"…You there. How dare you allow Rocco to be sullied by such filthy blood?"
The oppressive glare his father directed at Georgio was sharp enough to pierce the air.
Even though the look wasn't aimed at him, Rocco couldn't help but shudder.
Georgio, who had been holding Rocco, glanced down at him with a puzzled expression.
Then, as if realizing something, Georgio froze in place, staring at Rocco's face.
"What's wrong? Is there something on my face?" Rocco asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Georgio's expression turned to one of dawning horror. "Oh no… Master's soft, chubby cheeks are covered in blood!"
"…What?! Covered in what?!"
Hearing Georgio's alarming declaration, Rocco flailed in panic, a cold sweat began to breaking out.
His precious cheeks—what did he mean they were covered in blood?
As Rocco floundered in confusion, Georgio ignored his protests and began to rubbing Rocco's cheeks with a look of regret.