doesn’t exist.”

Joe said, “But I saw him.”

“You’re just dreaming,” Mr. Smith couldn’t help but smile. “Listen to me, your great-grandmother was a mischievous person. I was scared like that when I was little, but later I knew it was all made-up.”

Joe thought for a moment and said, “Smith, did you see Mr. Death when you were little too?”

Mr. Smith, having quite a bit of parenting insight, nodded seriously and said, “I did see him, but I knew it was just a dream. After growing up, I never saw him again. Of course, if you become more obedient, Joe, you won’t see him anymore either.”

Joe nodded half-believingly.

Mr. Smith put him down from his lap, casually saying, “Would you like another serving of roasted chicken meatballs?”

Joe thought for a moment but eventually couldn’t resist his stomach’s protest and nodded.

At this moment, the restaurant door was pushed open by someone. A girl with her hair dyed white, with an Eastern face, walked in just like that.

Her smile was special, as if she was secretly showing a little tail, like a prank-loving Halloween imp roaming around.

…

Why dye it… Because Mr. Smith felt not many young people in the world would have white hair like that—if it were albinism, at least the other body hair should also be white.

Of course, this wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary—pursuing individuality, just not far from here at the Academy, there are many students with distinct personalities.

What he’s really curious about is this Asian face—in this area, there weren’t many Asians, and Mr. Smith usually had an impression of them, but this one seemed unfamiliar.

A new arrival or something like that?

With this question in mind, Mr. Smith walked out from the counter and came up to the short white-haired pretty girl, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The short white-haired girl… Nero glanced around naturally and saw the little boy in the park sitting on a high chair, poking his head over from the counter—Joe.

Joe, seeing Nero’s look at that moment, quickly shrank his head back.

“Is there anything to eat? Haven’t had lunch yet.” Nero lifted the shopping bag in her hand, “I’m just a poor soul exploited by a heartless boss!”

“Oh!” Mr. Smith found it amusing and chuckled, “Then I recommend you try our star set of the day, it will restore your energy.”

“Then let’s start with…four servings.” Nero smiled broadly and said boldly before Mr. Smith could express his surprise, “I can finish it; don’t worry.”

“Well… please wait a moment.” Mr. Smith nodded, then called over the waiter cleaning up after Old George finished his lunch and left to come and serve this peculiar girl.

She sat down at a table facing the counter, and Joe at the counter quietly poked his head out again… this time Nero didn’t look at him, just stared self-absorbedly out the window.

Joe became bolder, his neck gradually stretching out—unexpectedly, at this moment, Nero suddenly turned her head.

Nero’s neck suddenly stretched very long, like a legendary long-necked monster… her neck swooped in circles in the air, finally bringing her face in front of Joe… she even transformed into an azure face with a vicious grin.

Joe was so startled that he fell out of the high chair, knocking the unfinished mushroom soup all over himself.

Frightened, Joe covered his mouth with his hands, seemingly unable to speak… The waiter, hearing the commotion, quickly came over and picked Joe up.

But Joe only pointed… pointed at the new customer sitting by the window—the waiter looked over in confusion but saw only Nero eating her pre-meal salad—nothing particularly unusual.

The waiter shook his head, had to put today’s somewhat strange Joe down, then took off his jacket and planned to wash him clean in the restroom first, “Kid, sit here and don’t move, understand? I will be right back.”

Joe, however, grabbed the waiter’s arm tightly, seemingly about to cry from anxiety.

“I can watch the child for you.” At this moment, Nero suddenly looked over, smiling with a charming smile, “I quite like kids.”

The waiter hesitated for a moment… but suddenly felt as if a voice in his head urged him to agree—he numbly nodded, and then fell into silence.

He silently took Joe, placed him beside Nero, ignoring Joe’s reaction, then left with Joe’s damp clothes.

Joe discovered in horror that his hands and feet were bound to the chair by shadows, unable to move at all.

Across the table, Nero suddenly picked up a fork and knife, in front of Joe, began scraping them together, creating a menacing sound.

“Oh dear, I haven’t eaten kid’s meat in a long time, I’m so hungry,” Nero’s mouth split open… split all the way to the edge of her ears, revealing blood-red gums and jagged, sharp teeth.

“Are you… are you Mr. Death?” Joe suddenly asked with a hint of tears.

Hearing this, the knife-sharpening Nero blinked and then discontentedly tapped the table with the handle of the dinner knife, “Witch! I’m the child-eating witch! Haven’t you heard the Candy House story, you silly?”

Joe shook his head.

“Boring.” Nero suddenly yawned, casually tossed the knife and fork onto the table, waved her hand dismissively with a face full of disdain, “Go, go, go play by yourself.”

Just like that, the shadows binding Joe’s hands and feet vanished in an instant.

Perhaps you’ll never be able to imagine the thoughts of a five-year-old—in that moment, Joe seemed to become unafraid, jumping down from the chair and running around the table to Nero, looking up curiously.

“What are you looking at, I’ll really eat you!” Nero opened her mouth wide again.

Joe blinked his eyes.

Nero let out a cold snort, her mouth turning into a gigantic maw, swallowing Joe whole… only to spit him back out immediately.

“See, like that, I’d eat you,” Nero said while digging her ears.

Suddenly, Joe tugged at Nero’s hem, “Aren’t you really Mr. Death?”

“No!” Nero leaned down, stared at the little boy, “I’m Sister Grim Reaper… call me sister!”

Hmph… what’s this Mr. Death nonsense? This little brat’s got a hole in his head?

…